Same deal. I lie next to Soph as she reads The Little Princess. She clearly has not gotten far, as she points to the fancy cover and says to me, “See, if you give me everything I want, I’ll turn out juuuuust like her.”
I start laughing. We have had this conversation, versions of it, before.
“Kid,” I say, “it’s a GIFT that I don’t give you everything you want. People who are given everything they WANT never have a reason to go out in the world and find their own happiness. They aren’t prepared to face challenges. You’ll thank me someday.”
She scowls, then goes back to reading. I close my eyes.
“What’s ‘trials’?”
I open my eyes and take a look at the sentence. Ah. Perfect.
“See, that’s what I mean. Trials are challenges. You don’t know what kind of person you are, that’s what she’s saying, until you’ve been challenged. Until you’ve faced hard times. THAT’S when you find out what you’re made of. Nobody knows who they are until they have to handle the rough stuff in life.”
“I’ve faced hard times. The divorce.”
I nod. I try not to bite my lip. “Yep. Exactly. And you’re handling that well. It’s hard, and it doesn’t mean you’re not sad, but you’re growing from it. Even when it doesn’t feel like anything good is ever going to come out of it. You’re growing and having a chance to become compassionate and kind and amazing.”
She looks at me with great sympathy. “And you have the same disease as Vincent Van Gogh.”
Oh dear. Back to the Polar Bear Disease.
“Well…um, not exactly the same one, but yeah. He had a pretty rough time. He made beautiful art, though.”
She goes back to reading her book. I pass out on her little yellow pillow. When I wake up a few minutes later, I sit up to leave.
She drops her book and plants her hands on my shoulders. “STAY!”
“Honey, it’s late. Too late.”
She does her snake-charmer voice. “What if I give you a HAAAAAIIIR massage?”
She knows my weakness. “A hair massage.”
“You knoooooow yoooou WAAAAAAANNNT ooooone….say YESSSS…”
I cave. “Okay.” I plop face down on her bed, and she climbs on my back.
“I just invented a new hair massage, just for you,” she croons.
She digs her hands into my hair, rubs, and yanks.
“Ow! Don’t pull it. It’s already going to fall out, let’s not make it go any quicker.”
“WHAT?????” she howls, ripping her hands out of my hair like it’s diseased.
I try to explain. “Oh, it could. Maybe not. The new medicine is really strong and weird. It can make some people’s hair fall out.”
She GASPS! With UTTER HORROR! “YOUR HAIR COULD FALL OUT? ALL OF IT?”
What a kind child, I think, mother-smugly. So empathetic! That’s my girl!
Sophie climbs off my back. “You are NOT taking us to school like that.”
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