“And
the dinosaurs lived happily ever after,” her face revealing a
heavenly satisfaction, as if everything was right in the world.
This
was two years ago, and Brooklynn had just finished sharing with me
her most recent storytelling creation. It is a skill that she most
likely gets from my genetic line, one sister over. Her Aunt RaChelle
is a Children's Professional Storyteller http://www.misslicorice.com/
having the ability to build storyboard worlds out of thin air. An
alligator being taught a moral lesson by a beaver is regular
day-to-day stuff for her, and Brooklynn has an imagination that is
much the same.
My
daughter's creative tendencies are quite a fun thing to behold,
really. I commonly find Brooklynn whispering to her dolls or stuffed
animals in such a way that clearly suggests her bedroom world is
alive and vibrant. The stuffed kitten has an ailment, and the baby
doll needs some orange juice. Tinker Bell may have moved into a tea
pot in the kitchen, while the pink penguin needs a band-aid.
If
I happen to unwittingly walk into her room during these quiet play
sessions, she immediately freezes. Tucking her chin down, almost to
her chest, she gives me an almost flirty look that clearly tells me
that she loves me, but leave.
Rarely will she share her little imaginative bedroom adventures with
me, I am simply not invited. She seldom shares her stories, either.
So when she does, I listen. Very carefully.
Upon
hearing the happy finale to her story, I felt a deep and endless love
for her. Brooklynn has a way of lighting up
the room with her tiny dimple, just at the corner of her mouth. Her
brothers' faces were lit with wonder at her, too. They simply could
not believe how delightful there sister was and what a wonderful
story!
Ironically,
of course, the ugly truth is that dinosaurs
did not make out so well. In fact, the natural world revolted against
them by either blowing them up with a meteor or freezing their
cold-blooded feet right where they stood, like stalagmites of rigor
mortis. Brooklynn knows all about the dinosaurs being extinct, she
simply does not agree with nature's decision to abolish them from the
earth. If it were up to her, all
animals would be welcome to share our lawns, our oceans, our forests
and our rivers. Frogs would be welcome to cohabit with us in our
bathrooms, lady bugs would be welcome in the far recesses of our
ceilings. Worms would not die in our Dixie cups and fish would always
be caught and released.
The
harsh realities of the Circle of Life, to include a large snapping
turtle eating her pet duck and our family dog viciously snatching and
shaking her chickens, are always met first with a loud shriek of
despair, tears streaming down her pretty little cheeks, and later a
steely resolution to change that. I
suspect that even as she matures
into a beautiful young lady, she will never fully accept the
inevitable harshness of these food chain realities. In fact, dogs
should not
be bred to hunt, and turtles should not have to eat!
The
softness of her heart and fierceness of her conviction is partly what
makes her so endlessly endearing. You can imagine, however, two years
later at the still tender age of six, how she handled watching the
classic movie Old Yeller.
Hunting deer seemed needlessly cruel to her and the sick cow did not
need to be put down. Obviously, we did not allow her to see the end
of the movie. Her heart was already in a fragile place. As far as she
knows, Old Yeller lived forever with Travis on that happy little
farm.
I admit to having some of the same soft-hearted tendencies toward the
planet and its animals. We live on a small hobby farm, having had
horses, chickens, ducks, cats, dogs, hamsters, frogs, lizards, fish,
hermit crabs, lady bugs, and roly poly bugs in residence here at one
time or another. A friend of mine jokes about buying me those car
decals with each and every species represented, simply because she
thinks it's hilarious. And crazy. I am pretty sure that she thinks I
am a little bit crazy, too.
Let
me explain why I have all of the these animals in my life, though.
Although they create more physical work on a daily basis, they make
simple demands of me. I have to feed them, exercise them and talk to
them. That is pretty much it. Not a lot of drama.
Animals
do not wake up on the wrong side of the bed, they will not yell, talk
back, push or shove each other. They do not name call, steal each
other's toys or complain about having to go on an errand to the
grocery store. And our animals are always
excited to see me. The best of them
are soft, cuddly and always open to having a quiet moment together.
On the front steps, in the barn, on the couch, my gentle touch is not
shunned, my lap is always welcomed. They need me and enjoy my
company.
My
children need me too, I know. But kids, especially as they grow a
little, also need to be let free some. The grip we have on them, the
strength of our loving hold needs to be a bit less with every passing
year. I am finding that my children now need the freedom to run more
and cuddle less. The demands of elementary school have taught them
more independence than I remember having or needing at their age.
They want to be trusted to go out into the world, or just the
backyard, and to come back at will.
My
children are still young. The boys are only eight, Brooklynn is now
six. Although they still mostly enjoy my company, they also like
having their own responsibilities and love to be gifted with alone
time. We may play a game of Battleship together on the porch, discuss
their favorite part of their day at school, do some homework,
practice guitar, but it is all interspersed with time that
is theirs. Time when they disappear
outside to unearth some neat tool from the garage, examine their
newly planted sunflowers in the garden, or find a kitty to talk to.
When
the sun has gone down and they are tucked into their beds, covers
pulled up tight to their chins, they morph back into their younger
selves and need me a little more again.
“Mama,
will you rub my cheek?” Tristan asks.
“Mama,
will you sing us a song?” begs Blake.
Brooklynn
still crawls into my
bed at bedtime. She likes to be surrounded by the smell of her mommy
and daddy, and the familiar scene of our things. The kids need me in
that hour, and it feels good. The following day, however, my children
are desiring privacy and autonomy again. This is when I head outside
to the animals. I joke with my husband about having a barn full of
animals when our children are grown and our nest is empty. It will
allow me to feed my nurturing soul, while honoring the inherent space
my children will need.
Today
is a beautiful spring day in Georgia. I have seen no less than a
dozen cardinals in our trees, our new horse Daisy Girl is grazing
peacefully in the pasture. Brooklynn is sprawled out on the front
lawn, her head resting on a tuft of tall grass. Her legs are
crisscrossed over each other, bare feet slowly tapping a beat only
she can hear. She is surrounded by her three cats. They are playing
around her, softly meowing and purring.
Never
mind that they will catch a mole or a small bird today, and play with
it until it is too exhausted to care any longer. Never mind that it
will be a nice snack for our three pretty kitties. The only thing
that Brooklynn knows is that they need her. They look for her when it
is mealtime, and they sense she will craft them a new toy today. They
know her touch is soft, her smile is golden. They know they will live
happily ever after in her care.
