Dearest Danjo,
You turned seven! Five weeks ago!
Danjo Year Six from Lauren Gibbs-Beadle on Vimeo.
We did not let the date pass without much celebrating, but I did procrastinate on writing you this letter. So much so that it’s already your brother’s first birthday. And instead of writing to him today, I’m writing to you! Hopefully that means something to you, as it means absolutely nothing to your little brother at this point, which is a parenting guilt win-win for me.
I often think about and at least partially compose your “monthly” = yearly letters in my head during the weeks leading up to your birthday, but honestly my brain is mush. So I’ve got nothing.
Your brother has been around (and not sleeping through the night) for a year. That means you’ve been a middle child for a year. And you’ve pulled it off quite well--whatever that means, for whatever situation you’re trying to manipulate, at whatever moment that may be--which is basically the definition of being a middle child. You have always been a “people person” able to read and wrap and pretzel people’s emotions. You were born for this role.
You have grown a lot this year. You’re in first grade now and can read! You go to school all day. You try most every food even though you already know 100% you’ll hate it. You learned how to tie your shoes. You’ve memorized your student number so you can buy lunch. Your current record is seven jumps in a row while jump-roping. You love roller skating and singing. You are still proud of your “big” soccer foot and it’s not a grand production needing stage lighting and cues to get out of the house anymore for soccer or really for anything else. You like to set up foot massage spa days for me, complete with magazines and music. You tell me you love me without prompting and at the strangest times. You make sure I feel appreciated for my cooking or crafting or pajama time helping.
You know your truth. You listen to your body (which baby Jesus knows I need help doing) and are well tuned to the voice inside (that many have us have long since learned/been taught to quiet). I admire you for that--even if that voice drives you to use your giftcard on a toy I’d rather you not or compels us to leave parties early. I’m always fighting against myself to not quiet your voice. I know all too well what it feels like to be an adult who can’t make out her own voice through all the other simultaneously playing soundtracks stuck on repeat in this here noggin. A wise friend (named Tiffany, whom I did not ask permission to use her name or words, so she might sue me) once said, “There’s a fine line between self-care and self-indulgence,” so I definitely toe that line when it comes to you. I have to remind myself that my story is not your story--even though your body has been telling you since you were three that you “need chocolate” or, recently at an expensive Hawaiian luau, were beyond tired and wanted to leave N.O.W., it does not mean that you’ll turn into adult me if I deny you your demand. In reality, the fact that your are expressing your needs/wants is something I was never (am still not) able to do. And if you suffer a bit, you’ll be fine (thank you Mr. Family Therapist) whereas all I did growing up was to stuff myself down and feel like I was suffering all the time (or when it all came out/comes out in panic attacks where I literally feel like I am dying). This letter is about you. I’ll keep telling myself that.
So, Shawn Mendes is your jam though you still have mad love for LMM. Speaking of which, we saw Hamilton this past summer and now life is Complete. We also went to Hawaii which you like to tell people is your “favorite place” so silver spoon much? You still have your very own fashion sense, prominently featuring cats and animal print. You brush your own hair and take your own showers and put on your own deodorant (I know you’re only seven but Good Lord, my children are stinky! Don’t worry, the doctor says it’s not puberty, some kids just smell like onions and their parents have to live with it and give their kids hugs after school without passing out and giving their children a complex.) You like giving hugs (on your terms) and you always have to remind me to hug you back properly. So, thanks for those reminders, since I’m not a naturally demonstrative person.
We have a special comedy routine after I tuck you in where you have to push a button to release my hands from their tucking position, but one is stuck and needs a little oil, so then you pretend to squirt oil on it and push the button and it ends up hitting you in the face. I have no idea why you like this so much, but it’s our thing. Maybe you have to be there? You are funny, but you hide it well. I don’t know why and sometimes I feel worried because you used to love to make people laugh and you were always so full of joy, but you’ve grown a little self-conscious in the past couple years. There are still glimmers of that Danjo and I’m still working on how to best bring her out again. Any tips appreciated.
You are the huge-est whiner and you Can’t Even With Life, but you haven’t had a temper tantrum in forever or, I should say, not a toddler-esque temper tantrum because we’ve quickly transitioned to the tween version that involves door slamming attempts and bedroom sulking . We went to a family therapist for a bit so I could “learn to be a better parent for your temperament”/learn to stop letting you manipulate me/learn to be a consistent disciplinarian which is not my (natural, organic) jam. The processing and advice mostly stuck and helps, but alas you are YOU coupled with the fact that you’re now a middle child and while many days you think You Can’t Even With Life, I SERIOUSLY CAN’T EVEN WITH LIFE. And so you get away with a lot.
But I’m doing my best to help you grow into a functional adult and not an emotionally stunted tyrant. It’s not my proudest parenting tactic, but I do often compare you to a certain President, “Do you want to grow up to be like him?!?” I’m sure one day you’ll say yes, you do, so I better prepare for that response. So far you are usually so outraged by the comparison (ha, case in point!), that you snap out of it. “It” can be an assortment of behaviors we’re working to address: being mean to your sister or me, (still) not using your words to express your needs (though funny how precisely biting your words can be at other times), lashing out, giving up easily, inflexibility, needing the last word or unnecessarily comment on everything and your garden variety negativity, lies and disobedience.
People often say about difficult, willful children that they’ll grow into strong adults and great leaders, but that’s really not true unless some effort is put into directing that will and passion and into teaching some amount of self-regulation and awareness. I’m saying all this now because when you’re an adult you’ll understand why I stopped asking you questions after school, gave you your space, made you take five minutes alone in your room to decompress (“empty your cup”) from the day. You’ll understand why I seemed to ignore you completely when you started talking negatively, not trying to reinforce that beast. You’ll understand why I constantly pointed out when you were “being mean on purpose” and the number of times I stopped the car or took away the iPad or your lovies and we went back home. You’ll understand why I seemed to treat you so unfairly.
Well, because I do. Parents sometimes try to treat all their children the exact same way, but you are not the exact same children. And if I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a million times, you each require your own type of parenting in order to flourish. Some may disagree and that’s fine. Some of their kids will turn out great because their temperament matched or was a type (kind of like Bel) that was going to be fine regardless of parenting and some of their kids will end up in jail. No big deal.
My epiphany this year (as relates to you, this is your letter still.. I think), was that in a typical job--for example, your dad does Public Relations--you’re going to find that the successful people have a somewhat similar constellation of temperament and personality traits, not across the board, but mostly--in our example: the ability to problem-solve quickly, to adapt, to work as a team, etc. When your primary employment is being a parent, there is no one appropriate temperament or personality to get the job done. And so everyday you sort of feel like a failure at your job because it’s hard to be all things to all people. But the fact is, I have to. I have to put on and take off and put back on different hats all day long. And it’s hard. And I mess up all the time. And I’m asking you now to forgive me.
Which I’m sure you will, because while you can throw some mad shade, you love just as mad. You are sensitive and emotive and passionate. For as many times as you calculatedly say the exact wrong thing at the exact wrong time, you say the exact right thing at the exact right time.
If we’re both being honest, the past year hasn’t been the easiest or most pleasant to be your mom or for you to be my daughter, but growing pains, amirite? We’ll endure a little bit of suffering, but we’ll be fine. (Thanks again to Mr. Family Therapist). I know this because I know you--your ins and outs, your strengths and weaknesses and more strengths. You may not believe it now, when I tell you you can’t have screen time or when you have to wait twenty nanoseconds for something or when life isn’t going exactly your way, but you will be fine.
I love you no matter what,
Mommy
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