i'll be your mirror

Last week I spoke with an excellent clinical social worker about Frances. I seem to be developing a quarterly consultation rhythm with this woman; every 3 or 4 months I call her up, desperate for some guidance, and ask if I can come in and talk about what to do with my complicated, dear little girl. Typically, Frances becomes angelic and (relatively) easy going in the interim between my call and the actual appointment, but nonetheless we always have a very productive, intense conversation in which she reassures me that Frances is only four years old, that I am overthinking things, that I need to recognize and respect her vulnerabilities/strengths (because doesn't it always seem they are one and the same?). This past visit also included some discussion of how Frances needs me to be a 'safe container' for her anger and aggression.

Ah. But what if this container is full of cracks?

That's a post for another day. Dorcas reminded me during out conversation that it is a child's duty to monitor her parents' every move and commit each gesture and phrase to memory. Forever. This was delivered with a rather grim smile. I did laugh. It is true. Lately, both my children have been reflecting parts of me that I had been but dimly aware of.

Three days ago, in the pre-dawn post-nurse dark of our bedroom, Gabriel sat up and beckoned quietly: Downstairs, Mama! Put your glasses on! I rolled over and told him I was too sleepy. Did I think he would give up? There was a couple more requests to go downstairs now. Then he pulled out the big guns. In a perky, bright tone he said: it'll be fun!
(pause)
...at the playgroup.

Mike laughed himself awake. Did Gabriel just tell you it would be fun at the playgroup? A little dose of my own medicine...he didn't want to go to that new playgroup two weeks ago, and I told him it would be fun. And it actually wasn't that fun for him, but he did it anyway. And he knew it wasn't that fun for me to go downstairs at 5:30 in the morning either, but this is apparently what we say to get around that. Smile. It'll be fun!

And Frances has been running around the house carrying a small bottle of hand lotion, applying it whenever she wants to be the mama in a game with Gabriel. She also told me she would like to start carrying one of her dress up purses. That way she could carry her wallet, some chapstick, and "just like a little snack for Gabriel, in case he gets hungry, and maybe I can have a bite too." I guess those are the things I carry around. (Except I carry snacks for both of them).

Or yesterday, when she told me that she would like to eat some peanut butter directly out of the jar, you know like you always do Mama, right off the spoon?

Oh. Yes, like that.

My children pilfer ob tampons from my bathroom and shove them in their pockets, nibble their fingernails, use 'like' and 'okay' excessively, smash chapstick all over their faces when I am not looking (I often find the saddest, stickiest tubes of Burt's Bees stuffed back in my purse), and have acquired an afternoon herbal tea drinking habit.

I don't know why I am only becoming more aware of this now. It does make me feel a little sheepish, seeing bits of myself and my accoutrements, enacted on the stage of early childhood. Who knew hand lotion and lip balm were so central to my being?

Oh, dear children, please carry these little gifts of mine lightly!