She's Five

Pamela Salai Photography

Dear Lucy,

Today you are five years old. Half a decade. A whole hand. If you look up numerology, five is described as being the most dynamic and energetic of the single digit numbers. 

My gal, you are just that.

This past year you have grown in ample strides. Intellectually, your need to understand the world around you is insatiable, your ability to hear, remember, and put into use new vocabulary, is remarkable, and your independence has touched every part of our lives. You are growing up right before my eyes.

Like a rolling stone, milestones this year evolved at an alarming pace as your neared your birthday:

·         You can now draw stick figures that actually resemble people, and have created several family portraits of our trio.

·         You conquered your fear of being submerged in water, and now freely jump into pools, and swim below the surface.

·         You can take care of your basic hygienic needs, including successfully showering yourself.

·         You read your very first words: “hero” and “jumbo.”

·         You can get your own snacks and glass of water.

·         You know how to work the TV and access your favorite shows on Netflix.

What is most memorable for me was the summer – you and me. It was, by far, the most enjoyable summer as your Mama. In the past, I often struggled to come up with activities that we could both enjoy, that you would be able in which to participate, and that were appropriate for your age. This summer blew the lid off of all those previous parameters. You are old enough now that the activities we can do together are fun for the both of us, and the places we can go are with minimal preparation, and your willingness to experience new adventures is awesome.

We did so much!! Most notably, we took our first “girl’s trip,” where we drove down to Pigeon Forge, TN, to meet up with my long-time friend and her daughter. It was a lengthy drive down, but you managed like a seasoned pro, exceeding all my expectations. My girl, you were in fact, good company. We listened to stories on a CD and discussed what happened. We laughed a whole lot. Our visit to Tennessee was incredibly fun, and you made fast-friends with R, who is several years your senior. From Tennessee, we headed to Asheville, NC, for a couple days and you continued to enjoy the adventure just as much as I did. When all was said and done and we were home, we both decided that an annual girl’s trip was going to have to become our tradition.

At five years old, your love of music continues, and you thoroughly enjoy artists such as Imagine Dragons, Lady Gaga, Camila Cabello, and Taylor Swift. I see a concert in your near future, darlin’. With music comes dancing, and you are often twirling and creating routines. Crafting is your go-to pastime, and the table you occupy in the living room is often happily covered in markers and remnants of whatever picture you created or construction paper you’ve cut and glued. A slight obsession with makeup has developed, and this one has been a challenge for me. It’s not that I believe makeup is bad; I have grown to love it as I’ve gotten older. I just don’t want you to ever feel the need to wear it, to hold yourself to some unrealistic and unhealthy standard. For now, we allow you to play with some makeup, but when you exit the house, for the most part, we don’t allow any. For special occasions, a select almost translucent eye-shadow, with some sparkle, is allowed, and perhaps a touch of lip gloss. I won’t pretend to know that I know the best way to approach makeup in terms of developmental appropriateness; I’m trying very hard to tread the line with what I think is acceptable, and not squelch the fun you have with it. When asked the other day what you wanted to be when you grow up, you said, “A hair and makeup lady.” Frankly, I think that’s fabulous, and I will champion this path should you someday actually walk it.

You tried out soccer for the very first time, and decided it wasn’t for you. Totally fine. I’m not seeking a legacy in you, nor do I care if you ever love soccer. My girl, I just want you to find something to love, to be passionate about - something to make your own. Gymnastics continues to reign as the desired activity. We took a break for several months, partly because I did not want you to be over-scheduled, but mostly because I wanted to give you an opportunity to try a new sport (soccer), and I wanted to be sure that your participation in gymnastics was because you wanted to be there, and not just because Mama had enrolled you. It’s clear you enjoy bouncing and flipping around. Our living room has become your personal gymnasium, and I chuckle when I see you flip onto the couch, almost knocking the picture frames off the wall. Lucy – it’s as if I’m looking at my past self – I did the very same thing. You have learned how to do a cartwheel, and are working towards a solid handstand.

Pamela Salai Photography

You are so well-immersed in your current pre-school setting; you’re top dog - but the concept of kindergarten has found its way into our world. It’s right around the corner.

This is your final year as a pre-schooler, and while I know you’ll be more than ready to enter the halls of traditional schooling, I understand it’s a little terrifying. You have asked on more than one occasion, “What if I don’t know what to do in Kindergarten?” I try my best to explain that a teacher will be there to help, and that you are a wise girl, and will figure things out as they come, but also that asking for help is all part of the journey.  Next fall will bring big changes, and I will ride them out with you as much as I can, but for the most part, it will be on you, big girl. You will have to navigate new spaces, new friends, and new rules. It won’t all be easy, and some of it may be quite trying. My Mama heart aches knowing this fear floats around inside of you, and I wish with everything to absolve you of this pressure, but I also know it is necessary, and will be good for you. My sweet girl, we only grow when we are pushed outside of our comfort zones.

A month ago I broke my ankle participating in the Tough Mudder. You asked why I had to, “do the race.” My answer was that I do these races because I enjoy challenging myself – this to which you replied, “But you don’t need to challenge your body anymore, because you get boo-boos.” It was sweet and I understand it’s uncomfortable for you to see me hurt, but I needed you to know that this is a fundamental part of who I am. I explained this to you, explained that the fear of getting hurt should never stop you, as it has never stopped me. If I stopped “races” then a part of who I am would cease to exist. I know in your young mind this doesn’t make total sense, but at the very least, I hope you see a Mama who put herself out there, fell hard, and came back to be even stronger. It’s not the fall, Lucy, that defines who we are, but rather the way in which we rise afterwards. We are strong women, cut from the same cloth. We are here to blaze through this world, both warrior and woman.

In June, just a few weeks before I turned forty, we did a photo shoot together. We had such a blast, and I’m so grateful to Pamela Salai Photography for creating and capturing such stunning images. I hope in these you see how good this life really is, how fierce and exquisite you are, and just how much your Mama loves you.

Pamela Salai Photography

You’ve recently taken to falling upon me, hugging and kissing me, and saying, “I just love you so much, and I never want to let you go.” As if my heart could not swell any bigger, I find it doing just that. Growing exponentially, five years and counting. 

There is an image that Pam captured which perfectly encapsulates parenthood. You, twirling in all your tulle and moto jacket glory, and me, your Mama, just slightly behind, looking on in admiration at the remarkable girl you have become.

Someday you will let go, and move on to your own life, but I will always be there. Giving you space to create your world, but always within reach, championing your radiant spirit, always ready for hugs and kisses. And baby, I will always believe you. Always.

Happy Birthday, my sweet Lucille - love, Mama

Just Because.

Have you ever wanted to do something, just simply, to do it? No significance, no story behind the act, no meaningful symbolism. Have you?

I have.

I have always wanted to shave my head for no other reason than to experience what it feels like and see what it looks like. That’s all. Honest to goodness. Girl Scout’s honor.

Hesitation and doubt have been my nemesis for years; the social repercussions to doing something so dramatically drastic, too, have echoed in the back of my mind. Is she sick? Why would she do something like this? It looks awful. Is she having a midlife crisis? Biggest mistake of her life. Whatever sense of beauty I have of myself, I have had to ask – is it locked in my locks? While I mostly don’t care what others think of what I do, worrying about whether or not I could pull this off – held me back.

And then it occurred to me, as many things have this year – WHO THE FUCK CARES? If it looks horrible, the good news about hair, and my ability to grow it at a reasonably rapid rate is just that – it will grow back.

And that’s where this started; it’s not where I ended, because I changed my mind. Free will, people. Instead of channeling Natalie Portman via V for Vendetta, I kept some length. It gives me something to play with and color. But don’t get it mixed up, though, I was still crazy nervous. Going from so much hair to almost nothing is a dramatic change.

This year has been a year about acceptance and giving myself permission to become the most comfortable in my skin I’ve ever been. I have been privately criticizing and scrutinizing myself for the better part of my life. It ends now; I owe myself the love I so willingly and generously give to others.

I recently read Brené Brown’s Braving the Wilderness, and she writes that, “We must sometimes stand alone in our decisions and beliefs despite our fears of criticism and rejection.” Unnerving to say the least, even for the most confident of souls. But if we look a little closer, isn’t it mostly about control? Brown writes that, “…because we can’t control…what other people think about our choice…it turns out to be the place of true belonging, and it’s the bravest and most sacred place you will ever stand.”

So, I’m going to stand in the sacred, in backing out of my original plan, in embracing my final choice, and relinquish the rest. And believe me, I get the triviality of all this - a haircut. On the continuum of life, what matters and what doesn't, this is but a tiny privileged first world blip in the world.

It’s not a shaved head, but damn – it’s short! Lucy says I look like a punk-rocker. Thanks darlin'. And, as it turns out, I am not Samson. I feel no less powerful, in fact, I feel MORE powerful. Seems like most of us live two lives; the one in which we participate on a daily basis, and the one that resides quietly within us. What stands between the two is fear. In squaring up against my own doubt, the experience of cutting off all my hair has been exquisitely empowering.

However I am perceived and deceived,

however my ignorance and conceits,

lay aside your fears that I will be undone,

for I shall not be moved.

This was simply an act for me, read no further.

I shall not be moved.

Girlfriends

Last weekend, I spent four glorious days with some of my closest girlfriends from college, and it was nothing short of fantastic. Three of us flew down to meet the fourth in Miami, and then we drove west to Marco Island where we checked into a modest little condo that sat a block back from the beach.

When I returned to work on Tuesday, several colleagues mentioned I had a “glow” and they wanted to know about the trip. My response was sincere and void of any hyperbole when I offered that the trip was soul-rejuvenating.

We met our freshman year in college; the fall of 1996. I knew not a single human when I stepped off the plane in Pittsburgh, having flown across the country to attend the University of Pittsburgh. These were the girls who had dorms on my hall, and somehow, we naturally just gravitated towards each other. Our collective friendship has run the gauntlet after two decades, experiencing lots of highs but as well, bouts of silence and distance. But – as I wrote in a post on social media: I met these girls 21 years ago; we were babies, unsure of the women we would become. We have grown up together, sometimes separated by distance, some spans of silence, but always tied together by those formative early years. These are the women who know my story, and who champion the person I have become. These past few days were belly laughs, and tears, and filling in the blanks of the past two decades. I love them dearly, and hope my daughter one day finds a tribe as special as this one.

And that’s just it – the idea of a tribe. The people upon whom you rely, whether it be in big ways or small, but the ones who know all chapters of your life, the women who have read your story, and continue to stand by you. Those are the ones you hold onto. The language of a female friendship is unlike any other. In fact, sometimes there is no language in the literal sense. So many times last weekend, not a single word was uttered before we all fell into a pile of tear-induced, side-aching laughter. That deep kind of belly laugh that washes over you. There were stories of marriage and divorce, miscarriage and children, despair, and success. At one point we all disclosed how much we earned in our respective careers, and you know what was beautiful about that conversation? When my pals, who all make more than me, said their numbers aloud, I was genuinely proud of them. Here were these women with whom I shared dorm rooms with, women I remember studying their asses off, and dammit – they deserve these amazing careers! The crawl in my mind was not one of jealousy but one of total happiness. I mean lets be real, my friends are total badasses.

As someone who wears many hats, it was lovely that no one was requesting anything of me – no papers needed to be graded, no lunch needed to be packed, no appointments needed to be made, no bills needed to be paid, no photos needed to be edited. I was unfettered for a weekend, and it was, in fact, soul-rejuvenating. It came as no surprise that we all emphatically agreed to not let another two decades go by before hanging out again, and there may or may not be an impromptu meet up this fall, and perhaps another bigger trip in the works for 2020.

Finally, I realize that I am quite lucky to have been able to take a vacation, to spend the time and money on myself in this manner, and it has not gone unnoticed. Yes, I am owning my privileged. The time spent with these amazing, brilliant, and wildly successful women, while the kick off to my self-proclaimed Year of 40, was, in retrospect, sorely needed. I came back rested, happy, resolute in my belief of the importance of friendships, and ready to make the most of 2018. These women, this friendship, is necessary to my ability to live my very best life.

Sara, Pam, Erin (and Jenny): here’s to another two decades.

Someday.

Below is the letter I wrote to my daughter, the one I'd so hoped would be truth. And despite the outcome, there remains some truth. There is so much to say, but I can't wrangle the words. Instead, this is what I wrote the other day:

My sweet Lucille, this was not the morning to which I'd hoped you'd wake up. Our country is very clearly still living within the confines of a patriarchy. But - make no mistake - our knuckles have grazed the glass, and while we were unable to completely shatter that ceiling, there are fractures. Someday, my love, someday. Maybe it will be you. 

I sincerely hope I can pull this letter out in four years, and it will mean something in a way it didn't this year.

Dear Lucille,

Last night, Hillary Rodham Clinton, won the election and has become the President elect. At the turn of the year, Barack Obama, our first black president will end his tenure, and Clinton will become President of the United States of America. This is not a letter about whether I like her or disliked the man who ran against her. This, Lucille, is entirely about the fact that a WOMAN will now hold the highest office in this land. And that, no matter where you stand on party lines, deserves respect.

It is monumental.

Clinton’s road to the White House began long before you ever existed, and women before her have been quietly, and some quite loudly, paving the way for this very moment. We read a book called Rad American Woman A-Z, and some of these warriors are named. If you turn back the clocks you will find a remarkable reel of women that illuminate a bold future for you.

When you were born a female, a gender you currently express, you were born with an inherent set of challenges. Our culture places a heavy emphasis on the material, especially looks. According to magazines, and TV shows, and movies, and the pervasive noise that is our world, you will be judged, at least initially, on how you look. In your lifetime you will fight misogyny, sexism, expectations to be married and have children, rape culture, imposed body image assumptions, and a menagerie of double-standards. Lucille, I am working to arm you. To save you from the language of the crawl that has formed in my own head, the one I lived with, to something braver, something much more confident; we watch Wonder Woman and talk about how she is strong and saves herself. We read books about girls like Molly Lou Mellon who walk proudly while dismissing the judgements of others. We talk about the different shapes and sizes and colors of our friends, and how some families have two Mamas, and some have to Daddies.

The work of women is not done, my love, and we’re nowhere near eradicating gender expectations, but we are moving in the right direction. You and I are part of a gender history fraught with blood and toil, misandry, rape and murder  – but we are also part of a history bedazzled with the likes of Abigail Adams, Elizabeth Blackwell, Harriet Tubman, Clara Barton, Nellie Bly, Bessie Coleman, Jane Addams, Amelia Earhart, Shirley Chisholm, Gloria Steinem, and now, Hillary Rodham Clinton.

Today, another giant crack in that ceiling has formed, and if you tilt your face up to that fracture, my dear, you will feel the rain serpentine its way through and fall upon your cheeks like a kiss. As your mama, I can say that you, Lucille, can one day be president. That’s what this is about. Today is a day in history that will forever be marked by progress for the women in this country.

Whether you add your name to that very public list will be your prerogative. Regardless, I will love you for all your failures and triumphs, whether you are known or unknown to the masses. You won’t remember today, not by a long shot, and Clinton’s tenure as president, however far it reaches, will be a blip in your history. But we women will be watching, fully aware of the public misogyny and sexist rubbish Madam President will face. I, as a woman and your mama, will be watching closely, hoping that despite the politics and policy, she continues to forge a road for us.

Today, Lucille, I just need you to know that anything is possible. And I will reiterate that sentiment for the rest of my life, calling upon the names of these women who have come before you, as you encounter whatever challenges may be ahead.

Lucille, a woman is President.

A woman.