New Year, Same Me

My oldest daughter commented the other day, "I don't want to get older. I love being 7!" 

I asked her what bothered her about getting older. 

"That I'll have to be someone else." 

And with only a half of a front tooth turning her words into "thumb-one elth," I sort of agreed. It's really cute to see her in this transition phase between baby teeth and permanent teeth, to see her thrilled by the marvels of reading to herself, organizing her space the way she wants it, and sharing her first grader wisdom with her younger siblings.

I explored her thoughts a little more.

"So do you think I was a different person when I was seven?"

"Well, you had to be. That was so long ago it was in the nineteen eighties." 

She had me there. When I was seven, I was super smart, but my life wasn't bombarded with a constant flow of information the way it is for kids now. Between some TV commercials at a neighbor's house and something I heard on "All Things Considered," I thought the president of the United States was Ronald McDonald.

I decided to rock her world.

"Actually, I still feel like the same person as I was as a little girl and as a grown up. I didn't even become a different person when I got married or when you were born. I've just always been me."

My daughter considered this notion while gazing at me. I'll bet she was trying to imagine me young, but only saw a child whose body was topped by my adult head. She wasn't convinced. ("Mom's right; she has always been the same--old").

Here I am at 7, with a child's head even. The heart necklace was from my aunt Launa just after my birthday. It turns out that I was too young for the matching earrings. I think my dad worried about me growing up too fast and planned to have me wait until at least age 12 to get my ears pierced. 

I guess he didn't know that I already thought of myself as one of the grownups. 

Just a month or two prior to this photo, I was standing in the same spot and decided to interject my contribution to the grown-ups' conversation while my grandparents were visiting. Grandma Mary scolded me for "interrupting." I ran to my room to hide my tears of humiliation. "How could she treat me like a . . . child?" I had reacted to her like a child, but she must have seen the adult in me as well, because she took the time to come find me, explain why she'd scolded me, and then apologize. I felt twice as tall when I left my room. 

(Getting my ears pierced four years later didn't make me into a new person, but I did feel more "mature." And this dress my mom sewed me might be part of the reason I still love pink and grey together. My mom kept me looking cute for as long as she could, before I tried to blend in with my peers instead of setting myself apart. Now despite her efforts, I just dress to suit my lifestyle.)

I remember being the age of my youngest, feeling triumphant for tackling whatever hurdle lay before me.

Even if it was my sister.

One reason I felt grown up was that I never thought I was making a "mess." I just remember how right I felt about putting my resources to good use. Resources like mud and skin. I try to remember that when I look at my son, who is now the four-and-a-half-year-old with some serious work to get done.

Here is the "mess" he made today (now it's yesterday). I knew I was in trouble because I hadn't heard from him in over twenty minutes and because when he heard me coming, he greeted me with a reassuring, "Mom, I'm cleaning up what I just was doing!" 

Those words are never a good sign.

It turns out he wasn't just making a mess. He'd made himself a snack--out of butter, pan spray, and sprinkles. I looked for some good qualities here and saw that not only had he been quite generous and equitable in his preparations, but his presentation was indeed artistic. He didn't get that skill from me! (Notice the clean fridge since it might not happen for another two and a half years!)

After the snack cups and I took some time to chill out, my son tried one and declared the invention "yucky." So I tried to do what my mom would have done and treated his mess, er, work, like serious business. We took some batter from the fridge and made waffle muffins (I thought this was an original invention until I googled it--I would have been so much more unique in the 1980s!). They weren't too bad. You won't find them (or me) on Pinterest, but they were at least edible.

Like my 12-year-old self, I'm still someone who chooses to shine even if my wardrobe sometimes looks like it came from a grab bag and my glasses have tape holding all three pieces together. 

[Oh my word, I'm about to post a selfie.]

I gained this shine-despite-foul-weather skill during that rather awkward period when the 1980s gobbled up every overstated fashion trend available, and then, like that guy in the alka seltzer ad who couldn't sleep because he couldn't believe he'd eaten the whole thing, it continued to haunt us into the early 90s; so you could hardly see my face behind huge glasses (they would soon sport electrical tape just to keep me humble because, let's face it, looks like these don't just step out of a giant JCPenney's catalog). Maybe the awkward years resulted when I exerted my will to choose my own clothes. I still shouldn't be allowed to dress myself. To this day, if someone compliments my outfit, it's something from my mom. 

Clouds that had appeared meaningless on the horizon of my childhood gathered during adolescence, but even my ensuing battle with depression has yet to stop me from loving the precious souls in my home. I no longer see it as something that went wrong in my life. It's always been a part of me and probably always will be, at least in this life.

The day my mom snapped this photo toward the end of my sophomore year I remember as one of my darkest, before I understood what I was experiencing. Though it took a great deal of effort to do it, I had so many reasons to smile. I used to look at this photo of myself and see only a stranger. Now I am relieved to know that she is still part of me because she stayed true to this inner self, the person who would not give in when the world became too heavy. What I once saw as a mess in my life was just more of the meaningful work of living.

And nineteen years later, I have even more reasons to smile (and to cry!) with my little brother getting ready to serve as a missionary.

Clearly I don't selfie very well. I must be from the 1980s.

 See you in two years, kid from the 1990s! You will still be you, no matter what messes you encounter along the way.