1 Mother 2 Another

I’ve talked many times about how
parenting is continuously building fences around our children, only
to knock them down and re-build them a few feet further out, over
and over and over again.


I feel like I’ve done a lot of re-positioning lately.


Maddie’s becoming aware of her independence in new ways, and
is tentatively testing it out in different situations. She’ll
often shyly ask if she can do something herself – and then
move forward hesitantly, but without looking back. And when
she’s finished, she glows with triumph -and skips happily
back to nestle in my arms.

The other day we were enjoying a typical
outing at Starbucks – a couple bags of popcorn, some milk and
a few cookies, and a stack of books to read through while enjoying
the patio breeze. Apparently the popcorn and milk was not enough,
because after a while Maddie said, “Mommy, can I go buy a
yogurt and granola parfait from inside? I’m still really
hungry.”


I looked at my two girls piled on my lap, the stack of books next
to us, and my shoes kicked off below my propped-up feet. “Oh,
honey, are you sure you really need something else to eat?”


Maddie nodded solemnly. “I’m really hungry,
Mommy.”


I sighed internally. “Ok, kiddos, climb off Mommy.”


Cora burrowed deeper. “No, Mommy, I want to snuggle.”


Maddie spoke up. “Mommy, I can go buy it by myself. I know
how to do it, I promise.”


I looked at the store. I had a clear sight line of both exit doors.
The people behind the counter know my children, since the girls
take an excruciatingly long time to order. Still, I hesitated. Call
me a New Yorker, but I really don’t enjoy letting my girls
out of my sight in public.


“Please, Mommy?” Maddie pleaded. And I nodded.


I handed over my Starbucks gift card and sent Maddie in. I stared
hard at both doors the whole time, mentally calculating how long
the line might be, whether or not there would be any yogurt
parfaits left, if Maddie could scream loud enough if some strange
man picked her up and started running. Cora squirmed.


“Mommy, can I go in with Maddie?”


“No, baby,” I said distantly.


“But Mommy, I’d be careful, I promise! I’d pay
attention and not run into anyone and stay very close to Maddie, I
promise!”


I could picture the scenario. Cora, dancing in the walkway,
tripping over some guy’s laptop cord and bringing it smashing
to the floor. Cora, entertaining the baristas by spinning until she
loses sight of Maddie. Or hurls up her glass of milk. Cora,
dumbfounded, taking someone’s hand and going with him out the
back to help him find his “lost puppy”.


“No, baby,” I said again, still focusing on the doors.


“Mommy,” Cora said, taking my face in her hands and
forcing me to focus on her, “I can do this. I am a big
four-year-old now.”


I stared at her.


And then Maddie came out the door, saving me from the moment.


Maddie ran to me, beaming, and handed me back my gift card. She
proudly set her yogurt down on the table and then carefully placed
the spoon and napkin she’d clearly had the foresight to pick
up all. By. Herself.


And then she climbed on my lap and folded her coltish legs back up,
snuggling in again.


About half an hour later we were packing up to go, and had a
ceramic plate to return to the staff – they know we
don’t like trash and humor us with real dishes when we hang
out. I should’ve seen it coming.


“Mommy,” Cora said. “Can I return the plate all
by myself?”


Silence.


“Yes,” I said.


Cora’s face split open.


“Cora, I better come with you,” Maddie said. As Cora
looked mutinous I said hastily, “No, Cora can do this all by
herself.” And Cora slid off my lap and skipped happily to the
door.


Which she could not open because it was too heavy.


Maddie ran quickly over. “Here, Cora, I’ll open it for
you,” she said, and Cora slipped quickly inside. Maddie
started to come back to me, stopped, then inched over to the glass
door.


“I’ll just watch her from here, to make sure
she’s ok,” Maddie mumbled.


How can I fault that? I’d been thinking the same thing.