A taste of things to come

Yesterday, after a low-key afternoon of reorganizing some of our shelves and drawers in the family room (pics later), the girls and I walked around the block to swim in our generous neighbors' pool. Ian read for a while in the treefort and then joined us when Tim got home.

I was all ready to push both girls in the double jogger (our answer to high gas prices), but Caroline really really really wanted to ride her tricycle, and I've learned it's fruitless to try to talk her out of it. This tricycle is my enemy. It's a Radio Flyer that was handed down to us, with a push bar for the parent to "help steer." Baloney. The push bar does NOTHING except steer the thing in the wrong direction, sending the toddler looping into oncoming traffic. Halfway through the walk, under the punishing sun, I'm bent double, guiding her along with a grasp on the handlebar. Did I mention how much I despise it? But you don't look a gift horse in the mouth. (It's made by Radio Flyer, by the way, so if you have the chance, buy the Kettler.)

This is how it went as we strolled along, Eliza sunning herself in the jogger.
Caroline, noticing I'm several paces ahead of her: "MOMMY!"
I stop and wait for her to catch up. Immediately ...
Caroline: "Mommy, I'm RIGHT behind you. You go." (with imperious pointing finger for emphasis). I start walking. After a few more paces, I turn to check on her.
Caroline: "Mommy, I'm RIGHT BEHIND YOU. Go!"
I walk a bit more.
Caroline: "Mommy! I need to hold your hand!"

If this were my first child, I might have felt my frustration rising, wishing she'd make up her mind and stop zapping me with these mixed messages already. But a bit of education and a good deal of experience made it easy for me to just shake my head and chuckle at this iconic glimpse of toddlerhood. I want to do it myself ... but I want you right there when I need you. I want to spread my wings ... but I want to keep the nest in sight.

I had to wonder what this dance will look like when my bright and beautiful two-and-a-half year old becomes a teenager (surely she'll have a full head of hair by then?). Second verse, same as the first? The tricycle will have rusted away by then, but there will be bigger wheels to spin. Perhaps I'll be allowed to sit in the front seat when she takes that wheel, but I'll have to keep my mouth shut. And in what other ways will she -- and the two others -- let me know that she's ready to fly? How will she tell me that she still wants me close by?

Let me go, Mom!

Hold my hand, Mom.

Lord, grant me the eyes of faith and a heart of grace. And very, very thick skin.