Supersonic Seven

My daughter, Grace, has always reminded me of the line from A Midsummer Night's Dream, "Though she be but little, she is fierce!" (I see those quizzical looks out there. No, I don't read a lot of Shakespeare.  I probably saw the quote on a t-shirt or bumper sticker.  Just go with it.)  Lately, I have been forced to recognize that, though she is still fierce, Grace is not so little anymore.  I had a sappy dad moment last night at the supermarket, a tiny reminder that Grace is growing up.  I was shopping alone in Giant.  (Well, not alone.  There were approximately a billion people with me in Giant last night, only two of which were cashiers.  I thought I was going to have to recreate the end scene of Crocodile Dundee,  walking on people's shoulders to get to the frozen food aisle.  I had a similar embrace with the Hot Pockets when I finally reached them.) Anyway, I was shopping alone in Giant when I passed a guy pushing a small girl in one of those carts where the child sits in a plastic car mounted to the front of the cart so she can pretend to drive.  I was taken off guard by the tiny wave of sorrow that struck me when I realized Grace has grown too big to pretend drive one of those carts.  (Not that she wouldn't try to squeeze in one.)  As much as I enjoy watching Grace grow, I sometimes miss my little baby girl.

At age seven, Grace has reached the point where she is caught in between stages.  No longer a loony, id-driven toddler, yet not a pre-teen.  As she walks that line, she bobbles back and forth between each side.  She is still genuinely excited to see me and often jumps in my arms when I get home from work, but is embarrassed if I use my thumb to wipe her face before she walks into school.  She likes to sometimes sing silly songs together, yet rolls her eyes if I start jamming to one when she doesn't feel like it.  She often could use a nap, yet rarely takes one.  (Sigh.  Remember naps?  Those glorious times where you could get things done on a weekend, like watching something with colorful language on Netflix.  "Quiet time" isn't quite the same.)  Grace can easily tie her own shoes, but must be asked a thousand times to find them and put them on.  She is perfectly capable of fixing her own lunch, yet whines there is not a "single thing to eat" in the fully-stocked cabinets or refrigerator.  Helping Grace navigate the between stages line is quite a ride.  A ride I assume only gets bumpier as we hit the teen years.  My father-in-law takes great joy in telling me I ain't seen nothin' yet.

I acknowledge growing up is tough for the kids, too.  Just a few years ago they were drawing cheers as mundane acts like walking, talking, and not crapping their pants were seen as major milestones.  As you age, the bar is raised.  I am a tougher audience today.  "Oh, you finished reading Green Eggs and Ham all by yourself?  That's nice.  If you really want to impress me, Sam-I-Am, go grab some Dostoyevsky off the shelf and give that a whirl."

Of course, there is also great upside to Grace growing up.  We haven't watched Frozen in months.  We have hilarious conversations.  I love her curiosity.  We are beginning to share sports fandoms.  It is heart warming to watch her be a good neighbor to her younger friends.  And every once in a while, amidst bedtime arguments and soliloquies about why she should be allowed to wear high heels to the playground, Grace will give Amanda and me a sign that we are doing things right.  Two small, but cool things recently made me proud.  For Christmas, Grace had the idea, completely on her own, to use her leftover birthday money and gift cards to buy gifts for some family friends.  A generous and unselfish act.  Then, earlier this month, Grace was honored at school for raising the most donation money in her school for Jump Rope for Heart.  As she handed Grace her prize in front of the entire school, the vice principal put a live microphone  in Grace's face.  In that split second, I wondered how Grace would react.  Would she turn and walk away?  With the gross, gassy kick she has been on, would she belch the alphabet?  No, she responded with a simple, polite "Thank you."  It was a small thing, but it made me realize that our conversations about manners seem to be sinking in.  

So, even though I sort of long for the seven and a half years that have passed with supersonic speed, I can't help but look forward to the fun ahead.