BRATTLEBORO — After four children and several years of parenting, you could say my emotional responses to certain things have changed over time.
I know the particular sound a child makes when a foot is caught between two crib rails. Kids, I know the difference between hunger and boredom, and I know, I know, I know when you are fake upset or fake crying.
I'm like a crying Yoda. The Navy Seal of crying. If you fake cry, I will not come. (Read that in a Field of Dreams whisper.)
One recent day, my 4-year-old was pretending to be very upset about something really, really, devastatingly unimportant. It was the usual wailing and coyote howls straight from the Tom Cruise school of overacting.
I ignored her.
That's how I roll. I stirred my coffee very slowly and made no movement to rectify the obviously concocted plight.
She finally came downstairs and said, “My striped shirt is dirty! It is my favorite! I can't wear it today!” Then she melted into a puddle of tears and barely passible grief, and I said, “You're fine.”
Later that day, a mock shriek of epic proportions came from the swing set.
“Mommy! Mommmmmyyyyyyy!”
I continued to wash dishes.
She finally stomped in and said, “There is dirt on my feet!”
I said, “You're fine.”
* * *
Four is a lot like really bad dinner theater. The actors are really into it. This is their moment, and they think that everyone filling the room is just as into it as they are. They often fail to notice that the filet looks like dog poop and that the attendees are hoping for a massive coronary, praying for a swift death. (“Dear Lawd, please take me away from all this tragedy and terrible acting.”)
Since she is my third 4-year-old, I'm kind of like that friend you have who continues to lose really stupid bets. I've been here before, and I'm not impressed by the terrible theatrics and, yes, my filet will always look like dog poop.
A friend recently pointed me toward a magazine article that severely detailed the “10 things you should never, ever say to your child.”
I found one of my stock answers - “you're fine” or “you're ok” - was among them.
And I had to excuse myself from the Internet while I kicked a whole boatload of rocks.
* * *
I tell my 4-year-old that she is fine because she is, and if that's the kind of brash, harsh reality that I shouldn't be exposing my children to, then - oh well. I'm sure we'll be fine.
It's the same way I feel about lots of things people “should” you about. You should do this and you should do that, and you should consider ....
No, thank you, I believe I will not.
I tell my daughter that she is fine because she is and, more than that, no matter what any magazine tells me my job is, I truly don't believe my job is to make every tiny cardboard lizard into a terrible, ferocious fire-breathing dragon. Sometimes we do need to acknowledge that a dirty shirt isn't the end of the world.
She fell off of the swing a few days ago. She was hurt and scared and a bit confused. The wind was knocked out of her.
I ran over and scooped her up. She cried and buried her face in my hair.
I said, “I'm here! I'm right here. I'm sorry you're hurt. I love you.”
The world is like that. Humanity is like that. We don't need our community to run to our aid over every teeny-tiny perceived threat to our psyche but, when we're really hurt, we really show up for one another.
I like this model: recognizing the times that call for a soft shoulder while acknowledging that sometimes that gnawing inconvenience is not the end of our world, even if it might feel like it for a few minutes.
My kids will have someone who will continue to stir coffee when they complain about their shirts, but, they know that that person will also scoop them up and love them when they fall.
And I'm going to continue to say that my daughter is fine when she is, and I'm going to continue to love her through the hard stuff when she's not.
I can live with that, even if I'm doing it wrong.