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Harvie, my daughter, turned three today.  There have been some concerns by us and others that she might be on the spectrum or have something else going on.  She is brilliant.  I know I am her mom, but she is.  She was reading words at 2.  Prior to that, however, she did take what others considered longer to talk.   I felt like she would do it when she was ready, and she did.  Her pediatrician wanted to keep an on things, but today, was pleased with her progress.  Is she weird?  A little.  Does she have quirks? Of course; don’t we all?  Is she hard-headed?  You betcha. She is also curious and clever, unafraid, yet cautious, very interested in music, creative and hilarious. Is she on the spectrum?  Aren’t we all somewhere on that dial?

Today, my husband, Jennings, and I were at a college pool with our daughter for swimming lessons.  She has always loved the water and absolutely loves swimming. We thought she needed more official lessons, which we had planned to start earlier, but Covid.  We have been working with her for the past two years in our pool.

When I was watching her, I could tell she was having SO MUCH FUN.  She was smiling the whole time, kept climbing in and out of the water.  Really, all she wanted was to be in the water, but there are protocols, etc. for the lessons.  Jennings was with her and did a great job trying to keep her focused.  She was very excited about all of it, was the only girl, and the youngest in the group.   You could see her smiling and laughing the whole time, until it was time to leave! None of the boys really seemed to be wanting to get in the water.  I was so proud of her.

Afterwards, Jennings said she didn’t understand some of the commands.  I asked what.  He told me they kept saying red light green light for stop and go when they were kicking their legs.  That is a phrase she has never heard in her life, so of course she has not context or prior knowledge to draw on.  There were no lights, much less green and red ones. 

Next, she had trouble learning to blow bubbles.  She knows about bubbles, and what they are, but they are all in a bottle that we blow through a stick.  Not only that, but she has not problem just sticking her face in the water with no complaint.  Jennings felt like we needed to speak to the swim teacher to explain, so I did, and of course they noticed, and said they were short a couple of instructors for that group who would be able to work more one on one with her, because she’s obviously comfortable in the water, and that Jennings could do it tomorrow.  They weren’t concerned.

I was thinking about it later.  I know there are expectations about how the pool lessons are supposed to go, but I don’t wan those expectations to take away her JOY.  She was joyous today at that pool.  I see her joy and curiosity throughout every day. She laughs at herself when she is being silly. Looking at the nest of baby birds by our door thing we do each time we come and go leaves her babbling about “budds” and “baby budds” a “mommy budds” as she putters around. Successfully attaching a Duplo block to our ever growing and evolving “casol” (castle) leads to a quick jump around and giggle. Petting the kitties and listening to Hugo stand at the back door barking to get in sets off a tirade of giggles. As we grow older, it can often be difficult to find joy in things.  I find my joy in her every day.  I waited so long to be her mom, and I am amazing by every silly thing we share. She’s three. I don’t want to see her lose her joy.  I have seen so many people lose that exuberance and excitement as they grow older, and I want to do all I can to extend it for as a long as I can.  Who cares if she doesn’t quite follow the rules, or do things in a way others expect?

I have been so worried about how hard her life might be when she gets older, especially if she is every diagnosed with something others are going to see as different, but I wasn’t always seeing how HAPPY she is.  She doesn’t care that some chart says she should be doing x, y, or z but some certain age.  She’s ahead of the curve in many areas, and behind in others – just like all of us have been at some point.  I think allowing her the freedom to seek and explore, to find joy in little things others might not will serve her well as she grows up and learns to deal with the difficulties of life and negativity of others whose expectations and opinions ultimately won’t matter.  I want to see her smile.  I want to see how much fun she has shredding a napkin into the smallest parts imaginable because she fucking loves to do that, and it brings her joy.  She just laughs and get so excited watching it float, amazed by gravity. Is not having to clean up that mess more important to me than her joy? Absolutely fucking not.  I have been projecting my unreasonable, arbitrary expectations on her because I was worried about a chart or a scale.  Tonight, I am going to go forward helping my sweetest, smart girl chase and embrace all of the joy around her. 

Because more than anything in this world, all I want is for her to be happy and to find the fun and goodness that is around her.

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Most girls are told that when they begin their periods, they are becoming a woman.  After school specials and Kotex ads depict this as an amazing time in a girl’s life.  As girls, some of us are super excited to start and are jealous of our friends who “get” theirs before we do.  Some girls are scared.  I was apathetic.  It just seemed like another inconvenience to suffer through along with the damnable bras. My gramma always like to be prepared, and as a child of the Depression, she tended to prepare for the worst.

When I turned 11 or 12, Gramma sat me down and said, “Kim, you’ll be starting your period soon, so we should probably buy a few things to be ready”.  So, we did.  She bought a pack of GIANT Kotex and showed me how to peel the paper off, put them in my undies, and how to dispose of them properly.  We discussed other aspects of feminine hygiene, what to do if I spotted my underwear or pants.  All the stuff you love discussing with your parents.

At the same time, I somehow came into possession of a wooden trunk.  I think her brother got it at an auction or something and let me know have it.  I spent HOURS getting this trunk to look the way I wanted it to.  Painted it a minty green.  Bought contact paper with little flowers on it to put on the raised wooden edges.  Ok, this next part is weird, and I don’t know why I did it or thought it would look good, but I got a BUNCH of Food Town bumper stickers (this was before it became Food Lion) that were blue and yellow, like BRIGHT ASS blue and yellow. There was some slogan that was put into an anagram, so it was just a string of letters.  I completely covered the inside lid of the chest with those.  I thought it was so fucking cool.  Only the good Lord knows where I got that idea from.  So, I called this my Hope Chest.  I had read some book about a girl with a hope chest full of all of these things she’d need to carry her forward into adulthood.  VERY EXCITED about my Hope Chest.  I put a couple of things in it that I would obviously need as an adult one day: a rainbow candle – half melted, a couple of plates Gramma was getting rid of, and a like a can of soup or something –obvious necessities. This was not the first time I had done this – prepared for the future. I used to lug around and old suitcase full of my important treasures of the times: Tiger Beat mags, a Shaun Cassidy 45 of Da Doo Run Run, a lot of paper and pens, some Judy Blume books, a can of soup and a can opener, as well as other items of obvious import.

OK, you needed that back story to get to this part of the story.  We didn’t have a car growing up; I might have mentioned that in other blogs, so we walked or took public transportation everywhere.  We did most of our grocery shopping at Winn Dixie and Food Town (duh). I mentioned how my grandmother liked to be prepared and was a bit of a stockpiler/prepper before it was the Republican Rage.  After we had THE TALK, each and every time we went to the grocery store for our weekly shopping, Gramma would buy some sort of feminine product.  I mean I had them all: light, heavy, super, liners, with things, every brand – “So you can decide which you like best”.

 Me: “I’m pretty sure I’m not gonna like any of this”. 

“Watch the smart mouth”

One day she came in my room and there was just a pile of seven or eight packs on the floor by my closet. “Put those away.  They shouldn’t just be all over the place.”

“There’s no room in the bathroom,” I informed her.

“Well stick them in that hope chest of yours,” she ordered.

I sucked in my breath a little louder than I thought.  That was my treasure, my vessel for all my grown up treasures!  I didn’t want to put stupid PADS in there!   My gramma didn’t suggest. This was a directive as expected to be followed as if she were the commander in a field of battle.   So I mutter a yes ma’am and she left the room.  Well I didn’t do it. I decided I was going to pretend to forget.  That didn’t work.  Gramma just went in my room when she bought the next batch and put them all in there.  I would not have DREAMED of taking them out.  So, as the weeks went by the chest got full.  To this day, I am 100% certain that the cashiers of the Winn Dixie thought I had some life threatening uterine condition that required me to wear 50 pads a week.  Finally, one day she decided our pad levels were acceptable and slowed down buying them.  How many did we have you may be asking yourself.  Enough.  Just enough.

Lo and Behold, I’m in 7th grade, and one night I go to bed with a “stomach ache”.  I mean, I had no idea what menstrual cramps felt like, so I had no idea this was the start of “being a woman” ( cute butterflies and summer meadows with some flute music).  That morning when I woke up and saw a red spot, I put on clean undies, stuck one of those pads in, rinsed out the undies and tossed them in the dryer.  I continued this process as you do. I didn’t tell anyone.  Why did I need to?  Gramma had explained everything. I had 7,239,672 packs of pads, and I did my own laundry. 

Finally, one day I ran out of pads.  I went to Gramma and told her that she needed to add pads to the grocery list. “Why?” she asked.

“Because I am out”

“WHAT?!  How the hell are you out?  What did you do with all of those pads?” She yelled.  I can see she was getting mad at me.  I couldn’t figure it out.

“I used them?” I asked more than answered.

“On what?”

“For my period!”

“Jesus Christ, you had enough to last forever!” 

Well, it turns out I only had enough to last about 8 months, because that’s about how long I had been on period and never told her.  She was stunned that I never said anything.  “Aw, Kimmy, why didn’t you tell me? I ‘m so sorry.  I would have helped you!”

“Help me with what?  You told me what it was. I had all those pads.  I was fine. I might need some new underwear, though.” 

Today, I too am a preparer and a planner, a stockpiler of all sorts.  THE HOBB (my gramma) trained me to be prepared and self-sufficient.  Sometimes I am little too independent, a little too unlikely to ask for help or appear needy, but I can take care of myself and others thanks to those skills.

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When my daughter, Harvie, was just a baby, my husband and I decided that when she turned 6 we would start taking trips for her birthday instead of giving her a bunch of stuff.  We are fortunate enough to be able to afford to buy her things during the year, and we are blessed with an amazing village that always showers her with gifts around her birthday and Christmas.  My husband and I both want her to have experiences and travel brings a unique point of view on the world.  I did not grow up in a family with extra money for vacations and trips.  I can count on one hand the actual vacations we had when I was a child.  Jennings comes from an upbringing that afforded him the privilege of travel and vacations, so he knows the worth of such opportunities.  In my head, I have started compiling a list for us to work from.  I have already made it known that her first birthday trip will be to Disney World. Daddy isn’t as excited as Mommy is for this to be on the trip list, but I think it’s a special place that all little kids deserve to visit.   

Here’s my list:

  1. Disney
  2. The Grand Canyon
  3. New York City
  4. Jackson Hole, WY
  5. San Diego, CA
  6. Austin, TX
  7. Key West, FL
  8. Denver, CO
  9. New Orleans, LA
  10. France
  11. England
  12. Italy
  13. Australia
  14. Scotland
  15. Wales
  16. Ireland
  17. Portugal
  18. Spain
  19. Iceland
  20. Norway
  21. Niagara Falls, both sides
  22. My gramma’s hometown in Indiana
  23. Gettysburg/Hershey (because it was a trip my gramma, her namesake, always loved to visit)
  24. Nashville, TN
  25. Yellowstone
  26. Most National Parks

I know the list is long, and some trips can be combined.  Luckily, I am a teacher who has free time in the summer and her dad works from home.  I would love to drive and camp across country with her one summer, visiting some of these places and friends along the way.  We have a little over 3 years until the first trip.  I better get those spreadsheets started.

I’d love to hear your suggestions for places to visit! Drop them in the comments!

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