flowers

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This morning it was our turn to provide flowers for my 3 ½ year-old’s classroom. We started out early enough to stop by the corner store on our way to school (and we’re never early – so I was already congratulating myself in my head). I wasn’t stressed about time (for once) - but it was raining… I have to mention here that living next to Riverside Park is one of my most appreciated luxuries in the city, and something I am grateful for every day. However, when it’s spitting rain, and the wind off the Hudson is wrestling umbrellas from pedestrians’ hands at every turn, navigating a stroller can be somewhat of a challenge. By the time we got to the store I was wet, cranky, and impatient... I told Jemma to hurry as she got out of the stroller to browse through her flower options.

Now, it’s a mother’s instinct to guide her child to make good choices. We tell ourselves that what we teach our children will serve them well later in life – and in many cases this is true. But “picking your battles” isn’t always about battles… Sometimes it feels desperately important that your child wears an outfit that looks cute (i.e. something that won’t clash too badly with her shock of flame red hair) when all she wants to put on is a too-small dress in a vibrant shade of fuschia.

This isn’t about character-building… and it's not about the child. It's about you - your ego, and wanting your child to reflect well on you. Maybe you want your kid to listen to 'cool' music, or perhaps you want to cultivate ‘good taste’ in your child (Personally, I’m pretty sure I don’t have good taste… my fashion sense is second only to my miserable sense of direction as a source of ridicule among my sisters). There's a natural urge to mold your offspring into little clones of yourselves. But (as great a plan as that may seem) the more I think about it, the more I think parenting is an opportunity to discover who your child is – to participate in who they are becoming - rather than a chance to shape them into something specific. Sure, they need our input and direction at times… But the simple truth is that they are not us – they’re unique individuals blossoming before our very eyes.

So when Jemma pointed to a row of flowers and said, “I want those ones!” I hopefully asked, “The irises?” For a moment I thought that my daughter might have started to like ‘good flowers’ - elegant, tasteful, expensive flowers… “No, Mommy. Those ones.”

At this point I have to admit I was sorely tempted to resort to manipulative tactics – after all, the teachers might think our family was ‘tacky!’ I nearly talked my daughter into making a different (read “better”) choice... But I resisted.

“Oh...” I said, “those... blue daisies?” Her delight was obvious,“Yes!” We paid the cashier and headed off to school. Jemma carried the flowers herself, trailing drops of blue dye behind her.