Scene: Juju and I, waiting for Cassandre to get her rubber bands replaced at the orthodontist.
Juju "What number am I thinking of?"
Me, looking at her fingers "Four."
Juju "Grrrr! Okay what color am I thinking of?"
Me, remembering the red shirt she just brought home from camp today "Red."
Juju, scowling "Huh! What letter am I thinking of?"
Me "L!" (for letter, of course)
Juju, with a big, confused scowl on her face, "How did you KNOW that? What am thinking of NOW?"
Me "You're thinking about what you can think about that I won't know."
Juju "YES!"
Juju, as you may have realized, is somewhat of a daredevil. She loves to slide down banisters, jump speed bumps on her scooter and is trying her best to climb trees. It won't be long before she's tall enough to reach those lower branches herself, in the meantime she's trying to convince all of us to lift her up on our backs. Ow.
Her Kryptonite is water. When she was three or four years old, she was actively ignoring my demand for her to wear her floaty and to stop jumping on the pool steps. She was so stubborn, she refused to believe anything bad could happen. Sooner or later our pool experience was bound to end badly. In fact the odds of it ending badly were so high no bookie on earth would have taken them. Toddler + pool + can't swim x no sense of fear = disaster. Always.
I decided to let it end badly in a way I could control. I stood next to her and watch her jump on the stairs in water she knew was over her head. She didn't mean to go under water of course, she had simply misjudged her ability, and she slipped and ended up on the lowest step. I grabbed her up instantly and she spent less than a second actually under water. I hoped this would give her some common sense but no, to this day she refers to the event as "The Day Mama Let Me Drown."
Since then she's been very reluctant to go in the water with anyone other than me and she still hates her floaty. So we stopped going to the pool. The fight over the floaty and learning how to swim had simply became more trouble than it's worth. But she's six now. It's well past time for her to know how to save her own life, and it's officially time for some summer water fun.
I signed her up for weekly swimming lessons at my gym. When I first called about lessons I didn't know if she should be in level one or level two. The woman on the phone said helpfully, "Well, in level one the kids spend most of their time crying..."
Sold. Level Two.
Juju thought about crying in the car on the way over to the first lesson and she held my hand tightly as we walked to the pool. Right away I could tell that she liked her instructor, Katie, who is blond, cute and a very friendly teenager. A Big Girl. A Very Pretty Big Girl. A Very Pretty Very Big Girl Who is Being Paid to Pay Attention to Juju. Win!
Except for the actually going into the water part.
Me: "Juju, you have to take your shoes off. No really, honey. You can't go in the pool with your shoes on. Even though they're waterproof. Come on baby, let's take them off now."
Juju: silence.
Very slowly she takes off her shoes, but she does not let go of her towel, which she is wearing as a cape.
Me: "Now let go of the towel, baby. You can't go swimming with a towel, right? You can leave that with me, I'll keep it for you." Pause. "Come on Juju, let go. Give me the towel baby, it's time to get in the water. You'll see, it will be warmer in the water than it is on the side of the pool." Longer, more pointed pause. "Okay Juju, really. Katie is waiting for you. Do you want a time out? Juju? We're here for a swimming lesson. Katie wants to play with you and teach you how to swim, this is going to be fun! Okay ONE. Now TWO..." We almost never get to "three" in the timeout countdown these days, but we always get to "two." Testing.
She drops the towel, looks at me and takes Katie's hand. They step into the water together and I sit quietly on the sidelines. I try to make myself invisible without actually being gone. I want to watch, but I don't want to distract her.
It took Cassandre several weeks to put her face in the water when she was starting out (she had a rough time learning to swim too), so I didn't hold much hope that Juju would do it any faster.
Wrong. Juju the Daredevil did it within 10 minutes of entering the pool.
She wants me to go with her to the ladies room. We don't hold hands and she walks ahead of me, but she is not quite ready to go to a strange bathroom by herself. She still wants her mama.
We enter the stalls side by side. Now eleven, she is too grown up to share one with me. I can see her shoes under the dividing wall. White, strappy sandals with just the right amount of bling. Silver paint that looks like rhinestones.
I look at her feet, they are getting so big. She needed new sneakers the other day and we found out exactly how big: she's a size 4.
Only one and half sizes away.
Not from me, I'm a seven and a half, but one and half sizes from being able to shop in the big girl shoe department. My department. I know exactly how she feels because when I was her age, maybe even before I was her age, I felt the same way. Lusting after the big girl shoes.
The big girl shoe department is the Emerald City of department stores. Everything there is beautiful. High heels. Strappy sandals. Boots. Leather that smells deliciously grown up. Nothing that can be tied with laces, or more currently, nothing with velcro (the kids don't tie much anymore).
I look at her feet under the stall. Her pedicure, the one her grandmother gave her, has grown out, and her toenails are a little too long and slightly ragged. Shod in her strappy white sandals her feet look a little ambiguous. The shoes and the size are at a stage where it's not obvious: is she a child trying to be a grown up or is she a woman with dicey taste in shoes?
I know the truth of course, but she would love the idea that others might not know. That they might mistake her for a woman. She wants to pass. Not because boys or men would notice her (she hates boys and men make her uncomfortable) but because she wants to be big. She thinks she's ready for more even if she's not clear about more of what. Truthfully, she's not even sure why it's important to be big. It just is.
I understand this and I try not to do anything to dissuade her feelings. We walk casually by Emerald City together and I let her dream, just like I still dream, but not for too long. I'm not ready yet, it is too soon. I want to hold her hand. I want to take her hand and go upstairs to the little girl shoe department. I revel in the (increasingly rare) moments when she curls up into my lap like a child and holds on to my waist with both hands. For now we walk casually and we point out the shoes we dream of and won't buy today.
These are the in-between days. They won't last nearly as long as I want them to.
I have one and a half sizes left.
