Lyrical Interlude: Symphony in C Minor

This isn't about Aria. I knew eventually I'd have something to say about Lyric that stretched beyond Facebook fodder. I'm surprised it took so long. She's not easily reduced to blurbs. It didn't seem fair to leave her out, but nothing ever seemed as stunning as "hey, this my life...with cancer!"

I worry a lot about Lyric. She's formally tested on the far right of both IQ and Anxiety bell curves. She is biologically constructed to identify, quantify, analyze...and then verbalize...all negative potentialities in her life.

She's also far on the right of Never Stops Flipping Around or Singing Really Fucking Loud curves. I tend toward physical inertia, and have an unfortunate aversion to yelping. Poor kid can't catch a break.

She is my very first spawn. Recipient of graceless parenting attempts and the bulk of my personal attention, good and bad. Then she got smacked in the face with a sibling who couldn't be more different...became her best friend....and then got sick.

Lyric is why I own 65 books on parenting, from classic Brazelton to the uberspecific "Freeing Your Child From Negative Thinking." She's why I never have the energy to read most of them. She's also why I roll my eyes at my own blog entries; I know full well where she gets most of her, um, personality quirks.

Today was her first day at Day Camp. Bedtime should have brought fear and anxiety. A breakfast of toast soggy with tears.

We should not have gotten out of the house on time, or without the echo of my sniping unenforceable threats on the way to the car. Lunches and swimsuits should have been forgotten. Conversation been limited to Lyric's time-sucking conjecture on the painful, humiliating day, nay summer, of terror that awaited her.

History says that today should have been fodder for her own adulthood blog.

Shoulda woulda. Instead, here's her top 10 of the day.

1. She looked forward to camp. She did not curl into a ball of despair that none of her school friends would be there. She said, and I quote, will the full inflection of a six-year-old shrug: "Oh."

2. We got to camp on time. With clothes on. She made her own lunch and breakfast. I reminded her to brush her teeth less than 3 dozen times.

3. I left her at the camp (or did she leave me?) with a smile and a freaking bounce in her step. Not our repetitive, sigh-filled, heart-wrenching ritual..... "Good morning. I love you, mommy. Have a good day. Good morning. I love you, mommy. Have a good day. Good morning. I love you, mommy. Have a good dayyyyyyyyy." 

4. I retrieved her at 3pm and she said nothing about how damn cold the swimming pool must have been this morning. Nothing about how she didn't make any (or enough) friends on the very first day. No scary/mean/evil teacher/friend/made-up-people stories. It wasn't too boring, too easy, too strange.

5. She volunteered that she swam all the way across the pool to earn The Bracelet. She didn't shy away from trying for reasons I rarely grasp.

6. She told her best boy-friend that she was jealous when he "liked" a new girl -- instead of shoving him or pulling the girl's hair. In other words, she coped better than your average high school sophomore.

7. She made friends with that same girl. She looked through the emotional interference and decided the girl was...nice. 

8. Her positivity at pick-up was followed by none of the standard, always inexplicable, Total Pissiness. No meltdown over the wind coming through the windows, the volume of the radio, or our lack of plans for the afternoon. No dissecting my tone or seeing judgements where there were none. Just a little tired and a lot of happy.

9. We went to Trader Joe's, it was fun, we came home. 

10. She ate a salad.

To date, my blog's purpose has been to sort my thoughts. To say I Get It to people who experience similar frustration or bewilderment.

Today's is for people who try to know their child for their child's sake, not for their own. Who try to see their kids outside of others' expectations and outside of their own insecurities. For those who produced brilliantly difficult children, do not feel like professional parents, and second-guess their seemingly futile efforts to try something different (or try the same thing ad nauseum), wondering if they are fated to end up with the indifferent results. 

A great first day at Day Camp can be a minor thing (we have a title!). But in between all these days that have me struggling to see the bright side (and I admit it is bright, it is my lens that is too dark), great first days are truly super sun-shiny.  

Come tomorrow, tears may spill, and anxieties could drive her constant questioning of my every word. But, we still earned a lot of "fuck-yeahs" today.