There was a commercial from the 1980’s – “I
learned it from watching you,” it was when Say No to Drugs became America’s
anthem. The commercial featured an angry father discovering his teenaged son
was getting high, and the kid’s response was, well, “I learned it from watching
you.” Dad gets high, kid gets high. Do as I say, not as I do.
Kid Rock wants long, brown hair like her
Mama. She always has. She loves to wear my heels in the dining room, so she
clicks on the hardwood floor. She prefers her lipgloss very, very dark. Make it noticeable! She pleads. She sets
her alarm extra early so during the week, she can lay on the bathroom rug near
my feet as I get ready for my day. It’s here with her at my feet I realized the
opportunity I have to teach her well. After I’ve busted my ass at the gym
pre-dawn and just before coffee, it’s there in those moments she trusts me and
loves me most. She taught me that in order to teach her, I have to trust myself
and love myself most. So instead of studying my profile in those awful bathroom
lights, looking for the things – and there are always things – I despise,
abhor, and possibly hate, I love, accept, and appreciate. She’s learning it
from watching me.
Mothering a girl is by far my greatest gift
and absolute privilege. Each day over the past seven-and-a-half years, I’ve
rejoiced in that fact. It’s scary as hell. The future is terrifying. I was
talking to a friend a few weeks ago who has younger siblings, and she asked if
mothering is like that, going into freak-out Mama Bear mode at their defense. I
said well, yes. Kind of. What the Dad and I agreed to do somewhere along the
line is empower her. To teach her well, and then let her do it on her own.
Because that’s the way this is built. Parenthood. We’ve never been helicopter
parents, or rescue parents. When pushed on the subject matter, I’ll admit I
might baby her too much, whereas the Dad admits he holds her to too high of a
standard. After all, she’s only seven. After all, she IS seven and she’s
empowered. We can’t be on the bus with her, the hallways, art class, or the
playground. She has to know how to navigate that on her own. I love her
stories, her indignations. What she deems unfair. How she defends her people.
She’s a storm trooper already and I suppose I’m waiting for the principal to
call. If you empower them, realize all that might encompass. She might throw a
punch. Throw a can of paint. Throw a party.
One of my favorite quotes (and I am a word
junkie) is, “We must be our own before we can be another’s”, by Ralph Waldo
Emerson. In motherhood, I’ve taken that to mean – I have to take care of myself
first, before I can successfully do that for my daughter. It was a hard
transition, almost fighting against nature, when I realized I had to be my own
before I could be hers. Because childhood is fleeting. 18 years is not a lot of
time. Yes, I’ll be her Mama forever, but 18 is sort of the expiration. What
would happen to me after that? What if I spent two decades not being my own?
What would the shell of me look like? Teach them well.
Since she was born, I’ve traveled. I spent
the first 7 years of her life kissing her goodbye more often sometimes, than I
felt I was kissing her hello. I joined clubs and boards and teams – all
obligations that while taking me away from her, in a sense, would make me my
own. I maintained precious friendships and date nights and girls’ weekends and
road trips and projects. I choose my freedoms and expressions of fashion
including green extensions, a roadmap of tattoos, a nose ring more than a
decade old. But you’re someone’s mom.
But I’m this girl, first. I showed
Kid Rock it’s impossible to physically be in two places at once – like a
conference in Miami Beach and parent-teacher conferences, but spiritually and
soulfully, it’s not impossible. I worked two jobs for years, missing more
bedtimes and the sweet, sleepy routines than I made. I missed practices,
presentations, celebrations, milestones. In reality, I missed nothing. I began
a new career I’m incredibly passionate about, but removed the flexibility I had
to favor her. I skip a lot of early weekend wake-ups with a warm, heat-seeking
missile of kid so I can train for things that are important to me, to make her
proud and inspire her to never be too afraid to try anything. The better I am,
the better she is.
Together in the bathroom each morning, we
love, we highlight, and we celebrate.
Teach them well.
