...and the battle rages...

Photos courtesy of Bing.com

There are times in parenting when the girl child tries to face down the mother and uses every defiant eye-roll, planted arms on hips, face forward, and shrill voice known in the little girl armory.

What should have been a normal, “Okay, Mom.  I’ll put that away right now!”,  becomes a shouting match. 

Angry Little Girl

Then there is a lot more yelling, some chasing, running upstairs, and more yelling only more shrill. 

The next minutes get all blurry because they happen at super-fast speed: 

You can't make me!

Girl gets hoisted up in a football carry; 

·                  Girl grabs the door frame with both hands;

No, I won't.                                

          Mother pries the hands loose; 

·                  Mother drops girl on the bed;

·                   Girl screams acidic defiance and insults; 

                  Mother threatens spanking; 

·            Girl grips the twin bed with both hands, hurling a final volley of unintelligible insults; 

       

  Mother rolls the girl over and gives one good swat;

·      Mother leaves screeching girl in room;

·         and, the door slams. 

Thirty years ago, I dealt with my own little shrieking girl, who is yet to be a mother herself.  

 Now my other adult daughter has her own little harpy girl to contend in  hand-to-hand battle.   

I feel badly for her.  

I have had it with you!

 I must confess, however, that as all this battle royal went down, I was sweeping the kitchen floor with my eyes averted and a smile on my face. 

What I Saw on the Drive Home

Scraped clean and clear, the sky shimmered overhead.   

Unseen hands had scooped up the clouds and piled them in white mounds over the eastern mountains.   

Water or....

The highway turned from gray to vibrating mirror in the distance.   

The eucalyptus leaves hung low, weeping in the heat, 

 

while the oak trees hugged the ground tightly.   

Not a single bird or bug tested the hot winds, perhaps waiting for the sun to retreat from its scorching.   

California wildfires

The brown hills invite fire to sweep from east to west, eating up the clouds and the trees. 

 

August, you are such a harsh task-master.

Let's keep on playing!

I remember the day I stopped being a kid.  It is as clear in my mind as a crystal ball.

It was the beginning of August, and I was ten years old.  Mom’s newest “Redbook” magazine had arrived and I was reading a short story.  It was hot, the kind of heat that sapped whatever energy one has left in a hot afternoon.  I was sitting in my grandfather’s old rocker, a big burgundy leather rocker that wraps around the sitter and makes it hard to summon the will to stand up. The living room was darker, now that the sun had moved over to the west side of the house.

That was when my brother Robert came in the house to get a drink of water.  He was dripping sweat.  Our youngest brother Bill was on the porch and wanting us to come out to play ‘spies’.  Robert wandered into the room and looked down at me. 

I could feel him, smell him.  I was furious at him for teasing me that morning when we were chasing each other.  He had long fast legs, and I had short legs that ran like they were stuck in mud.  I was furious because I always was the 'bad guy', the one who got shot & died, the one who got tagged. So, I ignored him, let him stand there glaring down at me.

“Whatcha doin’, Sis?”

“Reading, that is what I am doing.”

“Wanta come out and play ‘spies’ with me and Bill?”

That was the pivotal moment, that one right there. 

I didn’t even look up at him.  I sniffed, and turned a page in the magazine.  “I’m too old to play ‘spies’ anymore.  I am too old to play at all.” 

Robert waited and waited, expecting me to jump any moment, and take off running.  Then, he turned and left the room.  I heard the screen door slam, and heard him tell Bill that I wasn’t going to play anymore.

A few days later, I got up in the morning and found the signs of my first menstruation.  I ran downstairs and told Mom, who showed me what to do.  ‘I guess I really am grown-up’ I mused. 

But, at this time period of my life, I want to go back to that pivotal moment and change it.  I want to say, “Sure!  Let’s play ‘spies’ and I get to be Natasha!”  I want to tell Robert, “I’m sorry—I stopped the game too early!  I want to keep playing!  I was wrong!”

If only I had looked into that crystal ball and seen ahead.  If only the game never ended.  If only we had run and chased long into the night.  If only....