Eva

My girl turns four years old today.

I find myself frustrated at her tears and her whining, then I melt when she kisses me on the cheek with the sweetest kiss in recorded history.

I roll my eyes at her obsession with all things princess (dear God in heaven, why?!), then can't help getting out my camera to record the adorable tea parties she sets up on a daily basis in her bedroom. (A koala with pink polka dot underwear on its head sitting next to a Rapunzel doll? Yes. Batman arriving at the party in a convertible with the Joker in the back seat? Yes. Did I mention that the Joker was carrying a pink purse?)

She notices small bits of beauty. They catch her eye as I try to rush her along, and she slows me down so I can delight in the moment with her.  A crescent moon becomes "A slice of onion floating in the sky."

She is quick to evaluate things and state her opinion with all the vigor of a TV reality show judge:
Someone has morning breath? "Ug! Something smells like a RACCOON in here!"

Tasting a dinner roll? "I can't eat this. It tastes like paint!"

First sip of fruit punch at her cousin's preschool? "This tastes like BEER!"

She spins around the house in sparkly princess gowns and little girl heels, and I can't relate.

When I was a girl, I loved getting dirty in the great outdoors. I'd dig holes, build forts, play catch, ride my bike. I was inspired by strong heroines who saved the day, not pretty princesses dancing and drinking tea. More Katniss Everdeen, less Cinderella.

Somehow my own view of womanhood has caused me to belittle the way my daughter sees the world. I label her love of femininity as shallow or foolish. I want her to be strong and brave and independent, and I think I am afraid that as a stereotypical princess-y girl she will be obsessed with appearance and superficiality. That she will not be attracted to the poor, sick or unlovely. That I won't be able to relate to her.

I recently read a book that splashed cold water in my face. I suddenly realized that Eva is unique and beautiful and her way of seeing the world is valuable. For me to roll my eyes or belittle that is to say that only my personal opinion of womanhood has value. If beautiful dresses and elegant little tea parties and princesses bring my daughter joy, who am I to try to change that?

I am doing my best to bite my tongue and truly celebrate Eva and her interests. My plans for an adorable "Goldilocks and the Three Bears" birthday party acquiesced to her desire for a princess party. I think you would be proud of me if you saw the cake and invitations she picked out. I was proud of myself as I filled my shopping cart with tiaras and wands and pink and purple balloons.

This may seem silly, but it was an important step for me. This princess stage will probably soon pass, but I want to do everything I can to know and value my daughter for who she really is. And if that means I need to wear a tiara, then so be it!

Happy birthday, my sweet girl. Mommy loves you.

Let it Ring

I snuggled with my boys and watched a few video clips the other day to give them a small idea of life in segregated America. Specifically, what life was like for African Americans during this time.

We saw signs that were part of everyday life - hung in businesses and on fences around town. Signs that then were as common as street signs, but today make us draw back in disgust when we see them.

Whites only.
Colored entrance.
Colored riders to the back of the bus.

Pompously sanctioned racism, keeping white people safe and separate.

From what?

We learned about the Little Rock Nine- nine brave teenagers who went to school. And were attacked by angry mobs of crazies. And were forced away from school by the National Guard. And were rebuked by the Governor.

The demeanor of these students was shocking to me. They looked so dignified and strong as they walked towards the school steps. I almost expected to see the frothing mob fall mute in shame in the face of this silent righteousness. But they were blinded by hatred. Their special status and rights were being threatened, and nothing else mattered.

This hate slammed from fire hoses into students. And attacked students with German Shepherds. And arrested peaceful protesters. And mocked and spit and screamed and beat and marginalized and de-humanized.

I couldn't help crying as I held my son on my lap and watched these few moments of history. I cried with shame and anger, but I wanted my boys to see. See what our great country was like, just a few years ago. See what hatred looks like. See what WE are capable of.

"But one hundred years later (after the Emancipation Proclamation), we must face the tragic fact that the Negro is still not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize an appalling condition."

Then, I began to hear new words. Words like black brothers and sisters. And white brothers and sisters. And love. And dream.

"But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred."

We saw white people and black people walking together, holding hands and signs with new messages that spoke truth to power. I cried again when we saw a father lifting his son up onto his shoulders to see the peaceful revolution.

"I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state, sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character."

When the words of Martin Luther King, Jr rang out over the sea of faces, it was almost too much to bear.

"This is our hope. This is the faith with which I return to the South. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."

And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!

Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California!

But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

Amen.

Saturday

Nick's cousin was getting married on Saturday, an adults-only affair at the posh Weaver Ridge. (It must be The Year of Love for Nick's cousins, as THREE of them are getting married within five months; but I digress...)

We got all spiffed up, split the four kids between two babysitters and raced off to the wedding. I am hard wired to be punctual, so I could feel my heart beating a bit faster as I watched the dashboard clock and realized we'd be arriving at the wedding at approximately the same time as the wedding party began walking down the aisle.

We quickly found a parking spot, grabbed our gift from the trunk and ran across the parking lot in the rain. A large crowd of people were packed inside, waiting for the rain to stop falling...because, of course, it was an outdoor wedding.

We didn't recognize anyone, but thought maybe the people we saw were from the groom's side of the family. When we finally asked, it turned out to be a different wedding party and we were pointed down the hall to the "other wedding".

Guess what?! That wasn't our wedding, either.

We finally located the owner of WR, who took us to his office, scanned his calender and kindly pointed out that Nick's cousin was getting married NEXT Saturday.

If you only knew how Type A organized I am, you would be laughing as hysterically as Nick and I were. The owner invited us down to the bar and gave us drinks on the house for our "inconvenience", which turned this funny, crazy day into a legitimate DATE! We sat at the bar, in nice clothes, drinking free drinks. It was awesome.

Now we're all practiced up for NEXT Saturday!