I had an important moment this week. It’s got nothing to do with writing, so no big announcements. This was bigger and something I will never forget.
My daughter used to ask me to play “party games” this was her way of saying, “Will you play dollies with me?”
We’d set up a tea party with proper little girl china that resembled a set my grandmother had given me. Our two guests, Dolly and Baby, were always in attendance.
This is us with Dolly. The photographer asked my daughter to set her doll down. I told him that wasn’t necessary since Dolly was a part of our family. At the time, it was true.
Then one day she stopped asking to play “party games”. We just played. I tear up now because I cannot recall the last time she asked in her squeaky voice. It sounds silly, I know. But she became a big girl overnight, and my little girl who didn’t go anywhere without Dolly and Baby, didn’t need them anymore.
Now she paints her own nails, has a crush on Mr. GQ next door, and God help me… she says, “Like, Oh my God!” constantly. And let me tell you, she can Valley Girl like a boss.
I miss party games. I miss her hand automatically reaching for my hand where it belonged.
My six year old son had his first Cub Scouts meeting the other night. He was all ready to go, so proud of himself and so eager to do big boy stuff. We were almost ready to leave and he came running to me.
“Mommy? Am I still going to be able to sit on your lap and you sing me that song about the horses? And can we still play Patty Cake?”
“Of course! Why wouldn’t we?”
“Because I’m going to be a big boy now.”
I thought of party games and then he asked…
“Can we play Patty Cake before I go?”
We did. His smile was wide and “big boy” toothless. I drew a J for Jack, and he giggled when I tickled him. I wonder how many more of these moments we will share– him wanting so desperately to be a big boy while trying to hold on to being a little boy, my boy.
I waited until I was alone and cried like the big baby I am. That was my very important moment. And unlike party games, it’s committed to memory.
Now we have vampire themed birthday parties.
We go for mani/Pedi’s (her color choice)
Last Halloween we were zombies. She was Superstar Zombie & I was Tired Mommy Zombie.
Here we are as Hulks. I’m Eating People’s Head Hulk apparently.
I’ve graduated from always being Jean Grey or Mary Jane and needing to be rescued. I’m Storm, Pepper, or Black Widow now and able to contribute to the defeat of Magneto, Venom, Dr. Doom, and the Hulk. We also work my daughter’s Monster High dolls in. Usually putting on a sing/dance show.
I pretend to be interested in Minecraft and the endless rooms inside the buildings. That crap makes me dizzy and I have thoughts about stabbing my eyeballs.
My Gymboree / Mini Boden matchy, matchy clothes obsession for my daughter is dead and buried. Replaced with Justice and Justice and more Justice.
My point is that life goes on. It won’t be long before they want nothing to do with me other than a ride or money. So for now, while they still think I’m cool and my son still wants to marry me, I’m never going to let something like party games slip through my fingers again.
That said, letting go is hard. Too hard sometimes.