My Kids Are Super Weird

Sometimes my kids are super weird. And that makes me nervous, because before my logical thinking prevails I remember how the world treats “weird.”

I thought about that this week as I read Julián Is A Mermaid to Beckett. Jessica Love’s enchanting book is about a little boy that rides the subway with his abuela and sees women dressed as mermaids on their way to a festival.

The moment he sees them his imagination takes hold, and Julián transforms into a mermaid with flowing black, wavy locks, embraced by a current of sea creatures so enmeshed they are only identifiable by their faces and appendages. He is not just imagining being a mermaid, he is a mermaid.

They return home; and while his abuela showers, this little boy uses a lace curtain for a fin, a fern for flowing hair and a flower arrangement to create a colorful adornment of his new oceanic coif. He becomes a mermaid. His abuela finds him like this, and it happens, the “uh-oh, busted” moment. The moment where the fear and shame so often creep in.

That was the moment in the book that struck me. I know that moment, as I’m sure many parents do. That moment when we find our kids being super weird. That moment when we realize our magnificent kids are the ones that might get picked on on the playground. That moment that we worry on an intrinsic level if the world has a place for our spectacular little mermaid. Our fear for their differences manifests in a way that shows our kid something other than unconditional love for the brave work of becoming who they are.

His abuela was surprised, but she didn’t scold him for pulling down her curtain. Her response was to get her pearls to add to his costume. She helped him become a mermaid. And that is showing some unconditional love.

Perhaps that’s really my responsibility as a parent. I can’t control who my children become or how the world responds to them. Despite my deepest maternal inclination, I can’t guarantee life will be comfortable for them. I just have to have faith they will find their place in the world, and that I’ve given them the love they need now so that they can carry it forward. I think the best thing I can do today is give them my pearls for their mermaid costume.

Where's The Magic?

Where is the magic going to be?

I keep stewing over that question as I anticipate Beckett’s kindergarten year in front of the computer screen.

I’m grateful for the decisions that were made, but carpet read-alouds, science experiments, and math centers don’t happen over a screen or behind shields or six feet apart.

So where is the magic going to be?

I asked that same question four years ago as I took a trip to study some of the most magical children’s books from my childhood.

Prince Edward Island, where I discovered the island that inspired L.M. Montgomery‘s Anne of Green Gables, my childhood kindred spirit. New Hampshire, where I visited the H.A. and Margret Rey Curious George Museum; and the Morgan Hill Bookstore where I met the late Tomie dePaola. Boston, where I floated through the Public Garden like McCloskey’s Make Way for Ducklings and E.B. White’s Trumpet of the Swan. Concord, where I toured Louisa May Alcott’s Orchard House of Little Women. Amherst, where I celebrated the art of illustration at the Carle Museum. Springfield, where I played with Yertle the Turtle with Beckett and studied Theodor Geisel at the Seuss Museum and Sculpture Garden. New York City, where I dined at the Plaza for an “Eloise” tea, searched for Stuart Little in Central Park, gorged on a Harry Potter-themed pasta dinner in Williamsburg and retraced my steps for Knuffle Bunny in Park Slope. Only to land back in Greensboro, where I somehow did not collapse in disappointment from my experience.

This trip reminded me of something that serves me so well today as I prepare for this next phase of Covid-life. The magic is everywhere. These authors exemplified adventure, mischief, courage, heartache and joy, and they did it from their own imperfect lives. These authors lived through wars, pandemics, loss, abandonment, rejection and they still brought us the magic. They gave it to us through a curious monkey, a hungry caterpillar, a six-year-old girl at the Plaza, a cat with a striped hat, a good witch in Italy and an orphaned boy who learns he’s a wizard. When the trip was over I didn’t collapse in disappointment, but I was reminded that there’s always room to bring the magic.