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.

High Rise Glorious...Birthday Cake

 

There was a book that always made my mom cry when I was a kid.

Which was peculiar, because those of you that know my mom know that she doesn’t cry. The High Rise Glorious Skittle Skat Roarious Sky Pie Angel Food Cake. Written by Nancy Willard, this book with a bewildering title tells of a child that makes a cake for her mother’s birthday from a recipe her eccentric grandmother created many years before. Upon finding the recipe, this magical tale unfolds into a late night baking adventure, with the interference of some eclectic angels. The little girl learns that the secret ingredient is writing E-V-O-L into the flour sprinkled on the counter, which seems to unlock the magic.

I was reminded of this book while Beckett and I were baking Oliver’s first birthday cake. We have become vegan in the last year, so birthday cakes are a little challenging to come by, and good vegan birthday cakes are especially challenging to come by. But, Beckett’s enthusiasm for, well, anything is enough to overpower any doubt, so bake an eggless, dairy-free birthday cake we did.

Once the counter was strewn with flour and flax seed and almond milk and not-really-cream-cheese-frosting, I was taken by the overwhelming urge to tell Beckett to stir slowly so the flour didn’t erupt over the bowl or spread the sprinkles out so they aren’t all piled up in the middle of the cake. My perfectionism took hold, as it often wants to do, and I felt so stressed in the chaos of the moment. Apparently I thought Oliver would care that the cake wasn’t evenly sprinkled as he shoved fistfulls into his teeny, six-toothed mouth.

As the stress of this messy venture unfolded, that picture book that made my mom cry came flashing back to me. I teared up, just as my mom did when I was a child. I realized she probably had the same moment all those years ago, the moment of realizing our best times are when we write love in an unusual way all over a messy venture. So, I took a deep breath, smiled at Beckett and stepped back as he whacked frosting at the cake with the spatula. He had written love all over this skittle skat roarious cake for his baby long before I did.

I got the flour off the floor later. E-V-O-L.