jennethink: I LEARN ... JUST NOT QUICKLY

Now hold your horses. I’m okay. Before everyone (Mom) goes freaking out about my overwhelmed post please understand that I am a woman of extremes and what is true one day isn’t necessarily true the next day and this reality is just delightful for The Hub. It’s like living with a puppy … that occasionally eats little children.

Today is another day. And with another day comes different feelings. The overwhelms are still hanging around but they are somewhat embarrassed for being so showy and attention-seeking yesterday. Today they are minding their own business quietly sorting socks in the corner of my mind. Hmm humm. Nothing to see here. On your way now.

And all of this reminds me of a story. (Really? Something reminded you of a story? Gee, today IS different).

A week or so ago I was tucking The Kid into bed when she began to tell me about some goings on at school. Slightly tormented, she shared in great detail who and how and what happened. I won’t post the details here because I haven’t asked for permission but I will say I was hoping the typical school-aged girl-on-girl meanness wouldn’t start until much, much later. I'm shocked nearly daily at how different school is for The Kid than it was for me. When I was 9, I was still hugging my teachers hello and goodbye and barely able to recite the alphabet. At the same age, The Kid uses War and Peace as a discussion starter and is part of a social circle so complicated I feel like I’m neck-deep in a game of dungeons and dragons … with lip gloss.

Anyway, as she shared what she was feeling and why she was feeling it, it struck me what a difference a day makes. I knew in my heart and soul that things would look different in the morning. I knew the next day at school would be better. I knew … KNEW … the trials of Monday were just that – Monday’s. Tuesday would be different. But how to tell her? How to validate what she was feeling and still give her a ray of hope? How to listen and convey a complete and total understanding and not downplay while somehow also communicating that hey, kiddo, things aren’t so bad, you’ll see. It’s impossible. So I reached way back into my memory and channeled my grandmother and said,

“I know you don’t believe me right now, but things always look better in the morning.” Then I kissed the top of her head that was buried in my chest, and added, “And if they don’t … well, we can handle that too.”

It wasn’t much. But it was all I had.

I got a phone call the next day. With delight The Kid told me what a great day she’d had at school. She shared no details but just said, “You were right as usual!” and I quietly said a prayer of thanks to my grandmother, my God, whomever, for bailing me out once again. For giving me whatever bit of wisdom I needed in the moment to comfort a sad little girl. For showing me that despite a 30 year span, That Kid and I really aren’t all that different.

Things really do look better in the morning.