That year that's one more than five

Or... Bringing up girls beyond Pride and Prejudice

If you don't like reading my 'personal posts' then just click on one of my links now, because this one is all about ME, baby. Or, more precisely, all about Emile, my baby. (But really, it's not ALL about either of us, as usually happens around here. Don't say I didn't warn you that this has very little to do with writing though.)

If you're one of my CB friends, you may be familiar with my goals for May. For instance, you might know that I have a particular goal in mind concerning this very blog. You may also know that I am trying to embody the "Carpe Diem!" attitude, trying very hard to accept each and every single moment for exactly what it is - an exquisitely precious gift that should not be taken for granted. If you're not a CB and didn't know those things before, I just told you, so now you're all caught up to everyone else.

Our lives are so full of "moments", seemingly inconsequential snippets of time that have been tagged in our minds with a big, blinking light, to signify that "something BIG, or IMPORTANT, or LIFE-CHANGING happened right here, so don't forget this one!" Normally, we record those things from each "moment" that make an impression on us personally, a particular ocean smell or a screeching bird sound, the way the light catches something and creates a prism, ten feet of snow on the ground, the perfect blend of taste and texture of something on your tongue. Each recording is a very personal thing, unique to each person, singular in scope, never able to be duplicated, even on film. That's why no two people ever remember an event in precisely the same manner, because each personal memory, each recording, will vary, depending on what specific things in the environmental setting combined to pique the interest of any particular person. No two people will have the same group of things that arouse their senses in exactly the same way, as each person brings their own group of pleasures and prejudices into every situation.

It sometimes takes days, or even months and sometimes years, to be able to recall a specific "moment" as momentous, to pinpoint it in our minds and get the correct "This is BIG" tag attached to it. I mentioned this a bit when I talked about those "Ah-ha!" moments that we have, didn't I? Sometimes though, if you're very lucky, you recognize those moments while they are happening. You get a glimpse of a certain truth, or something very like it, at the exact moment that it happens. That was me, very early this morning.

Lest you think that those moments cannot happen on a regular day, to a regular person, let me assure you that you are mistaken. I came in from work earlier than usual, with Shane right on my heels. We got our requisite hugs from the children, and settled in to watch a movie that has been sitting on the shelf, unopened, for a few weeks. The boys were playing one of their gaming stations, the girls were gathered for the movie. The two youngest snuggled next to and between Shane and I on the couch, while the eldest took her favorite chair and the second grabbed blanket and pillow and curled up next to the couch. It wasn't long before the three younger ones were asleep. After the movie, Shane headed to bed. As typically happens, the eldest asked me to watch 'just one more movie' with her. This is our special thing, our very own time that is stolen form the world that we inhabit, with so many other children demanding so much from both of us. We've carved out our own little island where we can go and enjoy the quiet, but it comes only on occasion, and only, usually, around 2am.

She picked the newest version of Pride and Prejudice to watch, the one that actually was responsible for her reading the book. In this house, if you want to see a movie that is based on a classic, you must first read the classic. (It works beautifully. For instance, did you know that "10 Things I Hate About You" is based on Shakespeare, as is "She's The Man"? And most Brit chick-flicks, a big fave on our house, are based on Jane Austen books. And the genius of Tolstoy and Lewis go far beyond what was shown on the screen. It's true. Check it out for yourself if you don't believe me!) We've watched this particular movie many times, have most of the lines memorized (especially the ones that are taken verbatim from the book), and even sigh at the same parts.

Last night though, she must have been very exhausted. She fell asleep shortly after it started. I thought about gently waking up all four of my sleeping beauties and sending them off to bed, but something stopped me. My mental camera was at work, recording my life, as is usual. But it hit "Pause" as I glanced around the room, and it automatically tagged what it was seeing as "Something BIG". Thankfully, I was paying attention, and I didn't have to wait years to see what my heart and mind saw so clearly.

While that movie was playing itself out on our big screen, I was sitting on my couch in the hours right before dawn, surrounded by the four most incredibly wonderful young women in the world. It was the first day of a big change, for me especially, but also for one of them. You see, my baby is officially that year that is one more than five today. And early this morning, in the quiet hours that make up that time best used for meditation and reflection and prayer, I was in the midst of all of them on this most special of days.

She will no longer be able to count her years on one hand. Ouch. That still stings to admit it. It's not like it was when the oldest reached this milestone, almost 9 years ago. I was excited for her, joyous to watch her grow into the amazing young woman that she is today.

Those days, so long ago, when she went from infant to toddler, then from toddler to child, and even from child to teenager, were days of celebration, for both of us. We rejoiced in her journey towards adulthood, in her advancing years, in the quest that she's made to become even more independent. I feel like we've become friends, united in the goal of seeing her reach her majority, to strike out on her own and carve her very own way, the way that oldest daughters are meant to do. I remember that yearning, that desire, to get out there and start 'living'. I see that in her eyes, and I want to help her get there. So when the calendar advances and adds yet another year to her, I accept it, mostly. Yes, there is still the gasp in my throat when I realize that my oldest is *gasp* almost 15, that this time next year she will have been driving, in a car, on the road, for almost 6 months. That in just a few years she will leave me, head off to start her own set of adventures, armed with only the lessons that she has learned from me and her very own dreams. Sure, those heart-wrenching moments still happen with the oldest, but for the most part, I keep them silenced, if only because I refuse to dim that light that is glowing in her eyes at the thought of living.

It's a totally different story when I think of my baby though. The baby, that gorgeous creature that you see at the top of this post, is simply not supposed to get older. She's not. It has got to go against some fundamental law of the universe. She is supposed to stay this sweet age, this FIVE age, for the rest of her life, frozen in time as the perfect blend of sass and innocence. She is not supposed to get older, and grow bigger, reaching almost eye-level with her older sister (the one that is now that *gasp* SEVEN age!). She knows words now, big words and sometimes not nice words. I believe she uttered the not-so-hysterical words "dirty" and "bastard" in sequence last week, and I believe it was intentional. Where did she hear those words used together, and why does she think it sounds funny enough to use in the 'chips' aisle of the grocery store during a shopping expedition? I almost fainted, then wanted to cry, then felt like screaming. Is that rational? To be honest, the hysterical part took over. I tried to remain stern when I explained that those were not nice words, and should not be used by someone that is the FIVE age, and really shouldn't even be used by someone that is the THIRTY-FIVE age (not that anyone in our house is that age. Yet.). But I'll admit it - I laughed when I said it, and the Cannon in my head went "Click. Tag. File." And that moment has been properly documented as "Big", thankyouverymuch. She didn't know those words last year, and I shudder to think of the words she will add to her ever-expanding vocabulary by next year.

So this morning, before my house stirred, I stretched out on my couch with my baby wrapped snuggly in my arms. The other three were scattered in various poses around the room, all actually close enough for me to reach out and touch. They were all enmeshed in the land of dreams, fighting dragons or picking flowers, eating chocolate or driving cars. I don't know what was in each of their minds as I lay there watching them sleep. I only know that as I glanced around the room, I felt this incredible joy spread through my body, this lightness around my heart.

In this crazy world full of people that do terrible things to each other, where people die, or leave us, or hurt us, or hate us, in this insane world where each day could be full of fear, I've been given this extraordinary gift. I have been entrusted with these four female souls, to guide and shape and pass the torch of womanhood. To entrust with the secrets of a sisterhood that goes beyond the simple bonds of blood, straight to the soul, a membership into a club that counts half the population of the world among its members. Being a woman is a wonderful thing, a sometimes frightening thing. And it is my job to teach these four amazing creatures how to do it, and do it well. It's daunting, I can assure you. Much different than raising sons is the task of raising daughters. I feel a much different sort of pressure to get things right with my girls. For often, the foibles of boys are overlooked for quite a while. They make mistakes, but so often it is the young girls that must pay the actual price of live with the consequences of those mistakes. Though I do not agree with that aspect of society and I hope to raise my boys to be different, I'm raising my girls to know those differences and to see beyond them.

There is a line in the movie, where Elizabeth is talking to her mother about marriage. Elizabeth says something like "Is that really all you think about?" Her mother replies something like "When you have five daughters, tell me what else will occupy your thoughts, and then you'll understand." That line always makes me pause, but it stopped me cold this morning. Mrs. Bennet uttered those words, and I glanced around the room at the sleeping beauties within reach, and I realized how far we've come, but how far we still have to go.

I made the choice, at 18, to join the Navy. I've lived all over the country, and outside of the country. I've seen Egypt and the UAE. I've ridden a camel in Oman and drank apple tea in Turkey. I've danced on cobblestone streets in Crete and seen a mosque in Trieste. I've eaten Greek food in the Latin Quarter of Paris, and walked through an outdoor market in Marseilles. I've tossed a coin into the Trevi Fountain in Rome, eaten pizza next to the Leaning Tower in Pisa, and sat in a piazza drinking cappuccinos across from the David in Florence. I did this because my mother passed her gypsy blood directly to me when I was still in her womb, and I embraced that life. That was my choice. I knew I had the choice to make, and I made it. I saw life, I breathed it, inhaled it, embraced it, in so many places and in so many ways. Then I saw another way to live, different things to want, and I carved out a new life, in a house on a hill with babies all around me.

I see my daughters not as burdens to get rid of, as people whose lives I must plan, but as extensions of me, adventures waiting to happen. We no longer live in a society where the best that we can hope for our girl children is that they will eventually come to enjoy the company of their husband. They are not burdens to be lifted by an available, and preferably rich, man. To me, having a daughter is one of the greatest blessings this universe has ever bestowed upon me. To think that I have been blessed four times over is amazing. I don't think of them as burdens to be lifted, but as gifts to be enjoyed. The times, our very culture, has expanded to the point where a daughter no longer means bills until you find someone else to take over the expenses of her existence. My girls are being raised to expect, even demand, that their goals be attained, that their hopes be met, that their dreams be made reality. They are being equipped with knowledge and courage and grace and mercy and fun and sparkle, so that they can venture forth into the world and make their own way. I love that they are so adventurous, so bold and brave.

But darn it all - why does the baby have to be, on this very day, that year that is one more than five? Couldn't she wait, just one more day, to conquer the world?
And I just had to share what she did when I asked her how she was going to show her age when she was that one number that is one bigger than ten. Priceless, I tell ya!