To be 5

Clara's birthday is coming up.  She's been counting the days and reminding me everyday.  She's already rehearsed the celebration plan several times, perhaps because she is worried I'll pull together a last minute surprise party and unlike Maryanna, Clara is not one for loud surprises.  While she is dreaming through the days until she is six I am simply savoring the innocence and sweetness of her still being 5, because 5 is a magic age.

Because when you are 5 the world is magic and you have the gift of reminding that to the rest of the world around you..........even me, a sometimes frazzled mother.  When you are 5 you see more flowers, fruits and blossoms than weeds.  And if you do see those really nasty weeds (like the ones over your head) it is a joy because now there is another place to hide, and anything that flowers is a flower to her.  More than anything it is the flowers that calls her to the garden, those are her flowers, she planted them and has permission to pick them whenever she wants, barefoot, still in her nightgown, with her stuffed cow still in arms........just at sunrise before anyone else is awake.

At first I thought I may have seen a ghost, through the foggy kitchen widow, that little flash of white tipped toed right passed me as I, still fixed in my adult mind, stewed over a list of the day's to do's and a steamy pot of oatmeal. And recognizing her presence there in her nightgown in the early dew and flowers was like waking up for a second time that morning.  And so I joined her......and where in the world did she find those scissors? I've been looking all over for them! Oh how hard it is for me to hold that magic space.

I can't tell her what to do in this space because this is her special place.  It didn't surprise her that the flowers came up "oh course they did, I worked really hard at it and so did the sun".

"I like how pretty they are and it is fun to pick them and bring them inside and I like how they look and....... I always watch the sunrise with you mommy because the sky is so pretty and watching the sunrise makes me happy..........when I'm five it is easy to be happy."

Her nightgown is dew soaked from dancing, and so are my toes from following her trail.  I'm thinking about that pot of oatmeal on the stove and wondering who is screaming inside, we better hurry.  But wait!  "Sister in the bushes is calling" she informs me, we read all about her in The Seven Year Old Wonder Book.  And it is a wonder, this cover crop of buckwheat, even easier to grow than weeds.  And I am told that the leaves look like hearts and this is exactly where "Sister in the bushes" prefers to hide.  This is a magic place, where both the weeds and time are stilled.

The weather is changing.  Instead of a bathing suit or sundress she now decorates herself for fall.  She  dances in the wind and drops each piece like scattered leaves, all. around. the house.  Someone please remind me, quick do your magic little 5 year old girl, turn me back from feeling like a monster and into a gentle mommy again.  And dancing in the kitchen will do it every time.

You wear it all well, your big heart and spirit and I am melted.

How about the work we do together?  I didn't know there were "outfits for stirring".  "Please don't make too big of a mess" I urge her, why am I struggling to find the fun in this?  Why do I spoil such beautiful moments with thoughts of how (and when) am I going to clean this up?

She quickly brings me back, "stirring makes my arm hurt but I still like it. I like to taste test it.  It tastes yummy because Hank said I'm a tomato picker and Hank is my friend and neighbor.  I like tomato sauce best with pasta and a spoon, even when it burns my tongue".............Perhaps I could do every task with a costume and such a smile, even when I might hurt my arm or burn my tongue?

Is it my purpose to teach her of my world or is it her purpose to remind me of hers? You know the world of a 5 year old little girl is a balmy place, it is where the whole world flowers, every rock is special and everyday conversations are expressed in gentle song.

Together with our family at Pointe Betsie I called to her because we were in a moment where our two worlds collided, of course they did, I was on vacation. "Clara, look!  the sun is setting", she casually replied, "I know, I like watching the sun rise and fall both the same, it is pretty and it happens two times a day and it is special".

I ask her if I can take a pretty picture of her in the light of the setting sun.  She answers me with a quick shift in demeanor and a sassy smirk and pose, as if to say, "no way mom, there is so much more to me than being pretty".

She liked cooking the s'mores on the beach with our family that night and especially liked snuggling with Poppy when it got cold.  I try one more time just as the sun slowly crept towards the water.  "Clara, let me take your picture in front of the setting sun".  This time her pose answered boldly....."oh Mom, you poor adult, you try way too hard, let me show you everyone has a shadow side".

Instantly after the click she was back to dancing and smiling. She suggested this rock also deserved its photo taken in the light of the setting sun. And so I clicked in a quest to discover the secrets of living in a 5 year old world.  After reviewing the photo I am told, "it kind of looks like a heart, can you see it?" Kind of, I suppose I'm almost there, or back to where I may have been over 30 years ago. 

Again, to her the whole world flowers, every rock is special and even the most everyday conversations are expressed in gentle song.  

While dressing her dolls this morning I caught glimpses and mixes of familiar lyrics set to a self composed tune:

"just like a spoonful of sugar, 

I'm following the train of your thoughts, 

and I like to see you too, forever with you." 

Hearing her sing is like watching the sunrise, it reminds me to slow down, be gentle with myself and be gentle with others as well.  She is usually one of the first ones up in the mornings, she likes to burrow under our covers and snuggling close she invites me to brush the hair behind her ears, she loves that.  

She is a wonder to me, and being the first one she greets in the morning and the last face in her eyes at night, I suppose I am a wonder to her as well.  At night she begs me not to read a story but to tell a story, one about "Rosie" the bendable bear and "Little Mermaid" the bendable rabbit going to the circus.  And then in turn I sing to each of the girls a special song, preferring a mix of familiar tunes to self composed lyrics.  I am not a singer but they have never once scolded me when I was off tune, only they request "again?" 

As I offer kisses and hugs I realize I am their sunset and sunrise as they are mine.  What a gift we are to each other, and what a gift it is to live and learn along side a wondering child of any age, even 36. Because every year is magic when you live in wonder and have the gift of reminding that to others.