Three Out of Four Daughters, and It Happened . . .

I've had daughters for almost nineteen years.  Four of them -- almost 19, 16 1/2, 12 1/2 and 5.  I've been

And then my twelve year old grew up, somewhere between June, a few months before I got the job and right after her 12th birthday, and December, before Santa arrived.  She got her own room shortly after her twelfth birthday.  She discovered her love of reading, and I could no longer pull her from a book, sometimes even for a quick lunch -- though I pushed something on her anyway.  Then she got her period, and I could sense her pulling back a bit from me.  Our nightly routine, one that had been part of our daily life for years, "best and worst", was replaced by "I'm going to bed to read, Mommy.  Good night."  We had done "best and worst" for years.  "What was the best part of your day?  What was the worst?"  It gave us 30 minutes to lay together, in her bed to gather our thoughts of the day.  She is often the child that gets caught in the middle -- not the ever busy teenagers, nor the ever-moving 5 year old.  She was becoming the uncomfortable, yet still sweet pre-teen, and I wasn't aware because slowly, over time, I became too tired to do "best and worst".  I got home at 6 PM, with a bum hip that  in needs of a replacement, trying to throw together a dinner that was hadn't been planned ahead, like they always were in the past, and inevitably did not meet the dietary needs of half our family (1/2 vegetarians, the other have true carnivores).  I would lay down at 8:30 with the five year old and fall asleep.  Before long, best and worst to pushed to the wayside, and I'm sure my 12 year old felt she too was pushed to the wayside, falling once again, through the cracks of four daughters, and two working parents trying to do too much for the wrong reasons.

She found out the tooth fairy wasn't real.  I was devastated.  And then one day, as we stood shoulder to shoulder in a thrift store, she said that her best friend no longer believed in Santa.  It was then I knew I had missed something big.  I thought I had this last Christmas, with some extra cash, to truly make it magical.  But really, I had pushed it over the edge, and forced the process before it needed to be pushed.  She's an exceptionally bright child.  She had figured it all out, and because our quiet time before bed had been mostly eliminated, I hadn't even known.  I asked her, in that moment, if she believed, and she quickly replied that she did.  But we both knew those words were empty and I was left with the questions of sitting her down and talking to her about life and what I had missed in working those short 12 hours a week, and an occasionally subbing full days.  What had missed because she went from child to almost a teen, and I was too busy to pick up the nuances I got with her older sisters.

Then the truth was revealed tonight.  She was out of sorts, and I could sense it.  She had spent the day with her absolute best friend.  They had brought their dogs together and hung out all day.  I brought her friend home and all of a sudden the mood in the dark car changed.  Her iPod went on, and it was quiet except for the chatting of her younger sister.  I tried to turn off the music so we could talk.  She said her stomach bothered her.  She asked about dinner, and she didn't like the response.  But I was stopping at the store, so she was offered an alternative.  I asked her for input for the next weeks menu.  She said there was nothing that I cooked that she liked.  I knew instantly something was not quite right, something was really wrong.  I sensed the crack that she was falling between had just gotten larger.  But, thought, we'll talk tonight.

The family watched "Elf".  With some convincing, she came and watched the last fifteen minutes.  I went up to her bed, slid in next to other, as she had her face in her pillow.  Her bed is so comfortable, with a feather bed and many cozy blankets.  I've spent many times there just laying there talking, or staying because she asked me to.  Then I asked her "Best and worst?" Her replied stunned me.  She said, "I'm too tired."  I held my hurt in because that's what we're supposed to do when we're grownups, but the inside of me wanted to break down and cry for the mistakes I had made, and the things I obviously hadn't seen that she needed.  Then she said, "This bed is getting too big for two."  Then I knew, that after spending months laying with her because she asked me to, that something had gone awry and I had missed not only the nuance, but the cinder block to the head.  Here was a child that truly needed me, and I was busy working to make Christmas "magical" when she mostly didn't believe not only Santa, but didn't believe in her mother anymore.  My heart and soul broke.  Truly, I realized that I have made a grave mistake, putting material objects and their meanings on a "special" morning, and my making extra money before my child's needs.

Is this truly the end of "best and worst" and is her bed really not big enough for two people, even for a few moments before bed?  I'm not sure.  Unfortunately, she, too, is due for her period, as I am and probably her sisters, and with four women on mostly the same cycle in one house, things can get a bit dicey at times.  But as a mother, who was totally rooted in her first two, separated a little bit from her third, and allows her five year old to "go to school" for four hours a week, I've changed.  We've changed, and I'm not sure it's for the better. 

Four daughters.  I thought mothering was what I really did well.  Certainly, I made and make mistakes.  We all do -- it's part of any job.  But I totally missed the boat on this one, and I'm hoping I can revive "best and worst", even if I can't fit into her bed.  I'm hoping I can bridge the gap I've created by working too many hours.  I'm hoping I can still reach my precious, precocious, outspoken, animal-loving young woman.  She's smart, caring, the most compassionate child I've had or known.  She's does well in school, though she's afraid to see her true worth in that area.  In truth, I've allowed her fall through the cracks.  I guess I'll be getting some emotional cement, and some strong rebar, so that this doesn't happen as strongly again.  I will always miss my "little girl".  We all miss the innocence, but the reality is inevitable.  I can only hope I can make better choices to meet her needs, whatever they are, and however the differ from her sisters.

My worst? Hearing "I'm too tired to do best and worst." and "This bed is too small for two."  My best?  Maybe realizing it soon enough to still bridge the gap and open the channels of communication, perhaps in a different form, again.