Since Willy passed, I've made a concerted effort to spend more time with Grant and Gabby. Turns out, they are rather used to operating independently and don't always appreciate me "hovering." I'm learning how to operate in that grey area where you parent them, are there for them, plan activities with them and give them their alone time as well.
This past Friday, Ted and I took Gabby up to the Isabella County Fair. Ted's son, William, and his daughter, Elizabeth, both had entries in the fair. William entered some beautiful artwork for which he received an "A" ribbon and Elizabeth had artwork ("A" ribbon), an original composition on the piano in the talent show (Grand Champion), and she also received the Chester Brown Leadership award. In between different fair activities, Gabby and I spent some fun mother-daughter time together riding the rides and seeing the sights.
Before she rode any rides, she nervously walked around the midway considering all the different options. I could tell her wheels were turning. Part of her wanted to just jump in with both feet and ride ALL the rides. Part of her was holding back cautiously. We started on the Ferris Wheel which was a big hit.
Riding the Ferris Wheel gave her a little courage so we hit the big swings next. You know, those ones that fly high up in the air? Yeah, those. By the time we were in the middle of the second ride my stomach was not happy with me. But she wasn't ready to ride anything alone.
Next up was this teal and purple spinny thing. I knew there was a good chance I was going to puke if I went on it but she was so excited, yet not ready to go on her own. She grabbed my arm and dragged me to the line. We sat tight next to each other, squeezed in by the metal arm that kept us from falling out and becoming a grass pancake. I didn't vomit but when that thing slowed down and started back up backwards I had to fight to keep it together. Gabby, of course, loved it.
Next up was this spaceship looking thing that used gravity to hold you to a vertical seat. I tried to tell her she could go on her own but she wouldn't have it. She wanted me to go with her. Once it got going to a certain speed, the floor dropped out. I knew right then that was my last stand. Just as she's getting excited and beaming like I haven't seen her in a while I had to bow out.
After the spaceship ordeal we sat on a bench so I could catch my breath and swallow down the vomit. She was crushed. She could tell I was not doing well but she kept telling me to just relax and I'd feel better soon. I didn't. I was done. She looked at me with big eyes and said she thought she was ready to try one on her own. She nervously walked up to the teal/purple spinny thing and kept looking back at me. She looked so small sitting in the seat all by herself.
From that moment on, she rode as many rides as she could and all by herself. After the talent show she begged to ride just a few more before we hopped in the car to make the drive home. By that time she was an old pro, running up and down the midway trying to get on as many rides as she could before I said it was time to go.
She needed me that day. She wanted to try something that was a little scary and she needed me to be by her side while she put her toes in the water. She's so independent that she normally shuns any assistance from me. It felt good to be needed. It also felt good to see her gain courage as the day wore on. Isn't that what we are here for as parents? To prepare them for the big launch when they go off on their own? Hold their hands when they need it and back away a little when they don't?
She's 10 going on 30. But that day, for a little while, she needed her mom.
