molly and molly

Years ago…a girl in GOTR and I were waiting for her Mom to pick her up after one of the lessons.

We were seated on the curb…chatting.  Cuz…you know…that’s what girls do.

Girl:  You won’t believe what happened in school.

Molly:  What?

Girl:  Well ya see…we had a sub today and she used the F-word.

Molly:  Are you kidding me?  (I have to admit I was pretty disturbed by this.)

Girl:  Yes.  And you know what else?  She said it more than once.  She said it a few times.

Molly:  Well…what do you think you need to do about that?

Girl:  (A few second pause) I think I need to tell the principal.  It’s not okay for her to use the F-Word ever…but especially with kids who are just in third grade.

Molly:  Well good for you.

We sat there for a few quiet seconds.

Girl:  Yep.  I’m gonna march right in the office tomorrow and tell my principal all about it.  I mean, because…you know…the truth is…NO teacher should ever say FART in class.  NEVER EVER. That word is unacceptable.

The F-word.  I’ve decided that most of my conversations…actually all of them… include at least one  “F-word” or another that requires my attention.  I have finally come to see that I am so much better off asking for clarification on what the other person is seeing, thinking, feeling, trying-to-express…before I assume I DO know.

Which reminds me of one other story:

Helen was in third grade and my little girl who loves to label things (she is just so darn organized) was late for school.  This upset my little organize-her-closet-by-color-girl to her core so to lighten things up I decided it was only fitting to dance down the halls of her school until we got to her classroom door, where I could give her a big-hug-and-kiss-farewell.

She eventually joined in…somewhat begrudgingly, but at least she was entertained.  We got to her classroom door…I leaned down to kiss her…when that delicate-little-flower-not took both her hands and put them on each side of my face.

Looking me dead in the eye she said with what appeared to be this confusing mix of exasperation and downright joy, “You know Mom.  You are not like the other moms.  Not at all.”

I was moved in that moment.  My daughter fully appreciates me.  We are having one of those mom-daughter moments that will be forever etched on the neurons of my aging brain.  This little girl finally sees me for the woman I am…sees that I am unique and wonderful and well…different in so many ways.

I smiled at her.  We paused.

She removed her tiny little palms from my over-joyed-mama-face, turned with a bit of a flip in her step and said…as she marched into her classroom.

“Nope…not like the other moms at all.  You’re a lot older.”

Yep…those darn assumptions…getcha in trouble every fartin’ time..

Peace out ya’ll.  Have a fantastic Wednesday.