gleaning

Life is kicking my ass right now.

Or trying to.

Let me give you the Cliff's Notes version: I am now in therapy for stuff that I should have been in therapy for about 25 years ago...and I am uncovering things in the garden that are wormy, fraught with beetles, and emitting a rancid stench. I'm a little shell-shocked, but in excellent hands, and relieved in a sort of Bell Jar sort of way that I can let 'er rip and see where the chips fall.

What I can tell you is that I am dealing with my ability to receive. Receive love. Receive compliments. Receive feedback. Anything. Funny, huh? The very public persona who can perform and work an audience in the palm of her hand is a big fat wimp when it comes to kindness or truth.

I suppose, my friends, that is why I chose to perform.

So I'm not trying to make you my therapists or anything. Just telling you what's going on.

And how the following is changing my mind.

I was talking to my friend Jess Wilson, (who is a professional when it comes to good girlfriendliness), and I was, uh, er, a bit hung over from my Oscar party the night before. My girls were snuggled in my bed watching a musical, and I snuck into Roxie's pink palace to take the call.

Soon, Miss M opened the door. "I don't mean to interrupt you, but is there anything I can do for you? Coffee?" Her face brightened as she asked, because my Tassimo pods make her feel like a Barista.

"Oh yes, yes, excellent idea!" I enthused, rambling on with Jess.

Soon, a tiny hand opened the door. Roxie said simply, "What can I do for you?" hands outstretched, a tiny replica of her sister.

I asked her to make some dry toast.

She disappeared as quickly as the Road Runner, cartoon puffs flying behind her.

My girls offered me my breakfast on plastic plate, steaming coffee sealed up in a thermal mug by Daddy, lest Miss M get shaky with the hot liquids coming up the stairs.

I fell asleep.

Later, I heard Roxie and Miss M playing in Roxie's room. They were going to town with some paper dolls, and I stretched on the bed, listening.

It was intricate role play, with Miss M playing a whole cast of characters, each with a moral code. Her tenderness and love of her sister nearly undid me. I listened to their voices and silently wept on the bed.

Yesterday, I picked up Miss M from school, who bounded up to me and hugged me so hard I nearly fell over. Her friend teasingly wouldn't let me go, because he wanted "M to stay with me forever." I watched as my daughter hugged her friend and told him that he could have her all tomorrow, at recess and at lunch.

Later, I saw my therapist as the girls stayed with my friend, who also has two girls. When I picked up the kids, my friend greeted me at the door, with wine in hand, holding a magazine.

"This was the best afternoon of my life," she said. I asked why. "M helped the girls with their homework. She had them clean up after snack and them had them upstairs playing a game. She has the patience of a saint."

I smiled and said that yes, M is doing well, she's come a long way.

My friend grabbed my wrist. "You need to hear this," she said. I could smell her Chardonnay. "She is amazing by any standards. Your daughter is simply an extraordinary little girl. Period. Now stick that in your therapy pipe and smoke it."

And with that, we ate cookies and sipped wine.

Miss M continued being her charming self, but it was at the dinner table that I really heard it. Her father asked how her Girls Social Group went at school. "Well. I had to let Ms. C know that I was upset. The boys were picking on my friend at recess - you know, saying that she was a stupid girl and stuff because she couldn't play the game - and I was upset."

We looked and each other and I asked how she handled it. "Well. I figured that the boys were behaving like typical pre-adolescents. (Yes, she said it) I managed the situation by telling my friend that she wasn't any of those things - that she is a wonderful person, and that boys were projecting something on her that had nothing to do with her."

It's taken me several sessions and a cracker jack therapist to arrive at the same advice that Miss M is freely doling out on the playground.

This child, the one whom I never thought would look up from her own world is now navigating through it with so much love, empathy and confidence that it takes my breath away. Who is creative, empathetic, loving - and smart - all of the qualities we were told, that, frankly, she'd never possess.

Miss M. How she's grown and changed and morphed into the most beautiful butterfly.

I'm taking a tip from my daughter.

If she can fly?

So can I.