a torrent of emotions

Miss M is growing up. When last we chatted, we took a look at her burgeoning social skills; her perspective taking and self-regulation.

She has a new thing.

Feelings.

Miss M is becoming expert at expressing her feelings. As a matter of fact, she can't stop talking about them.

This morning, for example. We are rushing around, packing bookbags and zipping up raincoats. I am to take Roxie in to school, Drama Daddy has Miss M.

I look up from Roxie's zipper. "Miss M," I start, pushing a strand of hair out of my face, "don't forget to comb your hair."

She turns on her heel.

"Mo-ther. Don't you think I know that I have to do my hair? I feel like you assume that I'll forget. It makes me so frustrated. I feel like you are lowering my self-esteem. As IF I'd forget, " she huffs.

Um. Well.

I mean, yeah, she does forget. Sometimes.

But I was innocent in my reminder. Swear.

She comes back in, brushing her long, full, golden hair.

"I mean it, Mom. It hurts my feelings when you say stuff like 'M, get on your homework,' or 'M, did you take a shower?' As IF, Mom. AS IF." She angrily flicks the brush onto the table.

"I mean, I USED to space out all the time. But have you noticed lately? Really looked at how together I am?"

I watch her struggle with her shoelace, but say nothing.

Roxie looks up at me, chewing her toast. She puts her finger to her lips, reminding me not to remind M about her Wednesday envelope. Better to let her discover it herself, in her new organizational state.

I put on my overcoat, Roxie at my heels. We open the front door. Miss M follows us out to the front stoop.

"I have a lot to deal with. Please consider my feelings before you blithely (yes, she said it) nag me to do something that I am already well on my way to doing."

I peck her on the cheek and start down the stairs.

She leans over the balustrade.

"Are you going to tell me you love me?"

"I love you, M. Have a great day."

Roxie blows a kiss.

"Don't forget next time," M huffs. "You might lower my self-esteem if you do."

And with that, she quite literally spins on her heel and tosses her hair, closes the door. Hard.

Roxie and I sit in the car in silence.

We defrost the window.

Roxie sighs.

"She sure has a lot of emotions now."

I sigh. "Yep," I say, exhausted from my emotional beat-down.

"Remember when she was so quiet all the time?" Roxie chews on her limp toast wrapped a soggy napkin.

"Mmmmhmmm," I say, flipping through our CD's.

"It's an improvement, I guess," Roxie says, looking out the window.

"I guess," I say, chuckling to myself.

Of course, it is an improvement. I know it, and so does the whole house. It's much more age appropriate, she is able to articulate exactly what is on her mind. And in her heart.

There's something about it, though...the two steps forward, one step back...the slamming doors, the whispers to her sister, the yelling through the door for privacy. What is it? Hmmmmm.

Ah.

Got it.

I think we've got puberty, Houston.

Strap on your seatbelts, people. It's gonna be a bumpy ride.