And I Love Her

Friday, April 25, 2008

Cindy, our twelve-year-old, is a bit of a mother hen. She can be frequently found in the kitchen standing over an open peanut-butter jar asking the younger girls in her best preschool teacher voice, "do you want this on white or wheat bread?" Or shooing Beth into the bathroom to scrub the boogers off her face and fix her ponytail.

Like a miniature mommy clone, she makes lists and makes beds, bustling about from one chore to the next. Usually helping the other girls with homework and cleaning while neglecting her own. At first glance, one might think she is the leader of her little gang of monkeys. A field general. And in a way, she is. Certainly the younger girls see it that way. Though I'm not sure she does.

I think she sees herself as needing to overachieve for us or we'll be somehow disappointed. She's a pleaser. Never fully satisfied with herself because she sees herself as never meeting other peoples' expectations.

She's accomplished and witty and almost without fail she is the brightest spot in my day. Yet, she frequently sees herself as a failure. As a result, though she never disappoints us, her day often ends in tears. Heart-breaking, gut-wrenching, weep silently into your pillow, tears.

I understand this hurt, tender child because I remember feeling exactly the same way. Yet, for all my empathy, my heart aches because I have no solution. Usually all I can think to do is put her arms around my waist, kiss her on the head and give her permission to take some time for herself.

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