jenniferblaine

Lily and I were walking home from a play date a block away. Still, we managed to get lost. Actually, we got lost on purpose. When we were almost home, Lily said, “Now you walk backwards in the wrong direction, and I will walk backwards in the opposite direction. Then when we realize we’re not in the right place, we can start again!” We did this, over and over and over. Each time we laughed and laughed when we realized we were in the wrong place.

I’ve been thinking that most of us spend a lot of time trying to “get it right,” but we were having a really great time intentionally “doing it wrong.”

I recall reading that a plane gets where it’s going by being off course 99% of the time and constantly correcting its trajectory. We learn by doing it wrong too. Imagine if we also enjoyed those missteps, the moments we drift off course?

Why not have fun with going in the wrong direction, and enjoying it for a change?

At the Seder yesterday, we were using a humanist, feminist Haggadah.
I explained to Lily that when we celebrate Passover it reminds us that people everywhere should be liberated and free. “We do this every year to remember how we were once slaves,” I told her. “And unfortunately, other people in the world still are,”
Lily cocked her head. “What are slaves?”
“People who don’t get to decide how they want to live their lives. They work for no money, and are treated badly.” Lily’s expression grew stormy and disturbed. Then she shifted gears, brightened, and looked at me.
“Mommy, I have an idea.”
“Yes, Lil?”
“This should be the last Passover ever. Everyone can be free, and no one has to be a slave anymore.”
All I could do was stare at her.
“Lil, that’s a fantastic idea.”
Wouldn’t that be the best?

We watched the movie “The Music Man” and I asked my daughter if she wanted to be a kid who acts in movies and play a part in a film like little Ronny Howard did in “The Music Man.” She said “Oh yes Mom! Only I want to be a girl!”

I love encouraging Lily to dream big. But sometimes I find myself dashing her hopes with my own limited thinking. My discouragement can be overt or subtle, but I make it a practice to check myself and make a conscious choice to be open to the wide expanse of whatever she’s brewing up.
When Lily was just 18 months old, I told her we were going to a fair. She had only been to a country fair, so she assumed the city street fair would be packed with the kinds of animals we’d seen at the country fair.
“I’m so excited. I get to see animals at the street fair!” she beamed.
“Actually honey,” I cautioned, “there aren’t animals at the city fair. It’s more like there are booths with fun things to buy or eat.”
Then I caught myself. I really heard what I was saying. I realized I was being dismissive about her dream to see animals, so I adjusted my attitude.
“Lily, if there were animals at this fair, what would you most want to see?”
“I really want to see a rabbit!”
“Well I don’t think it’s likely we’ll find a rabbit, but let’s go to the city fair and see if we do.”
After going one block into the city street fair we passed hordes of twenty-somethings with beers, pop music stations with free frisbees, and many give-aways, but no rabbit. But then on the next block guess what we saw? Right there in the middle of the city mayhem, stood a street magician with his trusty assistant, a live rabbit!
I swear, my jaw dropped. “Lily!!! You wanted a rabbit, and you manifested a rabbit! I never saw a rabbit at a city fair before. You are amazing.”
Lily cocked her head and smirked. “Yes, Mom. I just really wanted to see one, and so we did.”
I am learning from Lily to be open-minded, especially when it comes to what we really want.

Lily read a book about Benjamin Franklin at pre-school this week.
“How fascinating!” I exclaimed. “What did you learn about him?”
I waited to hear about the printing press, electricity, or even Franklin’s ambivalence to commit to a monogamous relationship. But none of those things were what Lily had to share. She looked upward, searching for an answer. Perhaps it was unrealistic for me to hope she could give me a verbal book report at three years old. But to my surprise Lily did have something to tell me about Benjamin Franklin after all.
“His wife’s name was Deborah,” she proudly declaimed.
“That’s it?” I asked.
“Yup,” she nodded, “that’s it.”
Hope you all enjoy Women’s History Month this March and that we all learn a thing or two about women that we didn’t know before.