Heads. Tails.

When you think "Florida", maybe you think of retired people in Hawaiian shirts, cruising around upscale golf courses.  Maybe you think of Miami, and neon nightlife and young men in rather tighter Hawaiian shirts, strutting their chihuahuas through the shopping district.  You might think of a booming Salsa culture; you might think bikinis and surfboards. 
We are not in that Florida.
The "Florida" of our town here is nominal.  Culturally? We are in South. 
There are a zillion reminders of that here.  The groups of people in red shirts on corners, a part of the scenery like any other landmark, hoisting up signs about Satan and salvation.
The number of pigs who have met their demise in order to support the local cuisine.  The tendency of vegetables to be cooked until they are nearly transparent. 
Some things are true in life.
One of those truths is that we exist in a world of dimension.  There are at least two sides to everything; to every story, to each of us. To a place, even. Like a coin.
And here is like anything, it has heads, and it has tails.
There are some lovely things about the expression of the stereotypical "Southern culture"; things we see here all the time.  A warmth and friendliness even from complete strangers that we can feel to our toes, especially after 5 years of cold DC shoulders.  The employ of manners in a way that is so automatic you think people here must drink "ma'ams" and "pleases" through the tap.  A willingness to go out of the way to lend a hand, say a thank you, adore a baby.  The propensity of 5-minute errands to stretch into 50 minutes of chatting at the cash register.  (I count that as a plus, since I'm a born stranger-chatter.)  There are a lot of things that feel comfortable here, welcoming.  Idyllic even.
But every coin has two sides.  Or, as Mark Twain put it, "each of us is a moon, and has a dark side we never show to anybody". 
I have also heard a woman refuse to take her children into a park because there were "sketchy homeless guys" there.  Who were not at all homeless, with their expensive shoes and shiny bikes and iphones.  But they were black.  I've noticed a lot of stratification at local events, almost like a middle school dance where the girls all stayed on one side of the room, and the boys huddled in the other.
And then yesterday, I walked my daughter to school. 
My daughter is three; she has a pure heart and innocent eyes, and on the way to school She saw flowers.  And pigeons on a phone wire, and a calico kitty cat.  She didn't notice yet, but I did, the emblems on the pavement, black and glaring and two feet tall. 
K.
K.
K.
She didn't notice, and so I ambled past, pointing out some morning-glories.  I made sure there was honey in my voice, but my heart was frozen over.
Now look.  I try to keep out of contention on this blog, for the most part.  One of the most important things about my friends, I think, and people in the world around me in general, is how they occupy spots all along the vast spectrum of opinion and values and personality.  Sometimes I most appreciate those with views who contrast my own, because it helps me question my own predjudices and pushes me to see from new angles.  And out of respect for the right of everyone to choose their spots on that spectrum and stick to it, I try to keep my own spot more or less to myself.
But those three letters froze my heart, and I don't care who knows it, or who agrees or doesn't.
And I don't care who saw me that day, in the middle of the road, in the full sunshine, on my knees in my high heels scrubbing the damn pavement. Twice. (Because it is as hard to erase from the road, I guess, as it is to erase where it came from.)
This is my neighborhood.  My children live here.  Go to school here.  It was written right at the corner of the Christian school next-door to Little One's preschool.  We pass that spot twice a day. 
So I don't care how many people slowed down to stare at the crazy lady, I don't care if venom rose up in them when they saw what I was up to, I don't care if all the other mommies noticed and think I'm nuts.  That was something inside the boundaries of my home life which I found to be too ugly to allow. 
Even after scrubbing with a stiff brush and solvent until my knees bled, the shadow of those letters are still there if you really look.  And in all the world try as I may, I can never erase hate altogether.  I'll never be able to remove it completely from my children's world, and even when it isn't spelled out, I know.  It's there.  Out there, hiding behind manicured lawns and smiling faces as much as it lurks in the shadows.
It was just some paint, or shoe polish, or something.  But it was a tangible reminder of all that darkness, a reminder that even in our own safe places, I can't protect Them always.  A reminder in my nice, middle-class white complacency that there is hatred and anger out there in the ether, so strong that it can coalesce and congeal and turn solid and take shape right under my nose.
A bunch of letters on the ground can't do anyone any harm.  But where they come from, what they are there to remind us of.... that can.  And it does.  Almost all the harm out there comes from the same deep chasm that those three ugly letters crawled out of. 
And so I'm shaken.  The bright light of this sunshine state has taken on a slightly duller cast and I find myself wishing I could see through people's hearts to know what's really inside them. 
I guess even if I did all I would find is heads, and tails. 
None of our souls are flat.  We all have this human capability to love, and also to hate.  Each of us has this potential to achieve wonderful things, and every single one of us has the ability within us to do horrible, ugly things.  We're all two-sided coins, just like the moon, just like Florida. 
At the end of the day I can't change that truth and I can't hide my babies from it; I have to accept that.
It won't do any good to throw the whole coin out; the good and the bad are stuck together. 
I guess all I can do is look for the heads and tails in my own heart, and decide which one to show. 
It upset me to be reminded of that chasm of darkness and how deep it runs, but I can say this.  That even if my three year old had noticed the writing on the ground, it would have meant nothing to Her.  It would have been of far less interest than the kitty and the morning-glories. 
It's true that there is an ugly side to all things.  But as long as there are little children, there's hope.  

Three

Miss isn't the only one having birthdays around here.  My Little One,  My Little One...my Little One...went and turned three enormous years old this past month.  Something that I can tell you I never really thought would happen.  When you have a baby, you think of it like that. Like having a baby. You don't think, woo, look at me, I just had a future THREE year old! No.
While the mental concept of your babies growing up is of course implied, I don't think your brain can actually comprehend it.
This is probably not an evolutionary mistake.
If we all had future-three-year-olds instead of babies, our species would end.
Because three-year-olds say things like "No! Don't tell me!" and "you're not my friend!"
Things which are shocking- shocking!!! to the ears of someone who only wanted to have a fat little ball of pudge to cuddle with and put into precious outfits that are not all a tutu and cowboy boots.
Deep breath.

Luckily, though, the shock is greatly, vastly tempered by the hilarity of a nascent logician ("Mom, can you tell me 'bout hamboogers. Why they making it to eat out of boogers? You said don't eat boogers."), the awe of a watching a person grow a new, separate life like an appendage, and the tranquilizing effects of spontaneous, autonomous expressions of love.
Three is a whole new ball game.  Sometimes I wish I was more of a parental athlete so that I would just naturally rock every ballgame, but though this one is apparently a contact sport, it's still a lot of fun.
The difference between two and three is about like ring-around-the-rosy vs street hockey.  I imagine the next year will be developmentally prolific as well, so here is a snapshot of Little One at Three:

Body
Little One continues to be teeny for Her age.  She skims along the very bottom of the growth chart, but our little fighter is managing to hang in there and stay on it.  We've cut back Her calorie drink in an effort to focus more on actual food.  She has lost a little bit again with the last fever, but not enough to worry over yet.
She continues to be a remarkably good eater, especially for Her age, although if given the choice She would live on the calorie drink alone.  And now that She knows sugar, She is of course always angling for treats and desserts. 
Her favorite actual foods are fish, broccoli, onions, oatmeal, edamame, kale, pears, soy nuts, and craisins. The only thing She truly does not like is bell peppers in any transmutation.  And don't think you can hide those suckers.  SHE KNOWS.
That little bitty body is jam-packed with energy.  Her most natural state is Dancing.  She is always spinning and leaping around, singing and declaring "I'm a ball-er-een-a!" She is desperate to take ballet lessons.  The local ballet school tells me She missed the age cut-off by less than two weeks, and will not accept Her. I may have hold someone at shoe-pointe and try to force them to change their mind.  You wouldn't believe the heartbreak on Little One's face when I told Her.
She loves to move in general, like any good 3 year old.  She loves skipping, swinging, and sliding, and I'm told She can spend an entire recess jumping on the trampoline. 

Mind
Little One ADORES school.  Last week She was sick with a really bad cold, but She would get dressed in the morning and come to me, puffy and pale, runny nose and hacking cough, fever and chills, saying "I'm feeling much better momma.  I'm feeling very good.  I'm ready for school! Please can I go to school!"
Last week was our teacher conference.  She's in a montessori school, so She generally gets to choose what She wants to work on each day. They told me that She stays constantly busy and is a very enthusiastic learner.  Her favorite subjects are "practical life" (practice with skills like pouring, tying, holding a pencil), art, and language.
She is a prolific little artist.  They said She paints and draws every single day.  Her art folder was fat and overflowing. 
They said She's great at counting, but only recognizes numbers up to ten, and after that names them like "one and one, one and a two, one and a three..."  So we'll have to work on that.  But even though She's one of the very youngest, Her teachers said She is at or ahead of the oldest kids in the class (it's a mixed class of 3-6 year olds) in terms of language skills.  She has a pretty big vocabulary and expresses Herself clearly and with detail. She knows the sounds and names of every letter, upper and lower-case, and is beginning to sound out small words.  She can also write most letters and several numbers intelligibly; She practices diligently on Her chalkboard at home. 
Her teachers said that She has an amazing memory (She can thank J for that) and will remember lessons after being shown only once.  They said they have learned to be careful what they tell/promise Her, because She NEVER FORGETS.  Yeah.  We've learned that at home also. She knows the first and last name of all 30 kids in Her class. 
She knows all Her colors, numbers, a lot of nouns, and several common phrases in Spanish.  She also is learning German at school and picks it up fast.  In fact, we thought for awhile how cute it was that She was making up funny gibberish words, sometimes silly songs, sometimes just using these funny made-up words.  Then I got a newsletter from school with a list of some of the words they have been learning in German...  turns out those "gibberish" words weren't made up after all.
Her teachers called Her a Montessori poster-child; saying that She never forgets to push in Her chair or clean up Her work, and that She's "a good littler reporter" when fellow students are out of order. Ha. 
As we know, they said She's an observer, who prefers to stand nearby watching another student receive a lesson, rather than ask for Her own.  She has an obvious thirst for learning, and we see that at home too.  Little One knows that letters mean something. She knows that reading is a world unto itself, filled with good things, and She's desperate to unlock the mystery.  Right now She is working Her brain very hard at figuring out how to derive meaning from those letters, and Her drive for reading books is voracious. She spends a lot of time re-arranging the fridge letter-magnates trying to form or sound out words, asking things like, "I'm tryin to spell bird.  Do I need a vowel?"
She wants to learn everything She can, in fact.  How to tie Her shoes, how to use the microwave, how to manipulate Her parents into letting Her watch Tiger Lilly dance the Ugg-a-wugg song one more time on YouTube. 

Spirit
And it is not really possible to fully understand 3-year-old Little One if you have never seen Tiger Lilly dancing to ugg-a-wugg. This is a central tenet to Her current self-identity.
Some time ago during a fever, I came across a broadway taping of the show "Peter Pan" on Netflix.  Because there was singing and dancing (we know how She feels about those things) I thought She might like it. So we watched it.
This was a defining moment in Her tiny life.  The girl who played Tiger Lilly was a real ballerina.  Truly; She was very, very good.  The dancing in the "ugg-a-wugg"scene was amazing.  Little One was knocked off Her size-four feet.  From that moment on, nothing could compare to the awesomeness that is Tiger Lilly.  Nothing.
She begged to see that dance number so much, that finally we found it on YouTube so we could replay it, and in less than a week had memorized the song and most of the dance routine.
We haven't seen the end of it yet.
I have heard the lyrics of ugg-a-wugg so many times, Peanuts...So. Many. Times.  It is laser-burned into my consciousness.  Ask me when I am 98 and steeped in dementia; I'm sure I will remember all the words.
She has spent countless afternoons dancing and stomping across the living room.  She even changed Her name.  Can a 3-year-old change Her name? She can. By refusing to answer to anything else; by instantly and emphatically correcting any one who mistakes the fact that She is NOT. LITTLE ONE.  She is: "Little-One-Lilly-ti-GER!" (She will now accept "Tiger Lilly" or "Princess Tiger Lilly", for short.) 
 She loves this song so much, that we have a Pandora station based upon it.  A station She adores.  A station which has led to the fact- which I would NEVER have anticipated in all my life- that in my home- mine- we are quite frequently going about our business (laundry, cooking, brushing teeth) to the tune of Broadway Musical Show-tunes.  My step-dad is out there doing a fist-pump and laughing right now. I know it.
A few days ago in fact- I kid you not, with J as my witness- She was out cold in Her car seat, singing "bibbity-bobbity-boo"- in Her sleep.
Music and dancing is simply the point of Little One's life.
As you might imagine, She's a lot of fun.  She is literally entertaining- putting on "shows" all the time.  She's full into the playing pretend era of childhood; creating elaborate stories for Her toys, playing dress-up all afternoon,  anthropomorphizing inanimate objects and empathizing deeply with them.  She is very concerned that all things on earth have families and not feel lonely.
I confess that we exploit this compassion. Sometimes, clothes feel lonely until someone helps them join their "shirt families" in the drawer. Toys feel lonely until they go with their "toy families" in their "toy homes" in the playroom.  Sometimes.... carrots feel very left out if only a few of them have been eaten.  They cry out to join their carrot families in Little One's tummy.
We are sick, twisted people.  But our sweet, exploited daughter eats lots of carrots.
 And She is really, really sweet.
She reads peoples emotions, and if someone is sad, She is sad.  "It's ok, Mama", She will say if I've had some bad news, "ever-thing will be ok fweetie."  She loves Her little friends with true devotion. 
She loves Her family something fierce.
This is an amazing thing to experience.  The unsolicited and unconditional love of your child.  After school She runs to me with Her arms out shouting "Mommy! Mommy! THATS MY MOM GUYS! Oh-mine-gosh mommy you're here! Aw, Fweetie! Hun-ny!" And throws Herself into my arms. 
She frequently will come over and out of nowhere wrap Her arms around me or J or Miss and tell us that She loves us SO much. 
She loves to give compliments. "Mommy, I like your pretty earrings, like a princess.  I like your stripes on your shirt." "Daddy I like your shoelaces.  I like your good breakfast you make me." "Baby Miss! I like your tiny fingers.  I like your pink jammies yes-I-do! I like you have blueberry eyes Miss. You are a pretty girl yes-you-are!"
She is a gentle, attentive, generous big sister.  She is always happy to share with Little Miss.  She is always concerned about Miss sometimes telling us, "guys, I think Miss wants up now!" or "Miss is sayin' that She is hungry!" or "Miss needs a new diaper RIGHT AWAY guys!", running to fetch the diaper.  She'll pat a fussy Miss gently, Shhh-ing Her and distracting Her with toys.  She loves to play with Her baby sister; happy to let Miss knock over Her block tower or gum on Her princess doll.  Though She is very concerned about safety, and will instantly snatch away tiny things or paper or whatever else She knows is not allowed. 
She has a game of saying "Ah-goo-ah-gah-gah!" in such a voice and with such an expression that Little Miss cracks. up.  Every time.  They go on and on like this, and we all start laughing.  Because they share a room we have many times heard Little One patter over from Her bed when Miss is crying, and gently soothe Her.  I'll peek in and see Her giving Miss Her own teddy bear and patting Her baby tummy softly through the slats.  There have been plenty of nights where a fussy Miss has been sung to sleep by Little One.
There are moments that Little One doesn't want to break away from Her own game to play with/get something for/respond to Her sister.  Moments that She feels a bit left out and might whine a bit until we remind Her not to.  But She doesn't show any animosity or resentment; She's full of sweetness and concern for Miss. 
Not that She doesn't have a fiesty streak.  Girl cracks me up sometimes; little hands on Her tutu hips, little face looking like a caricature of a teenager, spitting out things like, "Don't TELL me guys! Don't. Ever. TELL me.  I'm NOT gonna do it!"  And we had a run of a few good tantrums awhile ago. 
But for the most part, She is an easy three.  She sometimes even puts Herself in time-out, yelling on the way, "I NEED GO CALM MINE SELF DOWN! I'M GOIN' TO TIME UP!" She generally listens very well and if She knows it's a rule, She (usually) follows it.  She cleans up after Herself. She makes Her bed.  She puts Her clothes in the laundry and clears Her own dishes.  She dresses Herself.  She is getting to be quite the big girl.  She also negotiates. "Ok, mom, how 'bout five more minutes I will color, then I can put on just three stickers, and THEN I will come and take a bath." 
She loves to be read to, to pretend, to dance, to do art of any kind.  She loves to go on outings and often asks to "go do something fun".  She loves school and playing outside.  She loves helping, in any way, and She's usually pretty good at it. She loves games like hi-ho-cherry-o or memory, and anything with letters- flashcards, drawing them, sounding out small words.  She loves "the rhyming game" where we take turns rhyming a word until one of us runs out of ideas.  She loves water; baths, swimming, the beach.  She loves "treasures" like flowers, leaves, and rocks, and we gather them on the way home from school each day.  She loves rainboots. She loves tutus. She loves giggling.  She loves most of all, as She has since the day She was born three amazing years ago, to snuggle. 

I wish I could describe even more; wish I could quite get my finger on everything about Her that makes Her Herself, right now, at three.  I wish I could freeze it and keep a piece. It's so lovely.  But every day there is something new and wonderful, and I know that the next year will have treasures in store that I can't even imagine now.  I can't wait to see.  I'm going to love the next year, I know it.  I can tell why they say good things come in Threes.