Lisha Cassibo has been writing for the Uxbridge Cosmos for two years, both as a freelancer and as a columnist. She has also written for several parenting magazines both here in Canada and for English publications in Switzerland. She graduated from Carleton University with an honours degree in Journalism and English Literature. She lives with her family in Sunderland.
Fast-tracking childhood
I've confessed on these pages before that I am addicted to magazines. Well, perhaps not addicted, per se, but I certainly do enjoy them. With all the reading I do, I'm fairly up on what's being discussed, what the “hot topics” are (no, I don't mean Will and Kate), what's “trending”, shall we say. And I always worry that I'm going to pick a topic that is so “been there done that” to write about in this column, especially when it comes to writing about my children.
So I apologize to all those who are kind enough to take the time to read my words, only to roll their eyes when they realize that I'm going on about my girls again. I beg that you be patient with me. Perhaps you have “been there done that”, but this is my first time at all this, and the learning curve has been steep since Day 1! And just when I thought I had it all figured out, something, somewhere changes the rules, and I'm thrown for a loop all over again.
Like, when did Grade 3s start going to dances?
Last Friday, in my little town of Sunderland, one of the local sports clubs hosted a “Youth Dance”, which included Grades 3 through to 8. My 11-year old made some noises about going, but I didn't think she'd be in any kind of shape to after a full day at Canada's Wonderland with the school. My 9-year old, who's in Grade 3, mentioned nothing, so I really didn't pay much attention. Friday night, however, after a flurry of phone calls and a few tears the eldest was on her way to dance on wobbly legs. My middle daughter still had no interest in going, until we actually arrived at said dance to drop the eldest off, and she saw all her friends there. I gave her an opportunity to change her mind, but she declined, seeing as she was wearing her fuzzy pink slippers and pj pants. We went to collect my by-now-wilting daughter when the dance was over, and I was shocked to see the youngsters, and I do mean youngsters, leaving the hall. Several of them ride my bus, and it was more than a little surreal to have the kids that I have picked up since their first day of kindergarten not that long ago tripping out of their first dance.
When did the lines start becoming so blurred? Why is this happening when they're so young? Why is dinner table talk at my house all about who likes who, and who's dating who, and and and… Even my five-year old mentions a certain Ryan boy from her class way more than is healthy. I don't think I even knew what a boy was until I was in Grade 4. We certainly didn't play with them at school. Oh, sure, tag, and the odd game of Charlie’s Angels, when we needed a bad guy. But we just didn't mix with them. When I did start noticing boys, they were always, well, boys. We giggled and ogled and got silly and talked about them, but never to them.
So just when did the gender gap shrink? I am running of two minds right now. One mind wants to freak out on my daughters' heads, scream at them that they're too young, it shouldn't matter, go do kid stuff, be little girls for as long as you can, don't be in such a rush, yada yada yada. Every cliché that ever exited my mother's mouth - yup, I want to repeat them, word for word. They make sense now! My other mind wants to be the cool, modern parent and let them go with it, and try and guide them through this exciting, evolving world. I want to make sure that I get it all right, say all the right things. Make sure they keep their confidence, don't lose themselves to what others may want them to be. Make sure they keep their innocence but don't stay naïve.
More than anything, I want to make sure that they learn now that the lines of communication are open - way open, so that now, when we're dealing with fairly small potatoes, they see that Mum is pretty cool to talk to about stuff. Then, when we're dealing with super-sized potatoes, they'll know who to come to. (It has to be me, it can't be my husband. He's taken to being at home as little as possible, and eating his meals in his workshop. He plans to leave altogether when they all start menstruating at the same time.)
I guess it is a sign of the times, and they're getting older younger, and the world is having its effect on each and every one of us. And as much as I'd like to keep them young and safe and unhurt forever, I am enjoying what my girls are becoming. We can chat, we can bond, we can argue. And argue. And argue… But I worry about their childhoods being over too soon. And I worry that throwing dances for them when they're so young is just rushing a process that is really all too fleeting on its own.
I suppose I could read every magazine between the North and South Pole - none of them are ever going to tell me exactly how to deal with the fact that, every day, every second, my little girls are growing up.
