Ana Turns Three

So the thing is… Ana is three.

A few weeks ago, I was making a celebratory dinner for our anniversary and I made this risotto dish. (This is not in itself news, although lately, I mark on the calendar when I actually do some cooking for my family.) This was a prepackaged deal –a risotto with mushrooms. Easy to make; tasted like I’d slaved over it. But anyway, the reason I’m telling you about this risotto is that the packaging was HILARIOUS. The risotto was manufactured in Italy and the directions were a very literal translation of the Italian. Among the many funny parts –“When rice is cooked, add a knob of butter and some greated (sic) Parmesan cheese; mix for some minutes.” Gotta love the specificity of THOSE instructions!

But the best line of all --the one that made me laugh out loud-- was “Packed in a protective atmosphere.”

Isn't that hysterical? “Packed in a protective atmosphere!” Of COURSE it was!

Okay, granted, Smiley Jane is not sleeping and I am easily amused due to sleep deprivation. But I got a little giddy thinking of these Italians ushering the tiny grains of rice into the package saying things like “Don't take candy from strangers.” And “Wear your mittens.” Maybe singing a little lullaby or two.

And then it hit me. What I really want is to be able to put a label like that on my CHILDREN! “Packed in a protective atmosphere.”

Because up until now, it's been a pretty protective atmosphere around here. I've been able to control the outside influences. In fact, I bet a lot of people would argue that I'd have to label my kids as having been packed in an OVERLY-protective atmosphere. I was pretty much the typical new mom when Ana first arrived. I dressed her too warmly and bathed her too often and my husband and I only watched TV with the mute on for about the first year.

I still am pretty protective. I monitor her television intake --heck, we don't even watch the NEWS while she’s up for fear of her seeing something unsavory. Ana has never even seen any kind of program at all that's not on PBS. I have seen to it that she only gets organic foods whenever possible, and that we speak to her with respect and courtesy. I'm not sure she even knows what a gun even IS. We've done a lot to encourage Ana's interest in all things scientific --there's a huge pop-up space shuttle sitting in the middle of my living room-- and books on shelves reserved just for her in every room in the house. Up until now, it's been a pretty idyllic existence.

Ana turned three on Sunday. It was a big day, a day of firsts. She woke up dry from her nap (We're in our first week of no more diapers. Pray for us.), she had her first theme party (space ships and rockets), and she tried ice cream for the first time in her life. We've actually TRIED to cultivate the taste for ice cream, because it makes the administration of certain vile antibiotics more palatable and we're sneaky like that. But she's on to us and she refused to even taste it until Sunday. Suddenly, she's such a big girl.

The other thing that happened this weekend is the application for the pre-school we are hoping she'll attend arrived in the mail. I filled it out and did a small ritualistic Dance for Application Acceptance over it before attaching my check and sending it back via return mail. So, with enough luck and some more serious dancing, she'll start pre-school next year and she'll have her first experiences away from my protective atmosphere.

And it sort of makes my heart hurt.

Not because she's growing up. Really. I don't want to be one of THOSE moms. My daily prayer is that I will be able to let my children go with grace when the time comes, and in small increments until that day. That I will have armed them with enough common sense and education and compassion by the time they stop listening to me that they'll still be safe and whole out in the big world. I am not one to live vicariously through my children --I WANT them to grow up and discover their passions and to experience love from someone who didn't change their diapers.

But the thing is, I know how kids operate and I know that at some point, someone's going to be mean to her or take a toy away from her or make fun of her short hair and I can't protect her from that. Life isn't always fair and up until now, I've been able to keep that fact from her. There will come a time when I'm not there to catch her when she falls off the swings and when she will take her first ride in a car with an adult whose driving record I don’t know.

It's hard. I want so much for Ana to make better choices than I made, for her to gain some wisdom from my mistakes. I want her to learn all these lessons without having to make all the mistakes… I hope I can teach her that her integrity is something that no one can ever take away from her and that she must protect it well. That no boy is worth giving up any essential part of herself. That compassion is a stronger force than anger. That peer-pressure and the tribulations of being a teenager will pass, given enough time, and that it's important to make decisions that could affect the rest of her life with that in mind. That it's more important to be smart than pretty because beauty fades. That she has to take her adventures where they are offered and not put things off until "some day." That reading is a joy that will be with her all her life. That she should take a really good course in self defense. That pleasing other people at the expense of her own principles is wrong. That she can be anything and do anything she desires.

I learned all these lessons at such a high price. I wish I could give them to her like a little shield --some extra protective packaging. It's hard to let her learn her own lessons, you know? And if it's this hard for me when she's three, how am I ever going to let go of her when the stakes are so much higher? Like when I need her to make the right decision about letting a date who's been drinking drive her home? Or the whole drug thing?

I know, I know. She’s THREE and it's PRE-SCHOOL. I’m not prostrate with grief or anything; my heart is just a little sore. I've packed her so carefully and in such a protective atmosphere. And I'm going to be there for her to come to when she's in trouble or when someone's been mean to her. Hopefully, I'll be able to teach her good problem solving skills so that when I'm not able to be there, she'll be okay.

And I hope that when she's grown, she knows that I let her go to learn her own lessons and find her way in this world with grace, and a little heartbreak.

Just like those little grains of rice.

To subscribe or unsubscribe to this free e-mail newsletter, send e-mail to barb@sothethingis.com. (Your address will not be used for any other purpose.) If you would like to forward this column on, please do so in its entirety. Feedback welcome.

Barbara Cooper is the mother of Ana (THREE!) and Jane (five months). She lives in Austin, Texas where she has no luck getting her children to ever wear mittens.