Welcome to the Tales of a Kitchen Witch Blog.
Willow is a remarkable child. Ok, so ALL of my kids are amazing. Seriously. They are kind and loving, thoughtful, smart, talented, funny, clever…. The list could go on forever, the same list I’m sure all moms have.
But Willow is the one that leaves the huz and I shaking our heads in exasperation, and occasionally quaking in our boots when we think about the future. She has a spine of steel. She has buckets of self confidence and she is just so damn secure in her own awesomeness. You could never get her to do something she didn’t want to do. Not ever.
She is the one that I am never sure the best way to parent. The one that makes the other kids cry (including Hannah, who is thirteen!) because she NEVER backs down. Not ever. The one that has me second guessing my choices and the one that requires the most patience and deep calming breaths. I rarely use “time out” with any of my kids, but the few times I have it is almost exclusively Willow that ends up there. And let me just say, she is so cool and controlled that she walks over to the chair as if it is her idea!
It doesn’t work.
Taking her shopping for clothes is intense. She has distinctive ideas about what she will and will not wear.
This past summer my mother took the kids to Target to buy them each an outfit. Willow took as long as Hannah, Patrick and Cooper combined because my mother kept choosing stuff that she just wouldn’t wear. School time is interesting, because Willow pushes herself to do the same work as Patrick, even though he is two grades above her. I finally gave up and give them the same work to do.
When she was four she came up to me in the kitchen one morning and said:
“Mama. I am sooooo pretty.” And she twirled around the room, blonde curls flying about her face.
To which I replied. “Yes, you are Willow. You are also very smart and funny too.”
And she smiled and said. “I know I am. I’m pretty on the outside and smart on the inside.” And she skipped away.
I was sitting on the couch talking with Patrick while I braided Willow’s hair for the day. Patrick was trying to tease her, saying:
“I’m gonna tell, I’m going to tell…” In a sing song voice, a smirk across his face as he taunted Willow.
“Nope.” Willow replied, not taking the bait.
“Yes I am. I’m soooooooooo telling.”
“What are you two talking about?” I asked.
“Willow thinks Sam is cuuuuute and I’m going to tellllllllll him.” Part of me was about to tell him that it is hurtful to share secrets, and another part was thinking but Sam is twelve! Before I could say a word Willow took matters into her own hands:
“No you won’t.” She said calmly.
“Yesssss I will!” He replied.
“I don’t think so Patrick. You won’t tell him. I’ll tell him myself.”
Wait. What? I looked at my daughter and said, “You’re going to tell Sam you think he is cute?”
“Sure, why not?” She shrugged. Then the kids ran off to play.
I am in awe of how sure she is of herself. I remember when I was a little girl and liked a boy. I would never, not ever, be able to just walk up to him and tell him I liked him. Not ever. I remember how my friends and I would confess our crushes at sleepovers and little notes, swearing each other to secrecy. We would have been mortified if someone spilled the beans. But Willow isn’t like that. And she is only five.
What the heck will she be like at sixteen? I am a wee bit scared.
So just remember… I warned you.