Claiming ground

The snow still falls, all day sometimes. But the earth is warm, and green sprouts are pushing out, and the cold melts to slake their thirst. Our first daffodil bloomed the day before the last round of snow. There's something unusually special about the first flower on a patch of the earth that's all your own (okay, mostly the bank's, but still, you know what I mean).

The day after, my daughter smashed a pink ball into one of my favorite plants. It destroyed a large leaf, and it might be one of the few times I've truly scolded her. She's not quite two, and still learning to be gentle. She hugged the plant and tried to stick it back. Some things aren't fixed that way, I told her.

My mother laughed when I told her this. She's the best thing you are growing, she said. But I still care about my plant! And she needs to learn, I reply. Then I hear she's struggling to sit quietly at daycare. She won't listen, they tell me. She ignores us when we tell her that if she can't sit for lunch, we'll move the chair away. She pulls a drawer out on the play kitchen and tries to climb to the top of the toy. She never sits still for class photos, her curls a flying blurry backdrop to the row of smiling faces in the messages I get.

I'm upset by this. If she can't listen, if she can't hold still, how will she learn, I wonder? How can she grow into the person I know she will be? How will her brain absorb words and facts and imagine great things? They tell me about sensory toys and hidden ADHD. She's not yet TWO, my brain yells.

A year ago she couldn't walk yet. She is finding her feet, her limbs, her voice. Let her climb. Let her fall. If it were a tree you'd be thrilled at her "exploring nature". Let her flail and yell and stomp and learn. Let her discover how she can stretch, how strong she is. Let her topple the toys, rake the earth, climb the tables, turn this strange earthly social structure we've planted her into. Let her stand and eat lunch. Let her dig and splash and watch soil turn dark as snow melts to water. Let her learn how to push her own growing tips through the spaces around her. Let her bloom.