Metamorphosis

blue-morpho-butterfly

It was a hard day.  A HARD day.  Impulsivity was high.  Many missteps at school forced my hand.  Rules broken equals consequences.  Serious ones.  No TV, no computer and, in particular, no phone.  That one is the hardest: it is her source of information, her distraction salve, her lifeline to all of those that are important to her.  But it was necessary.

She was furious.  Yelling, lashing out, stomping and slamming.  But I stood my ground; I am the Mom, after all.  She accused me of being mean; I countered that I was being fair.  She retreated; locked door, silent treatment.  I gave her some much needed space.

She came out once briefly, peeking around the door while getting something to eat.  Not quite ready, but testing the waters.  I waved; was rebuffed.  I understood.

Later, she set up camp on the bicycle one room over.  Not together, but in view.  Reconnecting, in her own way.  Needing space and closeness, simultaneously.  Thawing slowly through the previous chill.

Working through her frustration, she pedaled and sketched for some time.  Snippets of conversation.  Occasionally a smile.  Finding calmness in her focus.  By bedtime, a whole different child.

She is an ever-changing contradiction.  Static and motion.  Anger and love.  Boldness and uncertainty.  Finding her way, on her terms.

How lucky I am to be a witness as she changes; I am astonished every day at who she is to become.

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