Sometimes I'm aware of how much we underestimate kids as people, just because they're small.
In the lead up to our move west, I was so concerned about Clio and how she would handle the change; with Eleri, I remember specifically thinking that she was so little, she wouldn't remember, so it didn't matter. Which says something about me, I suppose: worrying more about the future reaction to the moment than the moment itself. As it turns out, Clio has (mostly) adjusted quite well, while Eleri has taken it pretty hard. My aunt Molly, who is heavily involved in the Montessori movement and has a tremendous knowledge of children's development, told me that in fact, it is much harder for kids Eleri's age to manage change, because they have a very developed sense of order and having that disrupted is a huge challenge. In living through this change with her, I have felt somewhat chagrined that somehow, because she doesn't have the language to express her feelings or the capacity to understand those feelings, I have allowed myself to think the feelings themselves were invalid.
Since our trip to New York and our last-minute decision to go see our friends Agnes and Martin, thereby reuniting Clio with their daughter Elsie, I have been confronted with the fact that Clio, at 3, is in possession of complex feelings herself, and that she is actually just beginning to have the capacity to express them.
Seeing Elsie (and the rest of the Lairds) was wonderful. It was absolutely the right thing to do. But it also threw into sharp relief for us--and, it seems for Clio--this feeling of looking back, of missing pieces of our past life. I was surprised by this; walking into their house was like walking into a wall, and I found myself in tears. The word verklempt came to mind. The other night, after a great dinner out with Dave, his parents, and the girls, Clio and I were driving home alone, and she asked me, "are we still in Brooklyn?" When I told her that we weren't, that we're in Boulder now, she said, "I want to stay in Brooklyn." It was the first time that she had expressed this so clearly, and taking my recent lesson to heart, I decided not to be dismissive of her feelings, but to examine them instead. So I asked her how she felt about leaving Brooklyn; and when she said she felt sad, I asked her what she missed. She let out something of a wail: "El-sssiiiieee!" When I told Agnes this by email, she reported that Elsie, too, was feeling the effects of their all-to-brief visit: when asked if she'd like another friend to come over, Elsie said, "no, I want Clio."
So they will talk by webcam. Maybe they will get to visit once or twice more. But then?
I still remember when my best friend from first grade moved away to Virginia. I remember feeling that loss; it stays with me still. I have vivid memories of making gingerbread houses in her messy kitchen, of her year-round Christmas tree (at valentines day, hearts went on the branches; at easter, eggs), and the strip tease she performed for the entire family with layers upon layers of dress-up clothes.
I am still friends with my own neighborhood friends from childhood, though we see each other infrequently I hold them impossibly dear. I have many vivid memories of many years with them, and while I often assumed that these memories were limited to the later years (dance class with Carrie, high school with Lizzie), when I visited Carrie's house years later, I saw the little door to the playroom under the stairs where we spent many hours; the door is so tiny, seeing it made me realize that I must also be remembering activities from when I was just about Clio's age, and now I wonder: even if there are only a handful of visits left to come, will Clio remember Elsie?
Of course, whether or not she does (and I think she will), what she is feeling right now is hard. While new friends can help, it is not the same: they simply don't have the same history. It may seem ridiculous to talk about "history" with 3-year olds, but in fact, Clio and Elsie have been friends for two thirds of their lives: that's some history.
For now, I'll share a few pictures from that night. Surreally, Agnes and Martin had recently invested in a bouncy castle for Elsie's third birthday party (cheaper to buy a small one than rent a big one for a couple of hours), so the girls all engaged in some jumping; just a week or two before, Clio has wanted to, but ultimately refused to jump in a bouncy castle at the Lakewood Cider Days because, I suppose, she had no companion (Eleri was deemed too small to go in with the bigger kids, and there were always bigger kids.) At the Lairds, Clio, Elsie, and even Eleri got their fill.
Let me also mention, though many of you will have noticed this, that these photos were already posted on facebook. As part of my blog-dentity crisis, I find myself confused about what to post where. More and more of our pictures tell their own story (I feel like I used to rely on photos to make a point within a written narrative, but many of the recent albums can stand on their own.) Maybe I'll figure it out. Maybe not. Maybe no one cares but me.
