Tomorrow is the last day of second grade for my eight year old.
I wouldn't really say that the time has flown, because I do still recall the many agonizing afternoons doing homework with a resistant student. Her backyard called and she couldn't muster up the stamina to focus on schoolwork one second more.
You see, my long-legged daughter likes to play. Hard.
Her passion in life is free play and being sweaty and dirty. She likes to bike ride, scooter ride, plasma-car ride, she does it all. She is drawn like a magnet to the rubber ball she plays handball with every single day. She climbs the tree in the front yard, bounces flamboyantly on the trampoline, and has a mean hopscotch.
Naturally, the over-achiever in me has struggled somewhat with this free-spirited quality in my offspring. When I was her age I was addicted to books and learning and fresh, clean paper. Dorky, yes. But it's just what I knew to be true for me, so I think I expected it in her.
God is growing me up while growing up my daughter. I am coming to see that deep down, the mother in me just wants her to be herself. I am protective for her to find out who she is and what her passions are, even if they are different from mine. It would be so easy for me to impose my own ideas and expectations on her, which would lead to her feeling less than herself. How could I want that?
I sense that I am on the verge of my girl child turning into a real person who can be known. I am excited for what lies ahead, and anxious as well. I want to know her and be known by her. I want her to develop into a confident, passionate, joyful woman who loves God with all her heart. I want her to accomplish all of the good and wonderful things He has planned for only her.
But first, on this eve of the last day of second grade.... I want her to be a girl swinging from a tree.
