The Yellow Flower
The night before a home day - that is, a day where we stay at home to bake, play and rest - I mull over what I can do differently to connect through play. I know that what I have been doing of late hasn't been working too well. There have been explosions and tears, resulting in a defeated mama falling into bed at the end of the day. One evening I prepared a baking station for us to make cookies together the following morning.
She didn't want a bar of it.
The next night, I organised her cubby house with a beautiful scene of vegetable-dyed, homemade playdough.
Nope. She would rather pat the wet and dirty chickens
with her shirt off
in the rain
when it's 3 degrees outside.
I spend most nights preparing the house for her for the following morning. New scenes. New ideas. New homemade toys. One night I even set up a whole farm in the lounge room for her morning play. She took one look at the elephant, kissed him on the bottom and then took off to play in the mud outside. Did I mention that it is currently winter? So two weeks ago, just as I was starting to lose my mama mojo, she showed me. I knew there was a key somewhere, sometimes I just have to wait for it to present itself. She showed me that she wanted to learn how to drink tea. That's how she wants to play with me. Not just any tea, either. Frankie wants the tea from my old medicine shelves, the "yellow fla" as she calls it. The yellow dried flower - the chamomile. While I wasn't looking, she dragged a small wooden chair over to the bench, climbed up and carefully handled the glass jar filled with dried yellow blossoms. My girl with the fire in her belly chooses the flower known for soothing flames.
I was speechless.
The magic in this is that she has been showing me all along. She has been trying to connect with me and yet I have been too focused on convincing her to play the way I want her to play. Once again, my little girl acknowledges my attempts and shows me another way; through tea. Tea in our beautiful, breakable mugs, from our beautiful breakable pot, she pours the tisane wonderfully.
One for mama.
One for Frankie.
With a few splashes on our clothing for good measure. The excitement on her face when we sit together and drink our "yellow fla" pulls at my heart strings.
I love my girl. I love her flames and all; she has made me the mother I am. I truly do not take much credit for the whole little person she is developing into, nor for the ways I have learnt to show up for her. She invites me daily - sometimes every couple of minutes - to step outside of my comfort zone and see her where she's at. Even with her to-ing and fro-ing all over the house, Frankie often asks me to settle down. She asks me to lean into her invitations, to peel off the weight of expectation. A home day with her is like taking a deep and much needed breath. I always start busy and on my feet and yet inevitably end up lying in the grass, or sipping chamomile tea - just the two of us - talking about nothing and eveything.
