I planned the perfect activity for us to do today–I got a cute box from Michaels, spent an hour cutting the contact paper we would need, traced mason jar lids, re-read the directions, and felt so proud of myself as I imagined you sitting and placing flowers, leaves and outdoor treasures to make sun catchers. I smiled as I thought about the pictures I would take, your smile I would capture, and the witty caption I would add to social media.
But you, my little wild child, had other ideas.
All of my preparation went to waste. You wouldn’t sit down, you refused to smile, and there was nothing to take a picture of. You would rather run around the backyard–and that’s okay.
The Montessori lifestyle isn’t for you–and that’s okay.
Movies and screen time will never be your go-to activity–and that’s okay.
Ribbons and bows will fall out while you’re playing in the mud and dresses will come off minutes after they’re put on–and that’s okay.
Sometimes I wish I could set up a science experiment, a quiet box, a sensory bin–anything that would let you sit and explore. I’ll ask you to color or paint or do a puzzle and sometimes you will. Your eyes will light up when the pieces fit together, and I will see a flash of pride in your smile, but then, life calls to you, and you are filled with the urge to get up and dance.
You, my wild little girl, have no fear of the unknown.
For you, exploration will always be running to find a fairy in the forest because a bit of magic called to you, rolling down hills you cannot see past because of your faith, stopping to pet the slimy, many-legged creatures that everyone cringes over because of the kindness and love in your heart, and singing as loudly as you can just for sheer joy.
When I look at you, I am given a brief moment of pure beauty because I get to see the world as you do. While you’re twirling through the room and getting so dizzy you can hardly stand, your laughter reminds me you were not made to sit still. I cherish the moments when we take a deep breath and look up at the moon, when you are lost in thought looking at the wind making the leaves dance, or when you are peacefully sleeping a world away.
My wild little girl who won’t sit still, the moment you come back to me, something has touched your soul and you have the gift of sharing that with those around you.
The fire in your soul won’t be tamed with busy boxes and quiet crafts. That just isn’t you. Sometimes, I feel a pang of jealousy when moms tell me about ABC activities their little one is having so much fun doing.
I will of course ask, “Hey, how about we learn about the letter R today?”
And you will smile and say, “I’d rather play.”
You will scream and run from the blood of the hydra monster, turn everything in the house into lava, and jump from each bed as you create an entire world through your stories.
My wild little girl, you have an imagination as endless as the sky.
I will always think back to the day I planned an activity that needed you to sit still. While some moms will have pictures of perfect suncatchers to hang and admire, I will have the memory of you dancing among the wildflowers, singing into the wind with your arms outstretched. Your hair was in tangles and there was so much life racing through you that you could not sit still.
You would not sit quietly and work to preserve flowers and leaves in between contact paper, and you would not sit in front of a sun catcher waiting for the light to shine through because you, my wild little girl, you were the light.