I was sitting on the toilet the other day,
(shouldn’t more pieces begin that way?) and suddenly realized the toilet paper was actually on the little toilet roll dispenser thingy.
This in and of itself is not a huge epiphany. The part where it gets weird is that I hadn’t put it there.
Nope. It was my daughter. She did what I forget to do more often than not, what I don’t bother with most of the time. To me, the one in two hundred rolls that comes to grief by getting knocked into the sink or toilet is worth the tradeoff of not having to be tuned in beyond making sure there’s something in there to wipe with.
That bit feels like a major achievement.
And here’s this little person under my roof, assessing the situation, taking the time and effort out of her eleven year old life to put the thing on the thingy.
And while, to me, that is two parts bizarre to one part “Woah, dude.”, it’s also a bit of a relief in a broader sense: See, she’s mine, but she sure ain’t me.
Never has been anyone but her from the very start. I suspected it early on when she showed both spatial orientation and time management skills. Those are some pretty mythical beasties to emerge from the fruits of my d.n.a, let me tell you. I suppose they exist in my family, but you’d no more expect a time conscious child to emerge from my body than you’d expect a lizard to emerge from a squirrel.
It’s a little wacky.
But there she is, and she’s going to be her, all her, for the rest of her life. So like, I can relax a little. I’m not ever going to understand this person well enough to be her all-knowing teacher, key guide or leader. There will be others in her life more insightful, more able to provide the missing puzzle pieces.
My job is to keep her safe and healthy, teach her to read, and help her to laugh.
so far we’re doin A-ok. Oh, and I need to make sure there’s some toilet paper in there…
I don’t want her to have to use pages out of our bathroom reading. (Calvin and Hobbes)
(I’ll double check that one, tomorrow.)