Thanks for coming to my parade.

When you sell your house and move your kids two miles down the road to another school district, one of the   issues that rears it's ugly head is the reminder of how hard it is to make friends.  Or how hard you *think* it is to make friends.  Or the millions of other insecurities that LINGER, because of middle school.  Well, maybe not so much for me, because I have YOU, blog world (kidding)--but for my children, and in particular, my fourth grade daughter.  My shy girl, the one I worried about and prayed for when we first switched her schools last year, in third grade.  Because she has always been more reserved, I sort of assumed that comfort and predictability were what she needed to thrive--and boy, was I WAY OFF there.

The first switch in schools was AMAZING.  I would call it a leap of faith on our part, but that sounds graceful, when really it was more like tripping awkwardly, with very little trust and a lot of anxiety and micromanaging; and yet, almost from the very first day, G made great friends.  Her class was small, and by the grace of God, it never felt clique-y.  I got to see what she would do in a situation that was so beyond her comfort zone--and she didn't fall apart.  She was kind.  She made good choices, and she found a best friend that was a perfect fit.  There are lots of reasons why I REALLY struggled with moving one school district over, but one of the main ones was MY reluctance to give up what had been so encouraging and beautiful for G--because, you know I like to keep her in a comfortable little box.  And that, for me is the biggest struggle of parenting; the conflict of living in that safe place, and yet, preparing my kids for life outside of it.  Beyond our family, and their friends, and their success, and their themed birthday parties and their house in the nice suburbs.

The move to our new school has been more...challenging.  We have great friends at this school, but none of them are in the 4th grade, and so from the very beginning, this was like starting from scratch with G.  Who is stronger and tougher than I ever could have imagined two years ago, but who clearly hasn't been loving school.  Not that it was terrible, but if last year was full of joy and instant acceptance--this year started a little slowly, a little awkwardly, a little lonely.  Turns out, she can survive those things too.

But here's the thing, moms of girls--CAN WE?  Can we survive watching our kids struggle a little bit, or adjust to new situations, or waiting to see how it will all play out?  Because I sort of want to fix this with a cotton candy machine, or a Spa party.

And I'm asking, because here's how it happened.  No one was mean to G, no one mistreated her.  In fourth grade, kids have their friends--and sometimes they are the one's they've known since kindergarten.  And I think this blog proves that we ALL stick to what we know and what feels comfortable, and G was just looking for her place in all of that.  But my mind?  The one that's full of memories about how girls are mean and hurtful?  The one that learned very early on to go with the flow and NOT risk anger or drama?  My mind sees the potential for hurt and heartbreak, and contemplates homeschooling.  

Now.  I KNOW I have a responsibility here, to invite other girls into our home and help to foster friendships.  This is difficult, as our school-wide buzz books haven't come out yet, and G typically only knows the girls in her class on a first-name basis; but I'll be damned, I went through last year's book, and randomly emailed parents of kids named "Kate" and "Olivia" and "Avery" and blindly invited them over to our parade-watching party last weekend, even though I assumed they wouldn't come.  Not out of snobbery, but because this is a community of traditions, and EVERYONE has plans for the parade.  Parenting REALLY sucks when you have to put aside your own very long-standing insecurities to model maturity for your kid.  

You know, I like it here, in our new house.  I like the families that we live in community with, I like that the kids play freely with our neighbors.  I like how close we are to the pool, the Custard Station, the park, the ice rink.  But beneath it is this attitude I have, that we're new, that we don't belong (yet), that we haven't proven ourselves with a school-wide Art Fest or a craft party for the fourth grade.  It's subtle and not pervasive--but  these thoughts and insecurities are there in the context of everything we do, and in the way I help my daughter process her new school and making new friends.  The assumption that fourth grade girls and clique-y and exclusive, and maybe a bit difficult.  That this might just be our year to simply survive and gain the humble perspective of suffering.

I think we can be great parents, and still get this way wrong.

To my surprise, one family responded "yes" to our parade watching party.  A family that I had NEVER MET before.  A girl that G had never really played with, or maybe even talked to.  They showed up the next morning, and we introduced ourselves, and G was off playing with the other friends who had come to watch the parade--and I was full of all kinds of thoughts about how this was a bad idea, how I should have introduced them at a playdate and used my best crafts or cooking activities to prove we are not serial killers.  Because G isn't very assertive, she's not the best and introducing her friends to each other-- her new school friend, her neighborhood friends, her church friends.  It was all too much pressure.  FOR ME.

I'm not sure how it happened exactly, but at some point in the parade (without the aid of an intricate mosaic project), the girls were sitting next to each other.  Collecting candy together and talking, and collaborating as to how far, exactly, they could push into the street to gain more loot.  If G moved up a few feet, she brought her new friend with her.  Friends, that is what pride and relief looks like.  To me.  Since the parade, this new friend has asked G to sit with her at lunch, and played with her on the playground (excuse me, play SPACE), and asked her questions about what she wants to be for Halloween.  They went on a field trip last week, and they partnered up together.  And I can see all that joy in G when she comes home at the end of the day, and I am so glad that she is learning that making friends is hard, but WORTH IT.

Because sometimes we act like it's not.  

I've had lots of conversations with my kids about being a good friend, and what to do if friends are sometimes unkind.  I've watched my kids befriend others who want their attention for a period of time, but then move on at a whim.  Friends who want to act tough or cool, and believe that doing so means not being kind or sensitive.  SO NOW WHAT?  My natural reaction has always been to tell my children how much they are loved, how kind they are, how if they are being mistreated or ignored, they need to play with someone else.  I *think* those are mostly good messages designed to protect the hearts of MY babies; to keep them in a safe, accepted box.  

And they are mostly good things, except that recently, it is the heart of other children that I've begun to see.  Kids who aren't being "clique-y"--because they don't really know what that means, just yet--but who are struggling with acceptance and comfort too.  I'm totally guilty of confusing shyness and immaturity with exclusivity.  Kids who are simply doing what they have done their whole lives; who have never been the new kid, or had their comfort zones challenged.  EXACTLY who we were, one year ago.  Kids who haven't learned forgiveness, and who are following our words to simply not play with or offer grace to others who have hurt their feelings.  Kids who don't know how to include others, because that's a tough thing for a nine-year-old to do.

Of course, I want to spare my kids all kinds of heart break and struggle; I want to protect them in our safe little box, and to some extent, that's my JOB.  But I want my kids to be role models of grace, too.  I want them to learn to be kind to kids that hurt their feelings.  I want them to pursue other kids who might not accept them.  I want them to one day understand that what they see is NEVER the full story, and that girl cliques are never about the person who is left on the outside, but the behaviors that are copied before they are even understood.  It is about clinging to what is comfortable.  And, holy crap, it's the result of a lot of the stuff I inadvertently tell my kids when I have their best interests in mind--about guarding their hearts, and being emotionally "safe" and how anyone who mistreats them isn't worth it.  I don't think I want my kids to simply survive childhood, undamaged; but to be the kids that help to build the confidence and self-worth of others.  And I know that isn't possible by keeping them safe and unharmed, or by telling them to walk away from those that hurt them.  I generally tend to operate as if I can navigate my kids through the minefield of tricky and explosive and immature relationships, rather than teaching them what to do when they're feelings are hurt or they are left out, or they are failed by their friends in some way.   

Part of the problem is that I believe that ugliness exists, for my kids.  And it does, sort of, but mostly at the age of my oldest daughter, those girls aren't even aware of what it means to exclude somebody.  Sometimes, they're just copying a behavior they've seen, or one they've been on the receiving end of.  LOTS of times, they are just sticking with what they know, and where they are comfortable--just like I've modeled for my daughter, in the ways I protect her boundaries.  Good golly, I've committed my soul (translation, my $$ and my schedule) to the devil so that my kids will learn to chase a soccer ball and learn a stupid swimming flip-turn and be generally *proficient* at a sport--and yet I don't even put in half that effort to teach them to be a good friend or to navigate what hurts or challenges them, apart from suggesting that they "just walk away and find someone else to play with", without having any kind of conversation about WHAT COMES NEXT.     In my mind, I sort of categorize this as a *problem* and I take the approach of avoiding it all together--with the hope that my kids find other friends that are less likely to shake our proverbial boat.  Or box, if you will.  Which is a really great way to teach them to have very superficial relationships and walk away from everything that is hard.  

As much as I HATE to admit it, I'm obsessed with keeping my kids happy; not in a no-vegetable kind of a way, but in the sense of providing them what they need to FIT IN.  To some extent, almost every parent that I know is the same way, because being uncomfortable is so foreign to us.  No one chooses to struggle, and we certainly don't choose that for our kids.  We walk away when it's hard, we don't pursue new things, we fight change, we stick with what we know.  Except, I'm beginning to think that "what we know" is inadvertently perpetuating patterns of cliquey-ness and exclusivity--because we're not challenging or teaching our kids what to do with their fear, their insecurity and the things that hurt them.  More often, I'm just telling them to walk away, or ignore it.  

Today.  I am so thankful for friends who showed up to our parade--last weekend, in childhood, through high school, at the bar in college, when we had kids, when we buried a child, when we had cancer, when we started a blog, when we were a-holes, before we were comfortable and familiar.  

I don't say it often enough, but you guys are awesome.