her way

So we spent some time a couple of weeks ago with The Banshees. Original Banshee, now four, is adorable and complicated and loquacious. My hug impulse is nearly irresistible whenever I see her, but I reign it in because I’ve learned through bitter experience that one must ask her permission for a hug. She doesn’t like hugging to be someone else’s idea or to have hugs thrust upon her. Perhaps she feels a need to weigh the pros and cons of hugging because, really, she does seem to deliberate for a split-second after she’s asked. It’s a bit like playing the ol’ Mother May I game or forfeiting your dignity or groveling to the queen, but whatevs. Sometimes you actually don’t get a hug and must somehow find the inner core of strength to go on with your life. That’s her way. Quite different from her older cousin, Piper, who throws herself at us at every turn. Many times, as we’re driving up her street for a visit, approaching her house, we can see her sitting alone in the driveway, gazing eagerly down the street, waiting for our car to hurry up and get there; she is that escited to see us. It won’t do to wait until Tee Tee and Uncle Beloved walk the 20 feet from the driveway to the door to greet them. Oh, no. She must cut down the distance between her and hugs in whatever way she can. So she waits in the driveway. And when our car finally pulls up, she waves like a maniac and jumps up and down until she gets a hug. It’s truly a sight to see for a withered old soul.

But The Banshee just has her own mysterious, sometimes irksome, ways. She’s mercurial, that kid. While she sometimes withholds hugs from her perplexed but adoring relatives, conversely, she frequently bestows generous physical contact upon neighborhood kiddos with a clenched little fist. That’s just her way.

So we’re at the dinner table with Banshee, et al, the other night. I’m sitting next to her, her parents are both occupied, and Banshee seems on the verge of losing it over something. I don’t remember what it was. I turn to her and whisper, “You know what? I bet I can be more quiet than you.” She narrows her blue eyes at me, smiles a sly smile. Ooooh! A challenge! For the next several seconds, the two of us eat in dead quiet until she accidentally drops her spoon on her plate. It clatters loudly, so I mime an “ooops!” face with my hand over my mouth. Instantly, she scowls at me.

“WELL, I DIDN’T WANNA PLAY ANNNYWAAYY!”

Now this can bring a person down. After that, I didn’t feel the need to hug her for at least five minutes.

Later in the evening, as her bedtime neared, she sat at the kitchen table, head bowed low over a piece of colored paper, crayon tight in her fist. She was working quickly, almost frantically. Suddenly, she jumped up from the table.

“Tee Tee! This is for you!”

She leapt across the room and fluttered the paper into my lap. It was a drawing of hearts. Multi-colored hearts. Nothing but hearts. She looked at me with round happy eyes.

I felt that hug impulse rising again.

Right then, Brother said, “Banshee, it’s time for bed.”

“But I only finished Tee Tee’s! I didn’t finish Uncle Beloved’s!” she wailed. She seemed truly deeply despairing that she hadn’t finished the other picture.

Banshee Mom stepped in. “Well, you know what? You could finish Uncle B’s tomorrow and send it to him. Whaddya think?”

“Yeah!!”

At that, she hugged us good night and I held her extra close so I could whisper thank you for my drawing.

As we drove home, MB and I marveled at Sister-in-Law’s genius deflection.

“Way to avoid that land mine,” he said.

“Well, she wanted to draw you a picture, but she’s four. She won’t remember,” I said.

A few days later, an envelope in the mail: To Uncle Beloved.

Banshee’s drawing. She’d really remembered. Had followed through on it all.

But I guess that’s just her way.

Hug impulse rising.