just you wait

I would cry, inconsolably. I would feel as although I couldn't take a breath because the crying was consuming. Dad would hold me close, gently rocking. "Michelle, what's wrong?" He would beg me to tell him what thoughts were going through my head. The tears would momentarily subside. The thoughts would become clear within my mind. I would not voice any of these thoughts. In my mind they were not clear enough. Still too jumbled. It wouldn't make sense if I say it out loud. It's just giving up. He wants me to say it out loud and I can't. I just can't. The cries would start again, but louder. Dad would be frustrated, lovingly so. He would get up and ask me again, to just tell him why I'm so upset. "I'm upset because I can't tell you! I'm upset because my thoughts are trapped inside of me." I just sit there and cry. Too upset to look at him. He probably thinks I'm ignoring him. He tells me, as if he just lost a battle, resigned to the fact that I'll not talk to him, "I can't just sit here if you're not going to talk to me." He leaves the room and I'm heart-broken. He's given up and doesn't even realize I was about to say it! I was about to open my lips and explain myself! I sob uncontrollably until I fall asleep.

Later on in life... I always had a messy room. As did most teenagers. I still believe that Kelli's was usually messier than mine. Either way I loved to tell my parents, "It's my room! Don't open the door if you don't want to see it." My parents would usually say something to the effect of "You just wait until you have your own kids." Statements like this (from any parent) always imply that one day they'll get their revenge. Your kids will be worse. Or worse, the same. You will understand why they make you clean your room once you're the parent.

For me it reminds me of the pain and frustration I often brought upon my parents. The crying would ensue over shoe laces that were not tied just so. I liked the loops and tails to be of even length. It would begin over sibling arguments. Over bumps in the hair. Over pennies lost in a store. I've heard these stories many times throughout the years. Always with a look of relief that I turned out so well. The "just you wait" reminds me that my own future child may be just as emotionally inept.

Eliza is not this way. She's not biologically mine. But at times, remembering what I felt like in those "trapped words" moments, helps me to understand her. Her first day of first grade she cried because her khaki pants had a bump above the button hole. She was afraid that the other kids would see this. I assured her that everyones jeans do this. That it's "normal" for the button hold material to stick out a bit at the top. She said "I've never noticed your pants doing that." I remember how I liked my socks rolled a very particular way and just try to reassure her that no one else will know that it's bothering her.

We were at our favorite pizza joint last night. Eliza was so hungry she was getting quite ornery (That I understand all too well!) Looking at the menu, I ask her "Do you want meat on your pizza?" She says "No." Joe asks her, "So, you just want vegetables on your pizza?" She looks exasperated... "Well, I don't even know what there is to have." Her voice has gotten quiet. Tears are on their way. Joe asks, "Do you want pepperoni?" She looks a little relieved and nods. "Did you know pepperoni is meat?" "No." Okay, we've gotten somewhere. By this point I am quite frustrated. If you don't know that pepperoni is meat, then what do you think it's classified as? If you want pepperoni and don't think it's meat or vegetable than just ask for pepperoni!

We ask her if she wants mozzarella sticks. We get a shrug of the shoulders. We ask again. "I guess," she responds as if she's given up on food altogether. I say, "Eliza, what does that mean? Do you want them or do they just sound okay? Would you rather have something else?" This was way too much! "I want mozzarella sticks!"

After dinner is through I find out that she really wanted bread sticks.

These times I have to remember that sometimes our words are just stuck in our minds as children. Sometimes as adults, too. I have to remember that asking extended questions doesn't help. I have to remember that little girl on her daddy's lap just wanting so badly to say what's in her head. I have to remember to wait... to find new ways to ask what she wants on her pizza.