Butterfly Language

“You can’t speak butterfly language with caterpillar people.”-Unknown

This year, everything happened.  The world was literally set on fire, by humans, by nature, by God.  From the Australian bushfires, to the west coast wildfires, to the streets in divided cities, and a town in Lebanon with explosives kept where they probably shouldn’t be.  Death became a daily discussion.  ‘How many died from the pandemic today?’ was a stat I often checked, as we watched numbers rise, and called our friends, family and neighbors to offer condolences for such a tragic way to lose someone.  I know I did on four separate occasions. The celebrity death toll seemed higher this year…Van-Halen, Alex Trebek and Ruth Bader-Ginsberg, we lost some of the greats that held our nation together in forms of justice and entertainment, forming comradery that bridged polarity, even if for only a few moments at a time.  Maybe it just felt excessive. With little else to do than watch our notifications light up on our new life behind screens, we were all so in-tune with the tragedy and we felt the divide of our world become a step wider in such a time we were so desperate to find ways to close the gap.   Murder Hornets and and angry, starving, monkeys forming violent gangs that stormed Thai City, winds so strong they formed fire tornados, and a waterfall ‘fell up’. A blue star disappeared without explanation. The Earth an God remined us that nature will always be a stronger force, putting us in our place, as we struggle as a human race to find new ways to survive, while aggressively resisting change at the same time. We are often our own worst enemy.  Most of us re-learned how to do our jobs as our offices were shut down and our children sent home. New markets emerged, saving the economy as we, the people, adapted to find ways to save ourselves, our livelihoods, our children, and our businesses when the security of the known was stripped from us in a matter of days. Technology became our savior, while puzzles, birthday parades and Tiger King became our sanity.   UFO’s were spotted, water was found on the moon and a woman of color became the vice president of the United States   Everything happened. 

Unless you were four.  If you were four, nothing happened. Kindergartens were cancelled, friends were at a premium, and sharing became a thing you were told not to do.  Day in and day out, you woke up and waited.  Waited for mom and dad to have time between meetings, waited for your virtual class to begin, waited to meet your new friends on screen in person someday.  You waited for your sibling to finish their homework.  You waited for someone to have a minute to get you a snack, because there isn’t someone there to focus on just your needs like there was before.  You waited for someone to have the time, energy, want, to play with you.  You waited and waited and waited.  But little happened for an entire year.  You watched the stress around you and wondered why everyone was upset when nothing was happening. You listened to business conversations you didn’t understand, and you wondered if you ever would. This was life if you were four.  If you were four in my house, you colored and got too skilled using a tablet and you embraced the time someone did a puzzle with you.  You remember the weeks everyone had Covid-19 and Thanksgiving was cancelled as the few weeks dad stayed home all day with you on the couch.  You remember that Thanksgiving as the best, because we did family crafts in quarantine, and your 12 day fever finally broke.  You remember the night mom carried you from your bed to hers to sleep cuddled up, as one of your favorite nights. You talk about it often.  You don’t know that that happened because protests were on your street, the police were called and your mom pulled you upstairs incase a riot broke out when they showed up and stray bullets went flying. You embraced the  snuggle, unknowing it was done not only in love, but also in fear.  As the world felt like Armageddon to the adults, you stayed in your home, and simply waited. 

For four year old Violet this year, imagination was her everything.  Fantasy, stories and flat out lies in an effort to make life interesting was the key to getting through the day. It was not uncommon for her to ask adult questions in an adult manner in an effort to keep up with conversations, as she lacked people her own age to talk to.  “So, mom – how was your day today?  Did work go well for you?”, became a daily dinnertime question, as she tried really hard to be a grown up.  Her brother became your best friend and biggest frustration, as he grew less inclined to humor her as the months rolled on. She tried her best to take interest in his interests, as she learned about Minecraft, and watched Ninjago; retelling the episode-faking excitement, while she quickly turned on Shaun the Sheep and sing-a-long cartoons the minute he walked away, because those  were age-appropriate shows she could actually follow. She was a bit lonely and tried to make the best of it.  Nothing became her everything as life was cocooned inside her own head, imagining what it would be like to have her own real-life unicorn, making sure to promptly put that on her Christmas list. Her stuffed animals came to life when she closed her bedroom door, and each one developed a personality, and became her audience for dance performances, her students while she taught, and her children when she wished she could be the mom.  She created a world unlike any other, where dogs can talk, pet pigs are named Monique and if it isn’t colorful, it isn’t allowed. A world spun from months of nothing where she could experience everything. When stuffed animals weren’t enough, Rose would stop by.  Rose is 2, she’s a cousin, and she’s imaginary.  

Rose is an interesting girl, who mostly comes over at night, for a sleepover. Her parents are fine if she stops by randomly in the middle of the night, so often we had a set up of blankets on the floor for her bed. Because she was only 2, she didn’t say much, so Violet had to speak for her, and she could ride in the front seat, because there isn’t enough room in the back for three kids, and she didn’t feel it was safe for her to ride in the middle.  Somehow, riding up front without a child seat was safer than riding bitch. Violet said it’s because she can’t be too crowded in the back when I questioned her logic.  Rose lives an exciting life for a two year old.  She had an immense amount of freedom, and her parents miss her, but know she prefers being at our house, so they let her stay for days on end.  Rose was someone to talk to.  Rose was someone she got to be bigger than. Rose was someone that had no rules and got to come and go as she pleased.  Some days, especially over the winter, Rose was her only friend.  But she was the best friend one could have because Rose understood her.  She never had to repeat or explain herself to Rose. She never had to offer a reason why the stuffed dogs name changed three times this week, and if she decided to take credit for something she didn’t do (which was a common occurrence), Rose was never the wiser.  Rose brought color, experiences and companionship.  Rose was her fellow butterfly in a world of caterpillars. 

I am grateful for Rose. In this year of everything, I spent my days surviving. Day in and day out, I felt like I was drowning and keeping my head above water ultimately became the only goal. My new baseline for success. This comes with a side of guilt, as I know that my prioritizations for each day were rarely on playing with her in the absence of others. My bandwidth for entertaining her wild challenges of cause and effect was often limited to non-existant, and when she would seek me out and interupt a meeting to ask “What if every time you ate a bite of mac and cheese, you turned into a dog?! That’d be SO funny.” I’m sure my response of “I’m working, go back downstairs” wasn’t helpful in her quest for companionship. I was a caterpillar, stuck in this life of responsibility and stress, going day in and day out, moving from one green leaf to the next, in an effort to nourish, sustain and cocoon our life in order to survive. Meanwhile, Rose laughed at her jokes, and had time to indulge her stories, making her feel noticed.

Then she had her first day of in-person school. She was so excited and also nervous, and she realized she was going to go into this place she had never really been, with all of these people she had never met in person, and for the first time in a year, she was going to be away from me for the entire day without a choice. She hugged her nap mat with her oversized backpack on, and begged me not to leave her there. For the first time, she was genuinely anxious and her year of nothing that created her world of everything was suddenly left at home for the day. She hesitantly followed her line into that class, and I watched her until she was inside and I went home to a very quiet house. I cried. I cried for the relief I felt that the house was quiet and I could focus. I cried for her, knowing that her kindergarten experience won’t be the same one most children get in better times, I cried because I knew she was feeling scared and nervous and after a year with me 24/7, I wasn’t sure she was as ready as she should have been. I cried because my baby wasn’t a baby anymore, and I cried because of the guilt that I not only felt relieved that the house was empty in that moment, but because I had been grateful Rose existed, allowing me space to focus on everything else that needed me, because she had conjured up Rose when she gave up on me.

At the end of the year of everything, I look back and realize I spent my year engulfed in stresses from work, health, politics, virtual school, and, fear that life will change and never change back, meanwhile, she spent her year focused on making the best of the change and grew from it. I picked her up from her first day of kindergarten, and that scared little girl I dropped off had come to life. She couldn’t have been more excited to tell me about her day, and her new best friend and that they had “two outside times!”. Rose hasn’t been here to visit since.

As this year rolls into the next, and there seems to be a dim light at the end of the tunnel some days, I wondered what happened with the Monkeys in Thai-city. The people of Thailand have developed a catch-and-release program to control population, have started feeding them, and are building them a proper habitat while they await to tourists to come back and restore their ‘normal’. The city adapted. The monkeys adapted. And their new normal just may be better than their old one.

Violet,

Four is my favorite age, as the world is big and new and you finally have the vocabulary to express the wonderment that you see it for, and every part of me wishes this year would have allowed you to experience age four in bigger more astounding ways. I’m sorry the world shut down for you this year, of all years. Your love of life on a daily basis is something I strive for, and something I hope you never lose and I couldn’t be more in awe of just how well you handled such strange times and couldn’t be more appreciative of your natural adaptability. That quality will take you far in life. Watching you get your wings this year was amazing, inspiring and as heartwarming as it was heart wrenching, as you took a year of nothing, created everything, and then took flight.

My wish for you this year is that you never lose your your sense of self. This year we watched you find your sense of humor, your personal interests, and imagination and as you go out into the world and find your other butterflies, remember that you’re a bright, cheerful, adaptable nature should influence others in more ways that it is influenced by them. Your wild questions and creative stories should be used to explore, discover and occasionally, entertain. Don’t let the caterpillars like me in the world damage your wings, for if you continue to rise above like you did this year, you will soar. Happy 5th Birthday, Violet. I couldn’t be more grateful that I was here to see every moment of who you are becoming. You are truly inspirational. Fly high, my little butterfly.

Love, Mom.

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“Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, it became a butterfly.” -unknown