I sat watching her from across the room. I could have helped her. It would have been so easy, but I wanted her to do it on her own. With a furrowed brow, I watched my daughter stare at the orange with intense concentration. A pile of oranges lay next to her chopping block. At 11, she was finally learning to chop things on her own. I sat, marveling at how far we’ve come together. This was the same child who used to be afraid of everything. From the moment she could toddle, she was shy to the world. It wasn’t uncommon for her to sit between my legs, peering out at the world with curious, yet timid eyes. If I rushed her into an activity too fast, she would cry and have a meltdown. So I learned to go at her pace. We eased into life together. With her little hand in mine I watched her begin to acquire new skills.

Chop! The first orange was cut in half and her face lit up at the achievement. Secretly I exhaled, giving thanks that she didn’t hurt herself. “You’re doing great” I cooed to her. She looked back at me, her blue eyes sparkling as she grabbed another piece of fruit.

It wasn’t that long ago that she conquered her fear of fire for the first time. I had lit a candle for her to roast a marshmallow over, but the fire made her tear up and recoil in fear. Eventually I sat behind her, determined for her to learn how to make a s’more, and watched her roast the marshmallow for the first time. Her eyes widened as it began to blacken. “Now, blow it out like a candle” I whispered as it caught fire. For a second she panicked but quickly began blowing it out. Moments later she tasted the gooey confection and her fear dissipated into triumph and joy. “I’ve got it, Mom” she said proudly and roasted another one. I beamed at the milestone and childhood memory we had formed together for her to always remember.

Chop! Another orange down and sliced in half. She looked back at me beaming. “I’m doing it, Mama!” she squealed. “Yes you are” I grinned, watching her intently. Truthfully, it’s difficult not to “helicopter” her. But it’s important that she learns how to do these things on her own.

For so long, when she was very little, family members would chastise me for being too much of a “hawk” over her. With a wave of my hand I dismissed their comments even though they stung a little. I knew from the moment of her birth that I wanted to be a stay at home mom. I wanted to cherish her childhood and soak it up fully. I wanted to walk hand and hand through her first 18 years together, giving her absolute reassurance that I was here for her. And that’s just what we’re doing.

As the mountain of orange halves grew next to the mixing bowl, I saw her place the knife down. Now it was time for the fun part. “Now” I said smirking, “squeeze each one over the bowl as hard as you can!”. She giggled grabbing an orange. With all her might she squeezed the juicy fruit. Juice went in the bowl, on her, and all over the counters… just as I expected it to. She glanced back at me worried that I would be upset at the mess that was ensuing. Instead, I giggled and gave her a nod. With permission to go wild she squeezed orange after orange into the bowl. She busted out laughing as juice shot out wildly in one direction and onto the floor. But in the end, she had a bowl full of juice. Her tiny, sticky hands picked out the seeds gently and she marveled at their feel and texture. Finally, she poured the fresh-squeezed juice into a glass. This was her reward.

“It tastes SO good!” she gasped beaming with a deep smile, “there’s no sugar in it!!”. I cradled my sticky daughter close. “And that is how real orange juice tastes” I purred. Sending her off to the table I began to clean up the mess. Sometimes, it’s great to get messy… to let loose… and just soak up life to the fullest. So go ahead, get wild. 😉

Have a beautiful Saturday everyone. ❤

~Punkin Xx