For some reason I have never watched Alice in Wonderland, at least not all the way through. Couldn't get past the creepiness of the versions that have existed during my lifetime. Never read the book either, which seems a bit strange to me as I love whimiscal fantasy.
But that's neither here nor there. What IS here and there, however, lies in the beautiful fact that the profound truths within the story were weaved into my sisters and I during our formative years, intentionally or unintentionally, by both our parents and my Dad's parents as well. Watching the Johnny Depp version of Alice this weekend was a very special experience. It reminded me of the investments my parents and grandparents made in the breadth and depth of who I am. They invested in my imagination, my belief in myself, my sense of wonder, my wanderlust, the "uniqueness of me," and so much more. They gave me a gift of believing that I could do whatever I put my mind and effort to, that there were no limits except in my own fear, that I was resilient and strong and could weather adversity without breaking.
I remember so many special times growing up - quilt forts over the dining room table, slumber parties in the living room with just the five of us, lemonade stands made out of refrigerator boxes, stealth warfare in the middle of the night with flour bombs and water guns, collecting fireflies and web-worms, snow angels in the middle of Colorado fields of unbroken whiteness, hot chocolate up on the roof in the winter under crystal shooting stars, the Nutcracker ballet every year, singing entire albums on endless road trips, peach Slurpees, the smell of Sex Wax and salt water, cabbage-head jellyfish and man-o'-wars on the ocean, the thick scent of firewood and snow layered over the sounds of rhythmic harness bells in a muted forest, summer-long trips through our amazing country in a fifth-wheel, hiking through enchanted forests where an elf appearing next to me would have seemed commonplace...
I guess that is why I'm still a 7-year old in a 39-year old's body. Because the people who loved me most made sure my muchness had the chance to take root and grow, thrive. And while it's now my responsibility to keep it growing and thriving, I owe them so much for the great start they gave me.
There've been a couple times lately when Poppy and I have been out in public, and she falls down or has difficulty doing something on her own, or we simply decide to have a lively hysterical moment to ourselves. And I've caught the horrified or judgmental or "wow, that woman is crazy" looks on people's faces around us when I don't pick Poppy up or don't help her out or act goofier than she is acting. I can hear the "what a terrible mom" thoughts aimed in my direction, loud and clear.
But what they don't get is that my number one job is to cultivate the muchness of my child in every way possible. To help her explore and discover who she is and what she is capable of. To equip her with strength, compassion, ingenuity, intuition, creativity, generosity and so much more I already see blossoming inside her. It is my job to give her permission to be who she is and to help her rise to the grand occasion that is her life.
As Dad and I were watching Alice this weekend, I looked at him and said, "You know, you've got three incredible grandchildren who all have a ton of muchness." He responded, "They do, and you need to make sure you keep it that way." I replied, "I think I can speak for Martha as well as myself when I say that we both believe our main job as mothers is to do just that...to cultivate the muchness of our kids."
It was a brief moment in time, but one that echoed for me through many decades in the past and through many decades still to come. It was a statement of unity, of purpose, of shared vision and belief that was passed down to my sisters and I from three generations of muchness-embracing parents who gave that gift to their own children and grandchildren. And now it's my and my sister's turn to continue the tradition with Poppy Anne, Trinity and Vincent - to keep the spark alive.
And tomorrow, like any other day, I will help my Squish believe at least six impossible things before breakfast...
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