Happy 10th Birthday

The deadbolt is stuck, delaying my escape from my daughter.  

“I. Don’t. Want. To. Go. To. The. Beach.” she shouts, each word punctuated by a stomp up a stair.

“Whatever, Olivia” I half-heartedly yell back as she slams her bedroom door like an exclamation point.

The sticky lock finally opens and I step outside. It's another glorious September day. The day-trippers have gone home and the beaches are free, otherwise known as “local summer”.

Olivia was a millennial baby.  I am disappointed she rejected the beach, because today is her 10th birthday.  Our plan was to surprise her with a picnic and her favorite chocolate cupcakes.  Sometimes humor helps Olivia to “start over”, so I consider hunting down the yellow Monopoly card that reads “go directly to go’, and slipping it under her door.  But like the pig in the Olivia books, she does things her way and in her own time, so I let it be.

Instead, I sigh and plunk down on the concrete front stoop, knowing it will soon scratch my bare thighs. I notice the lushness of the red impatiens lining the walkway.  The sun warms my body and soul; its rays sparkling through my eyelashes.  I breathe contentment.

Not ten minutes later, Olivia appears from behind our house.  She is riding her pink cruiser bike.  She’s changed out of her sponge-bob pajama pants into her flowery, poufy skirt and white patent-leather ballet slippers.  I'm relieved to see that she's buckled her skull bike helmet. Maybe we can avoid another meltdown.

I shake my head.  Olivia reminds me of the ocean.  One moment she roars ferociously, almost pulling me under with her rip tides.  The next moment she basks in the sun, her glamour-girl smile blinding me with its brilliance; her sweet voice lulling me into her gentle waves.  But I obey the timeless rule to “never turn your back on the ocean”.  Olivia’s demonic grin does not bode well.

She begins riding up and down the sidewalk, navigating the fallen bark and bumpy roots of the giant Sycamore trees lining our street.  I begin to seriously contemplate if this might be the moment I let her ride her bike around the block by herself. Wouldn't it be a wonderful 10 year old celebration? I want her to experience the freedom and joy I felt at her age, but I don't want her to disappear into some crazy kidnapper's van. (This happened last winter to a little boy in a nearby town. Besides, she isn't even with Tommy or Katie, the next door neighbors.) 

But I keep thinking about it. "No, wait", I say to myself.  I know my husband, Carlo, will not dig it. I’m always the one to let out the next inch of the umbilical cord...

I keep breathing, but my face flushes as images of 9/11 enter my mind.  Olivia walked for the very first time that morning, her little hand holding my two fingers, along the driveway. Suddenly the pre-school moms raced to their cars with their little ones. They shouted that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center.  Terrified, I scooped Olivia into my arms to run inside, while Carlo drove to the elementary school to get Julie.  

But despite the incomprehensible madness of that day, our little one still needed shoes.  So the next day, I went to Spring Lake to buy Olivia her first pair.

Once again, the cerulean sky was cloudless, but the pedestrians were zombies.  They stumbled down the brick sidewalk in slow motion, still in shock.  But their somber faces melted when they saw Olivia in her brand new shoes, their bright white matching her smile. For a brief moment, divine hope pierced their sorrow and fear.

Before I go too far down that rabbit hole, Olivia snaps me back to the present.  

“Look Mom! Look how well I can ride!!”

“I see, Olivia.  You’re doing great!”

As she stops to turn around at the busy corner, I recall my vague uneasiness when I let her big sister, Julie, ride off with her friend for the first time.  I thought they would stay in the residential area by my house, but they turned up an hour later with items from the downtown Dollar Store.

“Hmm” I mutter to myself.  But that was in the summertime, when drivers race around for parking spaces and drive the wrong way on the one-way streets.  It should be OK now.

However, my now fatigued amygdala repeats like a broken record, its soundtrack of fear accompanying another scene in my memory reel.  

When Olivia was about 3 years old, we couldn’t find her.  We were especially alarmed because there were thousands of people walking down our street to attend the annual September Seafood Festival. We didn’t think she could get out of our house, but we had searched everywhere. Frantically, I dialed 911, while Carlo raced up and down the street yelling “OLIVIA!! OLIVIA!!”  Just as the police swarmed our home, I found her behind my winter coats, licking a forbidden dum-dum lollipop.  Now I laugh, remembering how it sounded like a suction cup when she pulled it out of her mouth, her twinkly eyes and impish smile extinguishing our fear.

All of this is going through my mind, but I remain peaceful, watching the sun beam through the Sycamore trees.  I love that.  And I love seeing Olivia happy.

On her next pass she shouts, “Mommy, can I go around the block? I promise I’ll be careful...Please?”

But she doesn't wait for my answer.  She continues by, giving me a 60 second reprieve until she comes back again.  I remain quiet. I am determined to say no.  It just doesn't seem right.  I’m superstitious now.

But I remember. 

I want her to have this…..

Determined, she stops in front of me.  “So Mommy... Can I PLEASE go around the block?!” 

I decide.  It's time.  I stand up and take a giant gulp of air….

“Yes, Olivia.” I announce.  “Yes.  You can go around the block.”

"Mommy, this is the best birthday present of all!” She is BEAMING. I knew it would be all of this and I so much wanted to give it to her. So I did. She begins her laps… 1, then 2 and 3. I wave her around and around as we count to 10.  She stops to debrief on how she handled a group of teenage boys by the High School behind our house; her confidence and drive clearly mitigating the reality of the dirtbags in the world. 

She resumes her adventure, grinning and laughing. I can almost feel the breeze on her cheeks as she passes by, her pride and joy igniting my own. As I wait for each lap, my shoulders relax and I start to breathe again. Just then, I hear them...the geese.   I look up and smile. There they are… 5 or 6 in formation, in flight, on their way.  My optimistic spirit rises along with them. Once again, the sun beckons me east.  The salt air tickles my nose, luring me like how coffee stirs my sleeping husband.  The ocean is only 6 blocks away.

“Mommy!”  

Olivia steers into the driveway and jumps off her bike so quickly that it crashes on the pavement.  She lands on the lawn in front of me.  She scrambles to her feet, her words tumbling out:

“Mom, Mom...I’ve got a great idea… Mom, let’s ride bikes to the beach, OK?  We can ride our bikes and then maybe we can stop at Hoffman’s ice cream on the way home, Ok?  No, no, wait...let’s stop at the bakery on our way home.. yeah, let’s go. We can get those chocolate  cupcakes.  I love them.  Mommy, Mommy, can we go?”

She grabs my hand, eager for me to fetch my bike. I’m glad to go along with her plan, but snicker to myself. I’ve already raised a daughter.  Olivia is now officially a preteen, so I’m quite sure the cupcakes will taste even better to her now that they’re her idea...

I fasten my seatbelt.  This is going to be some ride.