If You Cry Sometimes...You Get What You Need

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The moment came out of the blue.

We'd had a lovely afternoon together, E and I--we'd snuggled together in bed with books while Baby N finished his nap, went to her ballet class, then had frozen yogurt with friends before heading back to the car to go to GG's for dinner.

E held on to Baby N's stroller, obedient as always, as we walked down La Brea with rush hour traffic whizzing past. When we got to the side street where I'd parked the car, I reached for her hand so we could cross.

She refused to give it to me. 

Thinking she'd just forgotten, I reached for her hand again. She jerked it away.

I got flustered. From shock, mostly, and from fear as she began to step off the curb to cross on her own. 

"You know the rule," I snapped, grabbing her hand. "You can't cross the street without holding a grown up's hand. EVER."

"I don't WANT to hold your hand," E said. And then she burst into tears.

E is a born "hall monitor," as J would say (a quality he also insists got passed down from me.) She follows rules easily and without question. Even as a baby she had an inherent sense of right and wrong; she never needed to be told not to play with knives or throw her dishes on the floor (not so much the case with Baby N, sigh.) She never went through a willful stage; we've never experienced Terrible 2s or 3s or anything even close. I can count the number of full blown tantrums she's had in her whole life on one hand.

Do I take her natural obedience for granted? All the time. I sometimes find myself mentally smacking my forehead and thinking "she's only FOUR" when she balks at a task or isn't quick enough to follow through. She's just so good.

So snapping at her, in that moment, wasn't fair. Not at all. But I let the moment pass, and struggled to get both kids buckled in and the stroller collapsed. I tossed E's ballet bag in the trunk and got in the car and started the engine. When I looked in the rearview to back out, I saw her. 

Tears streaming down her cheeks, chest heaving with silent sobs.

Baby N began to whine from his carseat, his sister's distress cuing his own.

"E, honey, what's wrong? Can you use your words and tell me?"

"I DIDN'T LIKE WHAT YOU SAID."

"What I said when?"

"ABOUT HOLDING YOUR HAND."

"But E, you know the rule. Crossing the street can be dangerous and you always, always have to hold my hand. Otherwise we can't cross the street. And then how would we get to ballet class? Don't you want to go to ballet class?"

"Yes but next time I want to park SOMEWHERE ELSE. Somewhere where I DO NOT HAVE TO HOLD YOUR (sob, gasp) HAND!"

"I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean to snap at you. But holding hands when we cross the street is really, really important. Do you understand?"

She continued to cry, and Baby N started to whine louder, and I gave up and turned the radio up full blast. You Can't Always Get What You Want by the Rollings Stones, as it happened...one of my all-time favorites. I figured if they wouldn't stop, I'd just drown them out.

E's tears didn't let up. I turned the volume down and asked her what she needed to feel better. This couldn't still be about the hand-holding thing. Because...really?

"YOU DIDN'T GIVE ME A HUG," E gasped between sobs after I'd asked her three more times. "AFTER BALLET. YOU DIDN'T HUG ME. I NEED A HUG."

Confusion. Guilt. Shame. I couldn't remember if I'd given her a hug after class or not, to be honest, but she was usually right about stuff like this. I reached behind me and caressed her leg.

"I'm so sorry, honey. I didn't mean to not give you a hug. I'll give you one just as soon as we get to GG's. OK?"

But she couldn't catch her breath. The sobs kept coming. 

"I NEED A HUG NOW, MOMMY."

I listened to the Stones on the radio. I thought about the lyrics. I thought about a blog post by my sweet friend Galit I'd read just this morning, about a beautiful moment when she drove all the way to her daughter's school in the middle of the day to apologize to her for a misunderstanding. The post had been with me all day; it inspired me, as Galit so often does, to be a better parent. I thought about how many times E made me proud in any given day...hundreds and hundreds, just by being her own incredible little self. 

You can't always get what you want

But if you try sometimes, you just might find

You get what you need

I listened to E's sobs, and thought about what she'd said. She needed something from me. Something really, really easy to give her.

It wouldn't always be so easy.

I pulled the car over. I got out and opened her door and hugged her. Her sobs ceased immediately as her body relaxed into my arms. We stayed that way for a minute or two, and I stroked her hair, and she clutched my shoulders like she wasn't ever going to let go. Then I kissed her nose and asked if she was OK.

She grinned.

"Oh YES, Mommy. I really just needed a hug."

Then I closed her door, crossed to Baby N's side, gave him a hug (just for good measure) and got back in the driver's seat.

Everything went back to normal. Baby N started babbling away and demanding to hold E's hand. E asked to listen to her current favorite song, Call Me, Maybe. (Try not to judge. I'm sort of addicted to it, too.)

I thought about those lyrics. I've called upon them dozens of times in my life, playing the song on repeat as an anthem in troubled times to remind myself to trust in karma. This was the first time I'd really focused on the last part of the verse:

If you try sometimes...you get what you need.

That happened for both of us today. E knew what she needed. And I knew what I needed to do. Thanks to a wonderful "mommy" blogger, and the Rolling Stones.

And E, of course. I hope you always know what you want, baby girl...and that I keep being able to give you what you need.