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A Widget story
Mar. 5th, 2007 03:38 pmLast Friday, I picked Widget up from school as usual. Normally on Fridays, she is wildly happy to see me, because we head for knitting playdate at Circles right after school, and she loves herself some knitting playdate. Last week, though, she trudged from aftercare completely glum and downhearted. As she came up to me, she made a face and handed me a crumpled up wad of paper. When I asked her what it was, she said, "It's a ruined paper doll." I nodded and asked if it had gotten wet and ripped. She nodded and added that "I ripped its head off by accident."
We walked out to the car, and she was obviously still upset. We made small talk about the doll and how her day was. I asked her if the doll was the only thing bothering her and she nodded. As I was buckling her in, I suggested that perhaps, if she wanted, we could make a new doll this weekend.
That was the wrong thing to say. Or, maybe the right thing.
I watched as her face just... melted into tears. Deep sobs and wails of complete and utter sadness, tears rolling down her cheeks as she tried to tell me that we couldn't just make another one, that this one was too special and could never be remade. So much sadness, pouring out of this little girl.
I started to try and get her to stop crying, that it was jut a paer doll, and she shouldn't get so upset, but then something stopped me. I decided to just hug her and let her do all the crying that she needed to (which wasn't more than about 5 minutes when all was said and done).
I forget what it's like to be five, and have something like that matter so much that it's worth so much sorrow over.
We walked out to the car, and she was obviously still upset. We made small talk about the doll and how her day was. I asked her if the doll was the only thing bothering her and she nodded. As I was buckling her in, I suggested that perhaps, if she wanted, we could make a new doll this weekend.
That was the wrong thing to say. Or, maybe the right thing.
I watched as her face just... melted into tears. Deep sobs and wails of complete and utter sadness, tears rolling down her cheeks as she tried to tell me that we couldn't just make another one, that this one was too special and could never be remade. So much sadness, pouring out of this little girl.
I started to try and get her to stop crying, that it was jut a paer doll, and she shouldn't get so upset, but then something stopped me. I decided to just hug her and let her do all the crying that she needed to (which wasn't more than about 5 minutes when all was said and done).
I forget what it's like to be five, and have something like that matter so much that it's worth so much sorrow over.
