It was her second change of clothes that day-only my child spills pizza sauce on her white blouse on School Picture Day and requires a substitute outfit. Is it weird that I didn't even pack pizza in her lunch? No, it was definitely a turkey sandwich. With no pizza sauce. Hmmm. Better release that one to the universe.
Anyway, I was so down with what she was saying (slamming?) that I watched it twice-but afterward thought about how "pretty" is sometimes just...there, to behold. Especially in children. It's beauty, really. Unabashed joy. I look at these and think: happy. But the first words out of my mouth are usually something to do with the physical. I'm not necessarily inclined to exclaim how clever she is at swinging, or what a great imagination it takes to fathom the complicated game "Chicada": an exercise involving a real broom, pretend pinata, and the song Crocodile Rock. It's more of a chore to look for the stuff inside-the silly quirks and real strengths of character that make her beauty greater than what's on the surface.
So I guess it's not a mystery. It is an Unsolved, though. Something I want desperately to Not Mess Up. My biggest fear in this is that I'll blink and she'll be 13, staring woefully at a mirror-image that's been distorted by puberty, boys-with-no-soul, or even worse...me. And I'll be all, "Wait! Wasn't there something about pretty I was supposed to remember?"
Hopefully I can do enough accidental good to round out the mess-ups.
We sure do have fun together...
Pretty or not.