The golden crocus reaches up
To catch a sunbeam in her cup.
Walter Crane
Sadie and I have been taking a lot of walks lately. Nature discovery walks. Through town, around the neighborhood, in the woods. Just to see what we can see. As spring arrives in Newburyport, there has been a lot for us to gaze upon. Tiny buds dot the gray limbs of waking trees. The backyard grass has turned green, its blades reaching tall toward the sun’s warmth. Spring flowers are blooming, too. First the crocuses came, followed by the bright, full forsythia, then the daffodils—and by the looks of the thick green leaves pushing through the mulch, the tulips just might bloom in time for Easter.
Sadie is full of wonder at the changes she sees. She wants to stop and feel the soft petals of the flowers, and stick her nose deep into the blooms. She reaches up to pinch the tight tree buds between her fingers. She stops and silences me until we find the unseen, but very talkative bird, or makes me follow a cat to its favorite sunning spot. Sometimes it takes 30 minutes just to make it a couple of blocks. But that’s what the walks are about. We’ve nowhere to go, no place to be. Just together, the two of us. In between our slow steps, and her soft soprano chatter, though, I notice she’s growing up and that the discoveries on our walks also belong to me.
Sadie Leigh. Her name actually means princess—but, I swear it was unintentional ... okay, secondary at best. Truth be told, I chose her name because it sounded sweet on my tongue, like banana pudding in summertime. Her middle name, Leigh, comes from her great grandfather, my grand daddy and namesake, Howard Lee. And like banana pudding, her name is something of a tribute to the deep southern roots on my mother's side of the family.
So many people, upon meeting little Sadie, have a story to tell about a Sadie they once knew. Every one of them is a tale of a woman remembered for her kindness, beloved for her goodness. Each time we hear such a story, it’s as if a message is being sent out into the universe to remind me of the special person who has been placed in my care.
But, as you know, before Sadie came Henry—the awesome little guy this blog is usually about, the fellow who has probably stolen the spotlight most days of Sadie’s babyhood, which I think is natural. When she came into the world, he was just coming into his own. He was working on using the potty, starting school, learning to ride a bike, and we were just starting down the path with ADHD. And she was, well, mostly sleeping. I think for any parent, when the second child enters the picture, it takes time to fully realize you have a whole new being in your midst, that this new child is her own person—she will sleep differently, eat differently, and speak differently than your first child (the one you now know so well). She will grow differently, learn differently. Everything about her will unfold differently. It’s a game changer for certain, but it’s also a pretty cool adventure. Now that Sadie is almost two-and-a-half (on Easter Sunday to be exact), I’m seeing her in ways I never have before. This is her time to come into her own.
Lately, she’s been walking around with a big sequined purple tiara (that’s constantly sliding down her forehead), bracelets on both arms and a bright, metallic handbag in which she carries her Minnie Mouse cell phone, one yellow-haired Little People girl and a Littlest Pet Shop puppy dog. She often slips on my high heels—her favorite pair is a set of red canvas, open-toed wedge heels with flowers on top—and pulls a dress (any dress) on over pajamas, and just clicks around the hallway full of pride. She has many thoughts to express, and even more observations. She wears her heart on her sleeve, which means tears can come easily—when she feels sad she sticks out her bottom lip and her big brown eyes fill up with water like tiny flower vases. One tear melts you and you feel you would trade your right arm to make her smile again. But her sensitive nature also means she always has a hug, a kiss and an “I love you” at the ready, and she knows just by looking at you if you need one (or all). She's smart. She" tells it like it is." She uses her manners impeccably well for age two, so long as it suits her. If she could, she would stay in her jammies all day. She sings when she’s happy. She says hello to everyone she meets. She will almost always choose fruit over candy, and she's never met a Cheerio she didn't like. Her legs are so strong. She's like a miniature Mary Lou Retton (or should I say she's like a Mary Lou Retton). Climbing, jumping, running. It's pretty typical to find her in her downward-facing dog pose doing her daily "yoyo" (read: yoga). And she already swims like a champ.
Her baby days have come and gone and suddenly in front of me, stands a little girl. Her [finally-growing] hair is a glossy, flossy mix of caramel and gold, framing her round rosy cheeks, but not yet hiding those trademark inquisitive ears. Love for life and innate joy leaps out of her in invisible, yet palpable waves of energy that draw you in. She is a southern spirit after all: sweet and feisty. Pure fun to watch, pure love. I feel very blessed to be with her right now, and to watch the many layers of who she is unfold, petal by petal, blooming into the beautiful person she was meant to be—even before she had her name: Princess Sadie.
