Yellow-bellied Cottontail

This probably means I am getting old, but I must admit that my favorite holidays are the ones that don’t involve gifts. Although, of course, they do involve a lot of candy.

I’ve been a big fan of Halloween since I was a kid myself, but Easter kind of crept up on me. I think part of the reason I love Easter so much is for the same reason that I have been obsessed with daffodils this year. The colors, the eggs, the dresses, the hats…after a long rain, inside play and endless runny noses, it’s nice to see something bright and cheery, anything that doesn’t involve muddy shoes.

And Easter also holds the promise of our family’s favorite cuddly creature, the big old Easter Bunny.

Now, Danny has pretty much never been afraid of oversized characters, except for one run-in with the Cat in the Hat. And Jay is too small to realize that a bunny that is taller than Daddy and rattier than his old sweatshirt is a bit on the unusual side. But Annie. Oh man, that’s another story.

Last year’s Easter bunny picture features Annie in mid-howl, eyes scrunched up in horror, tears running down her face as Danny stares in pure sibling obliviousness at the camera. This year, after a successful visit with Santa, I thought we were home free. We even ran into the Bunny on his way to a bathroom break and all seemed well.

All was well…until he arrived at his throne and reached out his hand to Annie. And then it began. Annie, a year stronger, was no longer going to be put on some bunny’s lap. As her brothers settled in, she hollered on the floor, turned red in the face and made all kinds of threats (which I am a bit relieved I couldn’t quite make out). The only way to get her in to the picture was by having Mommy make her first, and hopefully last, appearance in a holiday mall photo op.

When asked over dinner that night why she was so afraid of the bunny, Annie quite rationally explained that it was because he had one oversized tooth. This was in fact true. One tooth surrounded by a Darth Vader mesh opening and a clownlike perma-grin graced our Bunny. But still, was one tooth that bad? Another theory that emerged a few days later was Dan’s admission that he might have told Annie that the Easter Bunny liked to pinch children when they sat on his lap. Don’t ask why Dan would do such a thing---that’s a matter for our kids to work out in therapy some day.

But as much as I’d like to make Dan sweat this one out, I must say that Annie’s crying was not his fault. And it wasn’t even about that weird old tooth. It’s just about our Annabelle. She likes a good cry. Just like me.

I have friends who have all girls who, when planning a third baby, were desperate to have another girl, figuring boys were just too hard. One even went so far as to research positions. But, as a mother of two boys and one girl, I must say that I think they have it backwards. Boys may be hard on the ears and a bit like a spinning top that never unwinds, but girls can mess with your heads and out-think you even at three.

My Annie is at once the sweetest, most gentle princess that you ever could meet, and the most difficult, manipulative banshee that ever roamed the earth. She gives amazing hugs and kisses, but then might give a surprise offensive kick in the bath. She loves to snuggle but at night she likes to kick off the covers and stretch out alone. She knows how to turn on the tears in five seconds flat if that is the only way to get her way, and will smile at you like nothing ever happened when she emerges from time out. She is shy with adults, but once she starts talking, she never stops. She loves to spin, to twirl, to do princess ballet. She says her name is Cinderella and I am Snow White. She collects rocks by the bucketful and has a tendency to steal flowers from neighbors’ carefully pruned gardens. She wears a tiara on her head and spaghetti on her shirt. She is all girl with a dash of tomboy thrown in on the side. And I love every bit of her.

But sometimes I worry that I don’t show it enough. In many ways, Annie is my most difficult child simply because she is the most complex. With the boys, things are all about cause and effect. With Annie, she’s often going for an effect, never mind the cause. She can be stubborn for no reason or in a bad mood because of nothing. But on other days her smile is brighter than a rainbow after an El Nino winter. And I must admit that while I am trying to listen to Danny’s stories and keep Jay from eating the furniture, sometimes Annie’s voice can get a bit lost. Especially since listening to Annie is a lot like listening to me. And I try to avoid that as much as I can.

Even at three, I can see so much of myself in Annie. Some of it is good, like her easy sense of humor, but then some of it is not so great, like the shyness that I hope she can avoid. When she throws a fit or has a dark cloud over her head, I know what she is doing because I do the same thing. And that irritates me to no end. But then again when she sings off-key and does her crazy little dance, well that’s me too. So I have come to decide that if I am going to raise Annie to love herself, then I have to do a better job of loving (or at least strongly liking) myself. It’s not easy to do, even on the best of days, but if I think of myself in terms of being similar to Annie, then even I have to admit that I can’t be half-bad. To turn away from what makes me tick is to turn away from what makes Annie who she is. And that would make me a bigger scaredy-cat that Annie could ever dream of being, Easter Bunny or not.

I think maybe the secret to being a good mother to a daughter is in embracing her complexity and moods. In not trying to make a girl black and white, but in finding the beauty in a gray that can be as lovely as a daffodil. In playing princess with her for as long as you can, but not complaining when she muddies her dress or gets food in her hair. In letting her rage when she needs to, cry when she feels like it, and have quiet time to make her secret plans. In letting our girls be just like us, not forcing them to be some better, more modern model of what a strong, self-sufficient girl should be. In not trying to make them into the new, improved versions of ourselves. Because, really, a girl, just like a boy, and just like a man or a woman, doesn’t need anything more than love and acceptance. And the freedom to be themselves, dark clouds and all.

So I will give my girl that love and I will hold her as close as I can, even when she cries for no reason, even when she tugs on my hair, my sweet little Annie, foe of the Easter Bunny, princess of the rocks.