Eli is my easy kid, or at least she has been until recently. Anthroposophists (aka Waldorfians) refer to this shift as “The Nine Year Change,” attachment theorists might note the long days she spends away from home, and child psychologists across the board explain this age as a time of awakening to the imperfection of parents, the vastness of the world and the child’s perceived vulnerability within it.

If you were to ask her, she would tell you she just can’t live another day without Emma, Edith, Hayden and Bella, that it’s not FAIR that we have to live in Mexico, that her sisters are mean, that the weather’s too hot and the beach is too sandy. You know, your average eight-year-old, female, expat middle-child stuff.

My intuition and experience raising two daughters before her tell me that:

1. This is normal. (The more kids I come to know and love, the more it all seems pretty normal.)
2. Eli feels deeply and fully, which means she’s loving, empathetic and compassionate and also a bit hypersensitive to any perceived threat to her comfort (and the comfort of others) as well as injustice in all its many forms.
3. Her body, mind and spirit are doing the best they can to keep up with all the change that is both normal for her age and unique to living away from her closest friends and family and navigating the world in two languages.
4. Birth order shapes personality, plain and simple.

So, like every other family member who temporarily steals the show for one reason or another, we are trying to give her a little extra space, time and empathy, to work with rather than in spite of her needs and employ the arsenal of parenting tools we’ve acquired so far (reflective listening, playful diversion, advanced warning of situational changes etc, etc…)

Practically speaking, however, as many of you well know, it can be a real challenge to find a flow when one or more family members is sure to protest no matter the occasion. Between she and her (also opinionated) sisters, we find ourselves in a quandary nearly every time we leave the house.

Take this weekend, for example:

Saturday, following a productive morning of housework, we were all eager to get to the beach. All of us, that is, except for Eli.

“I don’t want to go to the beach!!!!” turned into,

“I’m not going to the beach!!!!!” and then,

“I hate Mexico!!!!!” and

“Why do I even have to be in this family!!!!!!?”

{Believe me, the exclamation points are all warranted.}

She’s rarely trying to be difficult (and actually loves the beach once we’re there), she just often gets stuck on the way she wants things to be.

Fast forward through an hour of tears, compromise, cajoling, cheerleading, a desperate (relatively harmless) bribe or two and an empty threat bordering on ridiculous, and we were on our merry way!

Still in a state of resistance upon arrival, Hunter stayed with her in the car (I guess he was hoping to sweat it out?) while I situated the rest of the fam in our choice of beach chairs.

Minutes later, a sullen and sweaty, though quiet Eli approached, followed by Hunter, whose expression revealed the still-fragile state of affairs.

“Why do we have to sit in these chairs?” she asked, her shaking voice revealing the truth of her emotional state. “And you know I don’t like agua de sandia, I always get mango!” I frowned at the complaint and…she totally lost it.

Now, I’m not easily embarrassed by my kids’ behavior in public places and Mexicans, as a whole, are extremely family and kid friendly, but this was not the time nor place for a full-on melt down (and very few of these paying beach patrons were Mexicans).

Matter-of-factly, having exhausted nearly every bit of empathy in me, I said (right or wrong),

“Eli, we are here to relax and have a good time. I don’t want to be around negative energy right now and these people don’t either.” I nodded at the twenty-odd people (no longer) sleeping in the shade.

“Well, I don’t want to be around me right now either!!!” She sobbed, totally oblivious to anything but her sadness.

And that’s when I got it. The kid couldn’t get it together. She needed me to calm her storm, she needed me to guide her back to center and she counted on me to know a way. 

I offered her my hand, led her to the lounge chair she had originally wanted to sit in and held her in my lap, shielding her from the wind with my sarong.

I hummed and rocked her like I have a thousand times since she was tiny, I breathed slowly, noticing her breathing change, too and listened without a word while she unloaded every frustration and injustice perpetrated against her as far back as she could remember (about a week).

Hunter brought her an agua de mango, we continued to sit in silence for a sweet, long while, and she hugged me tightly before sighing deeply, fixing her hair and running to join her sister in the waves.

“Just another day in paradise,” I thought, relieved to see her lighthearted for the first time all day.

After some time, I was approached by a woman who looked to be in her sixties.

“I just wanted to tell you,” she said, referring to Eli, “I feel like I was watching myself at her age,” clearly speaking of the meltdown. “When I was a little girl, I used to throw a tantrum over every little thing. I couldn’t really tell you why, I just didn’t feel good and couldn’t get over it, especially not when people pushed me to move on before I was ready.”

“Huh, interesting,” I said, genuinely intrigued. “And you seem to have turned out alright!?” I joked, at a loss for words, but hoping she’d continue her story.

“Yeah, you just learn coping skills as you grow, you know? What did she want, anyway? Why was she crying?”

“Well, apparently, she wanted me to lay down with her in that beach chair, order her a mango agua fresca instead of watermelon and play with her hair while she told me of all her struggles.”

“Yep. Sounds about right! I sure wish someone would have known to do that for me. Look at her now. She’s having a blast. She just needed you to sit there and listen — to give her your full attention. When I saw you stand up and lead her away I thought for sure she was in trouble, but then I saw your face and you were totally calm. I was really impressed.”

“Well, she’s my third, and easiest so far,” I quickly clarified, lest she be fooled by the small success, “And the hour of struggle it took us to get out the door might be a truer indicator of just how well I have this parenting thing down.” I added, hesitant to accept the praise.

“Yeah, but you DID slow down. You connected with her. Maybe not exactly when she wanted it, but that’s okay. That’s not the way life works. The point is that you took the time. That you listened and didn’t try to change her.”

About that time, Eli emerged from the waves all smiles for a sip of her agua de mango.

“Hi!” the stranger greeted her. “Are you eight?”

“Yes,” she grinned timidly.

“I knew it! You know what, honey? You remind me of ME when I was eight!”

“Really?” she beamed at the attention.

“Yep. I had long hair just like you, and I really didn’t like it when the wind messed it up.”

“I don’t either,” she grinned.

“And I bet you love breaks from your sisters, huh? I had sisters, too.” she said with a knowing wink.

“Oh yeah!” Eli confirmed, dramatically.

“Well, I just wanted you to know that you’ll learn ways to help yourself feel better as you get older. If I can do it, you can, too! Life won’t always feel so hard, honey. And you’re pretty lucky to have such a good mom.”

“Yeah.” She agreed, shyly, hugging me again and blushing behind her drink.

As the woman was leaving, I thanked her for reaching out, but what I really wanted to say to her was this:

Thank you, Dear-Stranger-Whose-Name-I-Never-Even-Asked. Thank you for taking the time to share your story. Thank you for not hesitating to approach me, sensitive as you surely know mothers can be. Thank you for connecting with my girl and making her feel valued. Thank you for the reminder that motherhood is hard but important. Thank you for knowing yourself well enough to recognize YOU in another. Thank you for not judging my weakness but pointing out my strengths. Thank you for reminding me of how little it takes to bridge the gap between stranger and friend, that sometimes all we need is to be held without hurry, and that it’s not about getting it right every time, it’s about connecting, whether with loved ones or perfect strangers.