When my middle daughter Darian was six weeks old, I took her to the doctor because she slept 23 of 24 hours: what is wrong with her? And the doctor said? She likes sleep. (That, by the way, has been true for her entire life actually. :)
When she was eighteen months, she toddled after her sister, passionately sucking on her pacifier. When she was three, she talked, but usually her sister had to translate for her as she had a strong speech impedament.
When she was five, she cried because her best friend (Savana--her sister) went to school and she was lonely. So she quietly padded after me the whole day long, searching for entertainment. But I was too consumed with my own life to relish this quiet time with my precious, quiet daughter so instead, I sent her to preschool...and the next year? Kindergarten. But she was such a bright little thing that she found kindergarten boring and only lasted a semester.
In first grade, she thought it was great fun to pack her own lunch. I found a bit of freedom and never looked back. My little seven year old would climb on the countertop, open the fridge...do whatever she needed to do in order to pack her lunch. And I let her.
When Darian was in third grade, she brought home a thick stack of papers and proudly declared, "I only missed seven points in this entire stack!" My perfectionistic daughter thrived on doing everything with perfection and school provided a great platform for her to excel.
My oldest child has always been flamboyant and demanding. My youngest meanwhile craves attention and, as a boy, is dependent on my mothering--"cook me breakfast!" "I need help with my homework!" "Play with me!"
Darian, on the other hand, quietly goes about her life, doing just what she is expected to do. If I need help cleaning, she's there. If she has homework, she does it. If dinner needs to be cooked, she's right beside me. If I am struggling, she cries right along with me. She never complains, never tells me if she's frustrated or hurting or crying on the inside. She does it all right. Perfectly.
And of course she's isn't perfect--not at all. She has her own struggles, her own set of issues that she has to contend with daily. But? She's my breath of fresh air. She's a rock in so many ways. I depend on her--depend on her to be responsible, to make wise decisions, to have a successful life. I don't really worry about her--not like I do Savana or Jace. Both of them are wildcards. Both of them keep me up at night. But not so with Darian. I mean--of course there are times when I worry for her, like when she feels rejected or is struggling in math or wants to be on praise team but isn't invited. Those issues bother me and I desperately want to fix them for her. But life is difficult and I am smart enough to know that I can't fight her battles. She must fight them herself so that, in the end, she'll come out on top. Even though, in my opinion, she's already there.
When life is stressful and falling down around me, sometimes I close my eyes and picture serenity. And here is what it is. I see a pane glass window, sunshine spilling across its face. And in the center is a crystal vase that has a simple daisy bursting forth--perfectly formed white petals surrounding a center of of sheer gold. And when I see that daisy, pristine in all its simple beauty--quietly displayed--I feel peace at my core. Because? To me, that daisy is ...
Beautiful and strong.
Quiet and assured.
Simple yet filled with integrity.
Darian.
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