Down the Rabbit Hole

Almost 11

When she was born our daughter had the same ice blue eyes as my father and not my husband’s dominant dark brown pools as we had expected. Then, as if in act of defiance of both our genetic codes, her eyes suddenly changed to green.

My daughter’s eyes are a color not shared by any known ancestors on either side. They are a beautiful and complex shade of green, unique unto her. They are dynamic and prone to variations within the spectrum. In summer, set off against her sun-ripened caramel skin, her eyes can appear light, almost Jade green. At other times, and in cooler seasons and moods, her eyes darken to a more olive shade with a ring of deep emerald circling the iris. I like to call them her “sea-change eyes” because they are always shifting like the ribbons of color in the changing tides. At almost 11, she has started to recognize that her eyes are one of her defining features and, I believe it brings her a small measure of pride that their origin remains a family mystery.

Lately, she has taken to lengthening her long, soot dark lashes with the clear mascara she got for Christmas. It is the first hint that she is exploring her blooming maturity. It is a small flirtation with vanity for a child that has shunned anything remotely “girlie” since starting elementary school. New Year’s Eve, to add some fun to an otherwise boring, home-bound celebration, I let her use some of my makeup. I was surprised at the subtle way she adorned her face. She used it minimally, employing only the most neutral shades and slight shimmers in my palettes. It was a bittersweet glimpse into the not too distance future, watching her tilted forward on her toes at the bathroom mirror applying eyeliner with delicate, careful fingers, then rolling back on her heels to assess her work.

Despite her initial interest and enthusiasm, the eyeliner, lip gloss and fancy clothes did not make it even full hour. She had quickly retreated upstairs to wash her face and change. She came back down dressed in her standard fare of leggings and a sweatshirt; her face scrubbed clean – save for those dark lashes. I was relieved to have that fresh face back, happy that her curiously was short-lived. I tell her all the time that she will never need make-up. She will never have need to artificially enhance her beautiful features with cosmetics.

At almost 11 she is all legs and straight angles like her father had been as a teenager, but her budding curves and graceful carriage keep the gawkiness at bay. She has struggled with some bad skin and did her time battling with bangs but overall seems to be embracing all the new physical changes with relative ease. The changes are coming fast now, and it is hard to ignore the pang in my heart when I see the young woman so clearly in her silhouette.

Her athleticism continues to surprise me. She is interested trying most all sports. She felt the sting of COVID most when it robbed her of soccer season this past Fall. She missed the practices and drills, the comradery of being on a team. These days, she spends her free time outside kicking the soccer ball or attempting to master her skateboard. She’s happy when she can coerce us into walks or bike rides. The winter weather and shortened days have limited the time at the barn but on those rare days when the sun cuts into the chill, she bounds around – scrambling over the gates to visit all the furry residents. She has shown an interest in photography and architecture and making art, in all its forms, remains one of her mainstay hobbies. She enjoys decorating her room with sunflowers and LED lights but will leave discarded clothes strewn about the space until it looks like her closet exploded. She snacks almost constantly but has developed a willingness to try new foods and has expanded her menu considerably over the last year.

In many ways she is a normal, nearly-preteen during what has been a very unusual time. The pandemic has robbed her of so many things, as it has for so many. As we prepare to celebrate her first birthday in this time of COVID, I am forced to acknowledge that for the first time, loneliness has become part of her landscape. As an only child she has felt the isolation more acutely because there are no siblings to pass quarantined hours with. Sleepovers with friends have all but disappeared and even outside playdates have become a casualty of colder temperatures and the rising positivity rate. Then today, a few days before her birthday, another blow coming with the news her school is moving to all-remote until Feb 1st. While not unexpected, she radiated disappointment on learning that her two days of in-school instruction were going away – effectively stripping the last shred of normalcy from her life.
She does not complain but somehow her resignation is far worse.

Her loneness is palatable, and I am often riddled with pain over it. I see it in her slumping shoulders and the way some mornings she gazes out the car window, silently watching the world slip past. As much as I loathe her obsession with screens, I can’t bear to take the games and phone calls away from her. They are at present, her only connection to friends and family. I tell myself that it is temporary, that soon she will have reasons enough to abandon the blue glow of the iPad, to lace up cleats, to run and play with friends in the real world.

This is certainly a difficult time to be almost 11, straddling the world between child and teenager. For now, I can only tell her it will get better. I tell her that for now, we must hunker down and deal…but it will get better. It will all come back, the sleepovers, the parties, the sports…. the full and vibrant life she’s known. I can see the serious contemplation in those amazing sea change eyes and then she flashes me that Mona Lisa smile and I know my resilient daughter believes it to be true.