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Margot, at four.
February 2, 2012
When Andy was four his great Aunt Dorothy died. He and his sister were a part of the estate-sorting-though and, in the end, each offered a pick from the costume jewelry box. Neysa chose what you’d expect any seven year-old girl to pick: a big sparkly necklace. Andy carefully selected a small box with a single stone hopping around inside. His mom says it was his prized possession. He carried it everywhere. For three years.Β 
It was lost may times. My mother-in-law would find thisΒ tinyΒ gem in the kitchen or outside and one day while vacuuming the hardy bastard popped up out of the carpet in front of the vacuum. In a fit of disbelief and curiosity she picked it up and scraped it across the hallway mirror. And it cut.

It was a diamond. She had it appraised and it was a perfect diamond. She held onto it for 20 years until he asked for it back. When Andy proposed at a museum in New York, he presented me with that stone.

My friend has a card taped to her bathroom mirror. It reads

Whether you think you can or you think you can’t, you’re right.
-Henry Ford

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I think people are born knowing this and we unlearn it. Kids trust themselves, they know their inner voice. They are firm in belief and self-awareness.

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The other day Margot was chatting with a friend as they hauled their sleds up the hill, my friend and I a few paces ahead. Margot said, “Mom! She said only a man and woman can get married. But I told her about Sarah and Candice and they are both girls. And John and Tony are both boys.” And then, without time for response, Margot said, “Well, I just know anyone can marry anyone.” And she and her pal brightly hopped in the sled and slid smoothly across the hillside toward their future.

Margot has such a sharp delivery with words. People often curiously ask how old she is because clearly she is four but her soul is pensive, smart and particular in that way my grandparents were. Sometimes her delivery is perceived as blunt, rude even, but I know she is just direct. She says what she wants to say, with real emotion and conviction. She is full of love. I admire the shit out of her confidence.

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It is one of my jobs as her mama to encourage a softening to her words. I find it a challenge because I never want her to soften. When pressed I want her to feel it, absorb the pliable indentation of flesh and then respectfully push back. Be affected, form an opinion and respond with strength and kindness.

Ever since she could physically move to what she wanted, Margot has been fiercely attached to objects. After the maraca, the items have always been clothing or, like her dad, unbelievably tiny. She likes the way something feels, in her hand or on her body. She’s all about the object, which makes her parents’ dorky artist hearts sing. It changes often. Last week it was the orange socks, pulled up to her knees. The month before, the silver skirt I made her for Christmas. One time, at a garage sale, the host offered Margot and Ruby any one thing they wanted. There were stuffed toys, dolls, cars, art supplies and a litany of stuff I didn’t want to lug home with us. Margot studied every. single. item. in that box and left with a light blue cordless Barbie phone about the size of a kidney bean. We lose water bottles, keys, sweaters, lunch boxes. We still, after nearly a year, have that phone.

Margot, 14 months old with beloved maraca

Margot has a new friend, Phoebe. Phoebe is a little older. She can write, has red hair and dress up clothes. In the giant poofy pile of options, Margot methodically selected a light pink dress with silver sequin straps, a veil and glass slippers. Phoebe helped her connect the straps between her shoulder blades with a bobby pin, pulling up the gaping scoop neck.

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Margot visited Phoebe’s house several times and wore the dress. She had a hard time leaving it every time. I actually had anxiety about it, the anticipation of another visit and inevitable departure where I’d have to talk at length about what it means to borrow and appreciate sharing. It was all so dramatic to me, so real to her. Margot wept about that gown, dreamt about that gown.

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One day we were leaving and it was smooth because we had talked in advance about how it might feel to remove the dress and walk away. It was a parenting triumph! I felt like I had successfully prepared my daughter for the heartache in a way that allowed her to feel the sadness but move through it. And then, in a surprise twist, Phoebe said, “Want to borrow it for a few days?”

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Margot looked at me with eyes like moons. We walked across the street with the dress, veil and shoes. We were going to the family symphony, an annual Missoula event where a brilliant collection of musicians have fun in order to educate and entertain people of all ages. (This was our first year attending and it was amazing). Phoebe and her family were going as well and she suggested Margot could even wear it there. Margot said, “Oh yeah. And the veil too.” Phoebe maturely tried to dissuade her, telling her the veil is for pretend weddings. Margot wore the veil, crooked so she could flick it about when she talked, like a teenager with a beloved side ponytail.

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Andy and I raised our eyebrows in enamored interest at how much the outfit changed Margot’s affect. She was, well, ME. Ruby would whine and tug and instead of protesting and shrieking for a parent, Veiled Margot would say, as she kissed her forehead,Β Oh, babe. You are feeling frustrated? Tell me what you need.

It lasted for three days, the costume consumption. And then she bravely handed the whole tattered shebang over to me (minus the glass slippers) declaring it was time. “I am ready to give these back to Phoebe. I think we should wash them first.” Now she is onto two silk scarves tied as tight as you can around her middle under every outfit.

I suppose every person feels as I do about the people they create. Still, this one. I feel so lucky I get to witness her accomplishments and choices. I don’t know a person with her enthusiasm, dedication and passion. My cheeks ache when I think about what she’ll grow into, my bug.

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46 Comments


Kelle
February 2, 2012 at 2:08 PM

oh mama, what a tribute. what perfect words chosen to describe who she is. and even after reading, i know she’s even more. love that old soul.



Abs
February 2, 2012 at 2:12 PM

Wow. Amazing. Like, worthy of being read at her 16th and 21st and 30th and 40th and 50th….birthdays.



Jaim
February 2, 2012 at 2:54 PM

Beautiful! What an amazing girl and amazing role model for her little sister.



erin
February 2, 2012 at 2:55 PM

Agreed, that was beautiful. You should most definitely read this on her future birthdays. Absolutely beautiful.



Jillian22
February 2, 2012 at 2:58 PM

Beautiful post. I find it inspiring how in tune mothers are with their children. Each one is precious and offers the world something different and special. I often wish adults could keep that child-like grace and confidence in our skin. We have so much to learn from our children.



ctb
February 2, 2012 at 3:00 PM

you are so blessed. she IS one of a kind. please dont soften her. i mean, yes, there is kindness of corse. but that ‘unlearning’ is so tragic in our culture.

i see it everywhere. the muting of that direct, honest, confidence. once unlearned it is so hard to get back. she is perfect and fabulous and highly unique.

and yes margot, anyone can marry anyone πŸ™‚



Little For A Little While
February 2, 2012 at 3:03 PM

Gorgeous. What a gift to your girls that you are able to put these thoughts, memories, and your feelings into words. They will surely know and feel how much you love them so. What lucky little girls.



Malissa
February 2, 2012 at 3:13 PM

What a little sweet pea! πŸ™‚



dig this chick
February 2, 2012 at 3:14 PM

@Jillian22, The child-like grace and confidence! I feel like I, at 33, learn how to behave from my four year-old. It’s awesome. It is such a high charge to encourage that honest, direct communication and choice-making to stick around.



Sarah
February 2, 2012 at 3:16 PM

My girl, Anna Cate, 5, is an old soul too. what a blessing it is to behold such a spirit and get to join them for their journey, and they for ours.



Jen
February 2, 2012 at 3:24 PM

I so can relate to this. I feel the exact.same.way about my daughter.



Rhett
February 2, 2012 at 3:32 PM

So sweet.



Tammi
February 2, 2012 at 4:11 PM

Nici, I just love how you weave your words into such beautiful stories. This one made me smile and start my day wanting to wear something fun!



Jean
February 2, 2012 at 4:25 PM

I adore that kid. She’s a pistol. Can’t wait to see what happens next.



Barbara
February 2, 2012 at 5:25 PM

What a beautiful gift you just gave your daughter. Someday when shes a teenager and ans saying something like “you just don’t get it. Mom” you can show her this post. You are an awesome Mom!



Nancy
February 2, 2012 at 5:34 PM

You have such a way with words. I hope Margot never changes.



Susan S
February 2, 2012 at 5:53 PM

Oh, Nici. What this does to my heart!

When I was 6 years old, in first grade, I was in love with a scrappy, tow-headed, blue-eyed pixie named Jody. We sat together on the bus, ate lunch together and held hands at recess. One day on the playground, Jody announced that we were going to get married. The other kids laughed and said we couldn’t get married. I asked why not? One kid said, “You need a boy and a girl to get married.” I said, “Fine, I’ll be the boy.” It just never seemed like an obstacle. Jody moved away that summer and I never saw her again. I never forgot her, either, and I still don’t see the problem. We two girls should have been able to talk on the playground about getting married, without being mocked, and I still don’t think either one of us should have to be the boy.

Only now, 40 years later, is the way starting to become smoother.

I’m so thankful you are raising a child who doesn’t acknowledge any issue there, either. A kid who says, with conviction–the same certainty with which she knows that the sun rises in the morning and that Mom and Dad love her so–“Well, I just know anyone can marry anyone.”

Thank you, thank you, Nici and Andy! There’s hope for us yet, eh?

Susan

p.s. This really made me laugh: ” . . . or, like her dad, unbelievably tiny.” Don’t worry, Andy Cline. We’ve seen enough photographic evidence to know you’re not tiny, and we’d still love you even if you were!



Catherine
February 2, 2012 at 6:56 PM

What a beautiful post to your girl. She certainly does sound absolutely amazing.



Louise
February 2, 2012 at 7:19 PM

She reminds me of ‘Olivia’ in little girl form. She is a little fire cracker!



Luisa
February 2, 2012 at 7:37 PM

That was beautiful and honest. What a spitfire kid you have on your hands. It’s wonderful!



Melina
February 2, 2012 at 10:23 PM

Girl knows what’s UP. I love it. And she looks beautiful in that dress- twirling in the grocery store aisle? That’s a keeper of a photo.

And not to make this kick ass post that’s all about Margo about me BUT….

“Sometimes her delivery is perceived as blunt, rude even, but I know she is just direct. She says what she wants to say, with real emotion and conviction. She is full of love.”

I hear this stuff all the time. I’m blunt. I’m direct. and. it’s. AWESOME. Make waves, Margo. I love you!

You too, Nici!

Melina



HAS
February 2, 2012 at 11:10 PM

I adore Margot, and all your Margot stories!
xo



Lola and Diesel
February 3, 2012 at 1:07 AM

What an awesomely awesome post- poetic, beautiful, like Margot…

You have wondering who my sweet not-so-babyish baby is going to become one day. She turns ONE next friday. Today, upon picking her up at day care, she refused to put on her left shoe as she fiercely clutched it in her fist. “are you being a diva?!” I asked her, to which the caretaker said “oh she’s a diva all right!” What?!? She is!?! What will be saying about her three years from now?……..



Hazel
February 3, 2012 at 1:28 AM

Nici I admire your parenting, I love the way you are bring up independent yet caring daughters.
I love the fact that although Margot clearly loves that dress and wore it for days, she decided that she’d worn it enough!
A lesson we could all learn I think. To know when something we’re obsessing over is enough!



jessica
February 3, 2012 at 2:00 AM

Magnificent! Such a beautiful tribute to your little one! I have been reading for about 2 years and SO love hearing all about Margot and Ruby- who they are, how they change, what they love- and about you and your husband- how you love, parent and nurture your girls! You are an inspiration!



Allison
February 3, 2012 at 2:28 AM

Oh, if children ran the world, what a better place it would be! Loved her marriage philosophy….wish everyone would see it that way! Thank you for being the type of role model for her that will help her grow up into a fabulous adult who will change the world! Peace, Allison



Craftysquirrel
February 3, 2012 at 2:35 AM

This is a great post, not only because it is so beautifully written but I see many of the same traits in my beloved 5 yr old – the same directness, tendency to attach to objects – especially little things. I love seeing her develop and her view gives me a whole new perspective on the world sometimes . We are so lucky to be mothers.



Kelly
February 3, 2012 at 2:40 AM

I just love your girl. I have one of these too…spunky, unique, matter-of-fact. She can be hard to parent sometimes, because I don’t, for one minute, want to break that spirit! Awesome photo of Margot with the wooden wall in the background.



Kelly Cach
February 3, 2012 at 3:09 AM

The story of Andy’s stone had me in tears! That’s got to be the sweetest engagement story ever!

And the Henry Ford quote? I just said it to my boys on the way to school TWO days ago! And my husband uses it All. The. Time !!!. He coaches our son’s 5th grade knowledge bowl team. They will now finish his sentence πŸ™‚ But so sad that somewhere along the way they’ve had to re-learn the power of positive thinking!



auntieB
February 3, 2012 at 4:34 AM

I love everything about this post. Even her outfit. (esp with the veil hanging out of her green winter hat!)



Claire @ Scissors Paper Rock
February 3, 2012 at 11:11 AM

Love this tribute post to your amazing little Soul Girl. She fascinates me. And I lurve the story about Andy’s stone….AWESOME! And while I’m at it…I love the last pic…Margot walking in boots, with sandals in hand….CUTE!
xx
P.S. I’m hosting a photo project over on my blog, that I’d LOVE for you to check out & participate in: http://www.scissorspaperrockdesigns.com.au/read-our-blog/2012/1/31/2012-photo-project-a-message-to-teenage-me.html



Daniele
February 3, 2012 at 3:34 PM

this, and your mamalode article Monday remind me why I love you so much, your writing is such a gift! You have such an amazing ability to place us in your day to day life and get us to feel like we really know you all. It helps that I too have a 4 yr old in the same intense kind of phase where her world down to her matter of speaking kind of revolve around how she’s dressed.
I forward my husband links to your writing a lot lately and he thinks you’re just an amazing writer too. To quote him on Monday after reading your mamalode article, “she is unreal. there a couple sentences that took my breath away in not only their craftsmanship, but their so real you can taste, touch feel it vibe.

she is really something.”

πŸ™‚



TRB Holt
February 3, 2012 at 3:53 PM

She is amazing…the acorn doe
s not fall far from the tree! xo



Bikini By 30
February 3, 2012 at 7:07 PM

This is such an amazing post. What a wonderful thing for Margot to be able to go back and read one day. I was the same way about costumes and articles of clothing. I costantly wore this white apron and old navy tights over and over. I felt like I was in a story book when I wore them.



Katie Mann
February 3, 2012 at 9:41 PM

Oh your words are wonderful, and bring back such beautiful memories of my son at this age. For him, it was a velvety sash bought for his Pirate costume. It was pink, and it horrified his father every time he wanted to wear it so we agreed that it could be worn over his clothes at home, and under his clothes in public. He’s 10 now, and he still has it. It’s tied to his reproduction civil war musket as a gun sling, which he keeps in a bucket of other treasures that include a baby blanket, a Lego Star Wars man, and a favorite Hot Wheels car.



Happiness is...
February 3, 2012 at 10:26 PM

Such a beautiful package of words for your daughter. M sounds so spectacular, and I’m glad that you wrote about this – this dress, this veil, these shoes, and the little girl who adorned it. It must be such a gift to learn from Margot at her tender age; just imagine what you will learn by the time you reach your Mom’s current age. Wow.

Mine is such an etherial fairy. She flits, she floats, she flits, she flees, she flies. I’m always proud of watching her imagination soar and create a joyful surrounding.

Have a beautiful weekend.

-Jennifer



Hannah
February 3, 2012 at 11:16 PM

I love your blog. Like really love it. Every post makes me tear up. Your words are lovely and poignant. I lived in Missoula for three years and miss it so much every time I read your blog. Thank you for sharing your beautiful life. Your outlook and attitude are inspirational.



Sarah
February 3, 2012 at 11:45 PM

i love the way you write. you remind me so much that i need to slow down and ENJOY these moments which are sometimes crazy and stressful!!



Sam
February 4, 2012 at 12:31 AM

This was so beautifully written. Your love for your daughters radiates through your story. Thank you for sharing.



dig this chick
February 4, 2012 at 3:33 AM

Daniele,

That’s maybe one of the kindest comments I’ve ever received. Thanks for sharing.

xo,
Nici



Amy
February 4, 2012 at 5:00 AM

I seriously could not love this post more. These words, are exactly how I picture Margot – strong, opinionated and all over that shit!!
Do you ever hear ridiculous things like ‘oh just you wait until shes a teenager….’ or something to that effect??
I too have a strong willed, well spoken and matter of fact daughter and it pisses me off when people say that to me If she is strong willed and matter of fact and well spoken as a teenager, despite a little trouble and butting heads with her mama, then I think we have done our job as her parents!



Katie
February 5, 2012 at 1:31 AM

This makes me even more excited to see the person that my little one year old Marley is going to become πŸ™‚



Jill
February 7, 2012 at 3:16 AM

Beautiful! Although I have never met Margot, I feel as if I know her through your amazing and descriptive writing! What a sweet tribute to your daughter.

I love this, “I suppose every person feels as I do about the people they create. Still, this one. I feel so lucky I get to witness her accomplishments and choices. I don’t know a person with her enthusiasm, dedication and passion. My cheeks ache when I think about what she’ll grow into, my bug.”

I am almost positive where she gets her enthusiasm, dedication and passion…YOU, her mom!!

Jill B (Overland Park, KS)
Oh, and Lexi wore her monster/heart shirt today (still fits from last winter) and got many comments on her cool shirt.



the mom~
February 7, 2012 at 7:26 PM

I have a son, JUST LIK HER! Love that boy of mine to pieces. It’s nice to see other passionate child like ours πŸ™‚



Heidi
February 7, 2012 at 10:23 PM

I love how you so aptly express your love for your daughters… giving them space to roam, freedom to find themselves, and the silent gift of confidence that means so much!



jen
February 19, 2012 at 3:00 PM

this is gorgeous. and perfectly lovely words so brilliantly said … as always, friend.

in it’s own little way it reminds me of the red dress project. how sometimes putting on something that is above and beyond is a way of teaching yourself that you ARE above and beyond.

thanks for sharing.



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