Jordan the Strong, My First Heart-Doubling

Jordan had just finished a 7 km ride and was getting off her bike at school when two big boys approached her ominously. Each of them was a head taller than she was, and they smirked at each other knowingly as they walked toward Jordan. I watched from a distance, ready to intervene in if needed, but I hung back for the time to see how Jordan would go, flying solo. As they neared, one of the big boys said something short and pointed to my little girl. She was thirsty and tired from a long ride, but you wouldn't have known by her reaction to him. Jordan sized them both up quickly, looked at them doubtfully through a furrowed brow, then said something even shorter. After that, she quickly cut her eyes away from them, as if they were not worth looking at, turned her back to them, flipped her honey-colored hair, and strutted away with her little sweaty head held high. They looked at each other, shrugged, and walked the other direction. I called Jordan over to me and asked what had transpired. She didn't look shaken in the least, but I was curious.

"What did they say to you, Jojo?" I inquired.

"They said, 'Why do YOU ride a BOY's bike?'" recalled Jordan.

"And what did you tell them?" I asked.

"I told them, 'Because I DO!'" Jordan answered, laughing like it was a stupid question, as she recalled her answer.

Not only does Jordan not back down when challenged, but she occasionally partakes in administering justice. During a parent-teacher conference recently, I heard this very interesting story about Jordan. During one of her class's weekly garden visits, there was a boy in her class who acquired a prickly stick and then visited several "friends" in the class, prickling and poking them mercilessly, evading the teacher and classroom helper cleverly. Jordan watched for a minute, taking in the injustice, then chased the perpetrator down, took the stick from him, and beat him with it, while yelling down at him, "How do you like that? Do you want me to poke you with this stick like you're doing to everyone else? You stop that!" He was dumbfounded and scared straight during the rest of the time in the garden that day. After hearing the story, I enquired of the teacher as to whether I should correct Jordan for being aggressive. Sandy laughed and told me that she and the rest of the class watched in amazement and nearly broke into applause--Jordan wasn't the bully, she restrained the bully. Listening to Sandy, I found myself cherishing the moment, enjoying the retelling of just but aggressive wonders performed by this fierce girl-child who now inhabits my house.

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Jordan's confidence is astounding during the sort of confrontations that would have sent me running for the hills or at least for a teacher when I was a little girl. That's just Jordan. She is unfazed and unafraid, even in the face of larger, stronger boys and class bullies. She is bold and strong like I never was as a child, like I still struggle to be as an adult. She has the focus and determination that I carry within my genes (those that love me would label these traits "OCD tendencies"), combined with the easy confidence and athleticism that I fell in love with in Greg. She has my mother-in-law's cheerfulness and my father's eyes, and I think everything about her emanates beauty.

I love the competitive look Jordan gets at her swim races, the tendency to paint herself like a native if left alone with markers or chalk, the silly monkey dance she shamelessly performs on command, the way she paints carefully with watercolors so that the seahorses don't smudge. I enjoy the out-of-tune violin practices we endure every morning at 6:29 and her brave BMX bike racing with her friend Zach, most recently accomplished while wearing her pearl earrings underneath her helmet. I love so many things about my little girl, but most of all, I love Jordan because she is mine.

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Before I had children, I had always thought of birthdays in terms of my own birthday, an end in itself, a special celebration of my life on the most important day of the year--a little narcissistic, I know. But, with the birth of Jordan, eight years ago, suddenly, my birthday was no longer the most important day of the year. Each of the birthdays of my daughters is cause for celebration, not only for them, but for me as their mother. I have begun to see their birthdays not only the marker of their age or the annual call to furious baking, but as the anniversaries of the day of their entrance into my life. Each time another daughter was born to me, I am quite sure that the size of my heart, and it's capacity to love at least doubled. Jordan was the first in this process for me, and so each year, the anniversary of her birth marks not just the first doubling of my heart, but the beginning of the era of parenthood, an era that is marked not by fulfilling my own dreams, but facilitating those of my children.

So, this January, as I have thought about the eight years that have passed since my heart first doubled in order to hold more love for Jordan, I celebrate the unique person that is Jordan Kira Mizell, the one whose name means "descender from the throne of God", the child that came charging into my life, dividing forever the time into before and after her birth day. I am absolutely in awe of the strength in the fierce child, and it is my privilege and honor to love and protect, to guide and discipline and prepare the woman that is growing a little more every day, replacing the beautiful little girl I now know.

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Happy Eighth Birthday, Jordan. Your Mama thinks you are a wonder.

"Caterpillars" in the Kitchen and the Grossest Day Ever.

One morning we awoke to a plethora of caterpillars crawling on the kitchen floor in all directions. They were white like milk and very energetic, like they had some where to go, some secret mission that motivated them to move quickly. Meryl accidentally stepped on one, rendering him a greasy spot on the timber floor, and she would have been appalled about having caused such a dreadful death if not for the number of "extra" ones. Micah Jade immediately picked up one and commenced cradling him lovingly, calling him, "little guy" in affectionate tones. She stroked him tenderly with her little finger as she wandered about, unable to turn her eyes away from such a rare treasure. My big girls, still missing their dog, found the caterpillars delightful, and began plans to round them all up to take to the "nature table," where they would be the subject of observation and experiments, and the food of their beloved lizards. Since, earlier in spring, the silk worms had not fared very well, perhaps these worms would be a new chance to watch something develop. Wouldn't it be nice to see a set of moths emerge in a few weeks? We were all so enthralled for about two minutes.


I have noticed that in summer in Australia, there are a lot of commercials for different types of sprays that kill flying insects. In every commercial, flies, along with roaches and mossies (mosquitoes) are portrayed as nasty and sloppy bugs that have evil intentions toward families. Flies also seem to have New York accents in the commercials here-which I find curious. (I have never seen a commercial that portrayed flies as evil in the USA). I haven't bought any spray because it didn't seem necessary. Why would I want to spray a substance into the air which kills everything it touches? Would I want my family to breathe something like that in? Would I want that sort of toxicity falling on my benchtops in my kitchen (countertops for Americans) where I prepare food for people I love? Wouldn't it be better to just live with a few flies?


In fact, considering the level of environmental consciousness and general mindfulness about conservation, I was quite surprised that there was even a market for such a product--that was before I found the caterpillars in my kitchen. As they crawled, we observed where the concentration of critters was highest--near the trash can! All at once realization dropped into my mind like a ton of manure--MAGGOTS! Micah Jade is carrying a maggot around, talking tenderly to a nasty fly larva while she strokes his squirmy germiness! AHHHHHHH!


Greg, our resident brave one, was called in as reinforcement and together we swept up the aggressive little nasties. He took out the crawly trash bag and removed the can to the patio outside where it could be washed. I had to pry the maggot from the loving fingers of two-year-old Micah Jade, which was terrible for both of us, especially because he was squished in the skirmish. I think the big girls acquired a few to feed the lizards with a dustpan, but I was to traumatized to bother correcting them.

As a mom, I handle gross stuff pretty well. After all, when engineers and architects breed, they produce kids that are both mechanical and creative, and that makes for some terrible household catastrophes. I've cleaned completely disassembled (again) toys, "special" cornflakes stored in the sock drawer, mud body paint and mud sculptures, dead, dried lizards, oatmeal sculptures, spaghetti throw-up, poo paintings, pretend toilet soup, and the list goes on, but nothing could compare to the "caterpillars" on the floor. This may well be the most disgusting mess ever to occur in my family (although I hear Australia has leeches, so there is hope for a story even worse than this one at some point). So, until the unfortunate day when we encounter something worse, this day will live in infamy as the grossest day ever in my household. . .and I think I am finally ready to buy toxic fly spray!