Roll the tadpole
Zoe’s camp brought in two tadpoles to her classroom earlier this summer; the kids named their new pets Rock and Roll and every morning would check to see if the tiny things had morphed into frogs yet. Sadly, though, one of the tadpoles suddenly died, and while Zoe didn’t seem upset when I picked her up, that night was different story. Just before bedtime, the tears started falling, with Zoe telling me how sad she was that Roll died before he could become a frog. And then: “I’m actually most sad for the other tadpole – the one in the tank. He doesn’t have his friend.” (More tears.)
I knew logically that Zoe wasn’t really that upset over what happened: She wasn’t particularly attached to the tadpole, and I know exhaustion makes everything seem worse. But when I looked at her sad, wet face, that didn’t really matter: I felt my heart snap, and I would have done anything to make Roll come back so she could feel better. Unfortunately there really wasn’t much I could do; my idea to sing a song in honor of Roll was a big flop (“You’re making me more sadder!” Zoe cried out) so I wound up just cradling her and stroking her hair until she calmed down.
Zoe was totally fine the next morning (she actually hasn’t mentioned the tadpole since), but the event sure left an impression on me. I couldn’t fix her problem, and I felt completely powerless. And while this was the first time I’ve felt that way as a parent, I know – sadly – that it won’t be the last.
-M