Thursday, June 16th

The tyranny of the hug.
How to explain the concept --
it sounds impossible
or just plain not right.
But I've been experiencing it lately.
It's very real.

I'm cooking. Imagine my hand
up a chicken's ass.
(I think I've done that just twice
in my life.)
Lola enters the room,
sweeps her arms wide,
kicks her chin up
and speaks loudly in my direction, "Hug!"
What to do?

It's a lovely thought,
that goes without saying.
I love her, and I dearly love
her hugs.
But, um, I'm busy?
Am I permitted to demur
a five-year-old's expansiveness,
her demonstration of spontaneity
and affection?

What I tend to say is, "Yes, but..."
and signal that I need to wash my hands
or flush the toilet.
I need a moment to meet her in that
special place.
And she's usually quite patient,
lowering her chin temporarily
but keeping her arms in position,
a veritable hugging machine just waiting
to hug hug hug.
And finally, we do -- and sometimes kiss, too.
Bonus.

However the last few "Hug!" exhortations
have left me feeling -- dare I say it? --
a tad molested.
I'm not one to be bossed about --
we have hierarchy in my family.
I ask for manners and happy voices,
invitations to act, not demands.
So when Lola comes at me again
with her "Hug me now!" display,
lately I chafe a bit, and maybe I even smell a rat.

The girl has a sharp legal mind
and I swear she knows what she's doing here;
she's found a loophole in the
Thou Shalt Not Boss Mommy commandment
(one of our family's pilars).
She senses that there is power in her
outspread arms and earnest heart,
that she has me a bit pinned.

Despite this, what kind of mother would say,
"Sorry, Lola" or "No thanks"?
A cold-hearted one, no doubt.
Nevertheless I find I want the choice.
Sometimes I want to dive into her arms
(after washing my hands)
and sometimes I want to come to a hug
more spontaneously,
when the moment is right, for me.
I'll need to be brave to try it.
I don't want to hurt her.