Ten

She turns ten in a few weeks, and the conversations about her Big Party have been going on for months now. And as yet, they are entirely unresolved. Small group to the amusement park, larger group to a movie and pizza, even larger group for a "theme" party in the yard--she measures one against the other, factoring everything from the haul to the invitation list to the impression sent. These choices paralyze her, and I know it. But I don't know how to help her without annoying her; she snaps at me quickly, and before you know it she's crying. As she was today, most of the way home on the long drive from a weekend with her Dad.

He's asked her how she'd feel if he married his girlfriend. She tells me she hates the girlfriend--that the girlfriend treats her Dad poorly, makes fun of him, quarrels with him incessantly. But she told her Dad she'd be fine with it. "Why didn't you tell him what you really think?" I asked. "Because he'd tell her!" she barked at me, and I know she barks at me because barking here has no consequence, and I guess that has to be OK sometimes.

She drew up a contract between her Dad and her--a funny contract, which he signed without reading: a contract that gives her all sorts of silly privileges, like no bedtime, and requires that he behave more like an adult: "No more acting young," she wrote, and explained with a laugh that she gets embarrassed when he plays air guitar in the grocery store. I smile. I notice on the contract that she's changed her name to his last name. It's the old issue: he's been changing her name when she's down there from the beginning. This time I didn't say a word, because this time the name change came from her and she was edgy enough. But half an hour into the ride she brought it up.

"When I'm down there I feel like everybody else in his family has the same name, and if I don't have it it's like I'm not part of them." She's crying, and she sounds angry again. I think this isn't quite the crux, but I don't want to lead her. I tell her that she is the same person, no matter where she happens to be standing, and that her relationship to her Dad and to me is rock solid and forever. I remind her that lots of couples have different last names, and their children often share one parent's last name but not the other--or, as in our case, use the second parent's last name as a middle name. She's heard it all before; she's not commenting. I think about telling her she can hyphenate last names if she really wants to, but I don't want to put name change on the table so easily. I don't think her name is the issue, really.

She's downed a bottle of water, and spends the last 20 minutes crossing her legs and wincing when we go over bumps. I'm relieved by the distraction. I miss when it was easy--when she told me everything, when I knew just how to fix it. I miss the easy connection. Now I'm part of the puzzle for her, I know, and she's as likely to bark at me as smile. It breaks my heart, honest to God. Not that I'm letting her know it.