So My Child is Smart...

My daughter is advanced for her age. Princess Sassafrass JUST turned three and I'm constantly being asked if she's in kindergarten yet. Not only is she smart for her age, but she's tall for her age. She's been speaking full sentences since a little after one, could recite her ABC's by 15 months, could correctly identify all her letters (upper and lowercase) by 18 months, memorizes a song as soon as she hears it (so it seems), can write her name, can spell several words, has an extraordinarly large vocabulary.. I could go on. Here's the thing, she doesn't just memorize things, words, sayings, etc. She understands what she knows. She understands phonograms, she understands the meanings of the large words she uses, if she hears a word she doesn't know, she immediately asks me to tell her. She loves to learn. I can constantly see the wheels turning in her head, she always one step ahead and quickly moving on to the next thought or wonder.

Now, you may think I'm bragging, dear reader. I'm not. I'm so proud of my little girl. I think as her mother I'm entitled to feel that way, what mother wouldn't? She has a talent for learning. She's gifted. She's blessed.

Strangers, friends and family members alike have sung Princess Sassafrass's praises since she was quite young. The comments used to make me uncomfortable. I never knew what to say other than "Thank You." I didn't wanted to seem pretentious or snobby about the little Princess's abilities. I never wanted another mother to feel as if I was judging her child against mine. I don't. I can honestly say that. But, I was always so concerned. So, I often found myself countering her the compliment about her advancement with an "inadequacy." The conversation would go something like this:

Other Mom: Wow! She speaks so well.
Me: Oh, thank you. But you know, she can't run (jump, throw a ball, or other verb) very well.

Then, one day, I realized what I was doing. I was putting my daughter down. My very own daughter. I work so hard every day to encourage her, yet, when she wasn't paying attention I was inadvertently pointing out a weakness. What kind of mother was I being? I unintentionally made it sound as if I only appreciated her for the things she excelled at, and faulted her for the things she didn't. I was so angry with myself, and so ashamed. When I came to this horrid realization, I knew I had to make a change, but first, I had to come to terms with my daughter's gifts and the compliments that come with them.

Here's the thing. There are people out there, who, despite my best efforts, will accuse me of bragging. Maybe they just don't want to hear me talk about Princess Sassafrass and her newest accomplishment, maybe they're jealous, although I hope not. Who knows. Who cares. My daughter is talented. She's intelligent, she has a desire to learn and the drive to do it. This is her gift. Every child, just like every adult has a gift, or even gifts. My little girl loves to learn and has an enormous imagination. But, in all honesty, she's not the most athletic child. And I'm okay with that. She's a great little dancer and loves her ballet class, but throw a ball well she cannot. And that's okay. My best friend's little boy (and she won't mind me saying this), while not as verbally or cognitively advanced as Princess Sassafrass, is incredibly coordinated. He's had a gun for an arm since he was crawling, he began walking at nine months and was jumping (and jumping off of things) by a year. His physicality is his strength. I'm not jealous of that, nor is my daughter.

And that's the thing. For some reason, with the gentle, beautiful emotions of motherhood comes the ugliness of competition. Don't get me wrong, I'm all about winning... sports, though. But, when it comes to kids, why are we so quick to match them up against each other, like sweaty boxers? Why do playdates turn into one-up sessions? Kids don't care who speaks better or who can kick a ball farther. They are only concerned with running around like crazies, laughing at the silly sounds they make, eating ketchup with their fingers and watching the same roly-poly bug repeatedly try, without success, to climb over a pebble.

So, my kid is smart. I'm happy to say it. I'm proud of her. I always have been, I always will be. I'm grateful for the talents with which she's been blessed and am so excited to watch her and help her develop those talents and see new ones emerge. I think that's just part of being a mom. But, my hope is that, while encouraging her and teaching her to be grateful for her abilities, I can also teach her to recognize the gifts others have been blessed with -- and to appreciate them.

So, thank you, she is very smart. And I'm not ashamed to admit it.

Welcome, Sassy Pants!

So, here I am. I've entered the sphere of "Mom Blogs." I really never had any intention of delving into this world. To be honest, because of my writing background, the suggestion has been thrown out there by friends and the Hubby (who, we'll call the Hubba Hubba). But, I figured that anything I had to say had already been said by an existing blogger. There are lots of moms out there... lots of moms who have the same gripes, concerns and general wonderings as me. I just figured my blog would be like all the little pieces of chewed up french fries in the ball pit at McDonalds (which I refuse to let my children play in) --- there, leaving a mark, but hiding among much larger, brighter objects. However, my little girl, who from here on out will be referred to as "Princess Sassafrass" said something today that gave me the nudge I needed to suck it up and get my fingers tapping.

I'm always concerned that the things I say to my kids don't stick. I want to make a lasting impression on them, be an example, be their best friend, their confidante... you know, all those things that will inevitably fly out the window when the teenage years rear their ugly heads. Anyway, I make every effort to teach my kids (Princess Sassafrass just turned three, and the Little Bubba is just about 10 months) whether that be academically, or just a simple "life lesson." As of late RESPECT (just a little bit) has been a major topic in our house. Princess Sassafrass, who is verbally and congintively precocious for her age, is testing out the waters in terms of just how far she can go before she's disrespectful. Now, before I go on, I need to make a disclaimer:

Princess Sassafrass is a good girl. She's a great girl! She's so helpful, so thoughful, hysterically goofy, smart as a whip and sweet as honey.

That being said, she's also a little sassy (I really don't know where she got that from). So, as part of the RESPECT (just a little bit) discussions/lessons/ramblings I have included these rules:

1. Respect yourself
2. Treat others kindly
3. Respect your elders (Mommy, Daddy, grandparents, neighbors, church leaders, teachers, etc.)
-Be obedient
-Be a good listener
-Don't SASS

Sass is our word for "talking back." I tried to go with "Don't talk back." But found that the little smarty pants took it literally and for a whole day, when I would ask her a question, I could see the wheels turning in her little noggin' and she'd finally ask, "Can I talk back?" So, we went with SASS. When Princess Sassafrass starts to get, well, SASSY, I calmly say, "Please don't sass me."

So, after a ridiculously long preface, here's how Princess Sassafrass gave me a violent shove into the Mommy Blogosphere.

Her new love is Jell-o Jigglers. I, personally, despise Jell-o. It's slimy, it wiggles in my mouth and the after taste is what I imagine the inside of a gym shoe tastes like. Anywho... it is important that our refrigerator be stocked with Jell-o Jigglers at all times. Princess Sassafrass gets one a day, either after lunch or dinner. Her choice. However, today, she decided that nothing would wash down her breakfast of oatmeal better than green melon-flavored Jell-o. I have to admit, I chuckled a little at her request.

"We don't eat Jell-o for breakfast, silly" I say.
"I do," Princess Sassafrass matter-of-factly answers back.
"Honey, you know the rule, after lunch or after dinner."

I go back to unloading the dishwasher. I hear Princess Sassafrass's chair scrape across the tile and she lets out a frustrated breath as she slides down. Her barefeet pitter patter across the floor and stop right next to mine. She looks at me, hands on her ribs (her version of hands on her hips) and announces,

"Don't SASS me, Mama."

Hey, at least I know she's listening when I talk. And a blog was born.