The Writing Mamas Daily BlogEach day on the Writing Mamas Daily Blog, a different member will write about mothering.
If you're a mom then you've said these words, you've made these observations and you've lived these situations - 24/7.
And for that, you are a goddess.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Witty, Wild and STILL Only a Child
It has been well documented that after a baby comes, a woman's brain cells go.
What has not been investigated -- but needs detective work-- is why is it as a child gets older, her sense of comprehension does not catch up.
Judging by the messy room, trying tantrums and inability to listen -- it seems to worsen.
Why is it when a child is supposed to be in bed at a very generous nine p.m., at eight fifty two she is saying, "But it's not nine, yet."
The concepts of getting into jammies, washing face and brushing teeth before nine have not figured into her math. Pity for she is already showing a propensity for numbers. Just not for the ones she does not like.
Maybe there is some secret childhood rite of selection going on. A progression for what she likes, such as eating copies amounts of chocolate, versus leaving a plate filled with vegetables, which she despises, behind.
My favorite is our pre-arranged agreement that when we go into a toy store we will ONLY buy a gift for the birthday boy, not the little girl who is giving the present. Agreement. Even a pinky promise! Every child knows those are never broken.
Mimi breaks them with regularity. "They're just fingers, mama," she points out, digits flared straight into the air.
In the Pokemon aisle, where the latest toys reside, a gift is selected for her friend. Then a tantrum ensues over why she can't have a tiny, "baby recession" toy. While she is slowly grasping the basic economics of the recession, she's just not getting the real math behind it. But then -- who amongst us truly is? Perhaps she is just not the mathematical whiz I thought she might be. Or, she acquired my mother's and my sister's talents for manipulation. Sometimes I feel I have my mother above, my daughter below and my sister behind me, all three pulling my strings.
The other day I asked my my daughter for a favor. A favor! A mother is NEVER supposed to ask a child for that! Everyone knows it's the other way around. Without nearly a second passing between my request and her reply she said, "You left out a word and it starts with P and ends with E."
"Please?" I guessed.
"OK, let's start from the beginning, starting with that special word."
I call it the Willig Wit. Willig was my mother's maiden name. My mother entered college at barely 16. I have no idea how bright my daughter will be. I do think genes are on her side.
Before she was born my husband asked, "Do you think our baby will be beautiful?"
"I said I didn't know if she was going to be beautiful, but with her Asian and Jewish genes, I thought she would be smart."
Right now it's hard to tell. She wants to be rock star but is torn between being a lead singer or one who sings lead and also plays guitar.
"The guitar is a lot of work," she explains.
And she also wants to take care of animals, and be an artist.
I don't know what she will be, other than I hope she will be content. As well as clean her room, eat healthy, listen to what others have to say, and display good manners.
That includes saying please whenever it is appropriate.
By Dawn YunStumble This Post