Cut from the same cloth

On Thursday, when I went to pick up Maïa from daycare, I got to have a quick chat with Maïa's two teachers. Things are usually a little too insane to be able to have any kind of exchange beyond, "Have a nice evening!" Unless, of course, there is something wrong, in which case, time is made. This wasn't that kind of chat; it was the good kind.

Sandra, Maïa's teacher, told me that Maïa really likes to participate in circle time. This came as a great relief because in September, she apparently wasn't saying a word at circle time. Things have changed: now "participating" may be something of an understatement. When her teachers ask a question, Maïa puts up her hand, and if she isn't called upon immediately, she quickly falls into the "ooo! ooo-ooo-ooo! I know!"-arm-waving-hand-flailing kind of participation.

At this news, I laughed, and I felt my face become red. She's exactly like me (and Derek, too). She's an enthusiastic learner, a show-off, an overachiever. And I'm admitting all this not in the spirit of bragging so much as in the state of being at a loss.

You see, I was an overachiever. I always wanted to be better at school than everyone else. I was in a gifted programme in high school. All my friends were smart (and overachievers, if they let me call them that!). And I used to wonder what I would do if I had a child who had a learning disability or who simply didn't care about school. I knew it would be difficult, but I figured I could learn how to deal with it. I never considered that I would have to learn how to deal with a child who was very much like me. But there it is: I have no idea what to do with her. Should I continue to encourage her, to push her? And I find the same discomfort that I did as a child: I didn't like talking about my grades to anyone. I don't particularly like talking about Maïa's abilities and capacities to the parents of her peers. There's something distinctly foul about it, yet I can't quite describe it.

Funny how as parents we have expectations, nameless, that we put upon our children (sometimes long before they are born). I simply expected my kids to be different from me. And they're not. It's hard watching little people who look so much like you (physically or otherwise) running around out there. Overexposure, I think.

More bragging

Sunday evening, while we were busy getting supper ready, Maïa was playing with her magna-doodle-type toy. There are pictures of My Little Pony all over it, which is an attractive feature to our little equine-lover. In any case, she called out to us from the livingroom, saying, I thought, that she had drawn a pony. I was interested, so I asked her to show me her picture. She said, "It's not a picture!" When she finally came to show me what she had created, I was floored: she had written pony. Okay, not exactly pony, but she did write PonE, which I think is pretty impressive. After all, the letter E makes an "ee" sound, right?

And this morning she did more sounding out on her own and writing. She's the best!

This is the part of the blog where I get to brag about my kids

...because I don't really use this blog to brag about my kids. Sometimes, I even complain. I try to keep the gushing to a minimum, since I know that my kids are so awesome, and I know that if I go on about them people with children of their own will start to be jealous and wish that my kids were theirs. I would hate to cause coveting in my friends. And those who don't have children of their own may be caused never to have any because they know their future children could never live up to the magnificence of mine.

Alas, you will all have to get over it. Here goes:

Maïa:
-can count up to one hundred. On her own. No prompting
-knows the words to over 30 songs, many in French
-can make her own ponytails
-does amazing pirouettes
-is starting to read words
-understands some Italian
-has the best freckles on her nose
-knows when violins or pianos are playing when listening to classical music
-reads stories to her little sister
-is well behaved when Solanne is crazy
-asks to brush her teeth
-never protests at bedtime
-loves broccoli
-says "I love you" out of the blue
-dresses independently; even refuses help
-has great fashion sense
-has been faithful to Clicky
-draws some wicked-kickass pictures; better than most kids her age
-colours inside the lines but has a definite opinion on what colours go where
-is the prettiest little girl I've ever seen

Solanne:
-can count up to 12
-can dress Polly Pocket, including her 5mm shoes
-can catch, throw, and kick a ball very well
-speaks very clearly in complex sentences
-sings in tune
-says "I'm sad" or "Mommy fâchée" at the appropriate times
-randomly hugs and kisses her big sister
-loves almost any kind of fruit
-can do four-piece puzzles completely independently
-holds a pencil correctly
-knows most of her letters
-knows many colours (especially pink)
-likes to help do the dishes
-reminds us to clean up at bedtime, by singing the "Clean up!" song
-loves to brush her teeth
-knows when it's her turn and when it's not — generally
-is the cutest little toddler around

Surfing the web

Check our our new links section to the right: Friends & Family. I hope that this section will grow as I receive permission from other friends and family to create a link to their blogs or websites. If you are among this number and I haven't contacted you yet, send me an email to tell me you want me to link to you!! I might have forgotten or I may not know that your blogging or have a website... in which case, shame on you!

Hallowe'en

Four days ago, I got my kids all gussied up and ready for Hallowe'en; I did it excitedly and happily, with the memories of last year still warming me. Last year was the first Hallowe'en that I recall ever enjoying. No kidding. I never really like Hallowe'en when I was a kid. I could never come up with a cool costume. I didn't have any siblings or neighbourhood friends to trick or treat with. I've never liked candy. Hallowe'en just never fit me the way it seemed to slip so easily onto my friends.

So it was with great surprise that I so enjoyed the holiday last year. Maïa was decked out in her elephant costume and Sol in her dragon pyjamas, and we headed out into the cold, with the idea that we'd go to a handful of houses and come back home. Maïa was so into the whole process — and who wouldn't be? strangers giving you goodies? cool! We went up two and a half (long) blocks and tnt'ed the way back, too.

And the whole time, there were kids everywhere, running up and down the sidewalks in all manner of costumes. Parents lagging behind, some alone, some in small groups, chatting with each other. Everyone smiling at each other and commenting on how cute our kids were. We got to meet our neighbours and say hello, happy Hallowe'en. They opened their doors to us, pouring out the warm glow of their home beyond the door, pouring out their generosity in the form of mini candy bars and tiny bags of chips and smiles and laughter.

This Hallowe'en morning, when I was bringing Maïa to daycare with Solanne in toe, people walking down the busy sidewalk, who would normally just step aside and not make eye-contact, looked at my girls in their costumes and smiled. Some commented. And when we arrived at the daycare, I was excited to see what each child was wearing, and I chatted with parents and we rolled our eyes together as we noted all the girls in princess costumes and all the boys in super hero attire.

I began to realise, for the first time, how important shared rituals and holidays are. This little holiday, where we get our children dressed up in their favourite costumes, brings us all together. Suddenly, instead of rushing out of the daycare, we parents take a few minutes to chat, and we perceive our similarities (oh, she changed her mind about the costume at the last minute, too!) instead of our obvious differences. Strangers take the time to smile, to stop, to talk. Their memories of their own Hallowe'ens past or of their own children similarly dressed that day, draw them nearer to us, even for a moment.