Learning and Growing

I teach my daughter preschool from home.  We stick to a typical school day: worksheets, flashcards, wiggle time, snack time, recess time… She loves it.  But after school lets out, the learning doesn’t stop.  I just set aside the worksheets and flashcards.  A few days ago, a family friend gave the kids some temporary body markers.

By the end of the day, she could read the word “foot” and “arm.” Take that, convention.

Lately, her imagination has gone (even more) wild.  I let it because it’s entertaining.  I mean, I’m all for letting your children express themselves and all that jazz, but I mostly try to keep from stifling her imaginative creativity because it’s fun for ME.

A few nights ago, she came into my bedroom where I was resting next to her Dad.

“You’re sick,” she said, “And I will give you some chocolate milk medicine. It will just make you BIG and FAT!”  I threw the biggest fit a sick patient has ever thrown.

“No!” I shook my head in panic, “I don’t want it!  I can’t be big and fat!  Don’t make me!”

“Okay, okay!” She held her hands up in surrender, “Take this Humpty Dumpty medicine and you will just turn into a big egg.”

“No!” I repeated my fit, “I don’t wanna be an egg!  I don’t wanna be an egg!”

“Okay, okay,” she held her hands up again, “Nevermind about it!  We’ll just…” she thought for a minute, “Get the babies out of your belly.”

“There’s babies in my belly?” I asked.

“Yep!”

“How will they get out?” I asked.

“I will just cut a hole in your belly,” she replied.

I hit my husband and forced him to get his focus OFF angry birds and onto what was going on.

“How are you going to get them out?” I asked again so my husband could hear her answer.

“I will just cut a hole in your belly with a sharp, no-crying knife.  I will go get it.  Relax!” She said.  I bit my bottom lip hard to keep from laughing.

Relax?  Right.  Okay.  I’ll just kick back while you retrieve a sharp knife to cut me.

She reached behind her, pulled a knife out that looked remarkably like her pointer finger, and she proceeded to “cut” my belly.  I watched in fascination as she moved my belly to the side and delivered 13 babies -one by one.  They were small, about the size of a hot dog.  She put them on a napkin by my pillow and proceeded to dress them.  After they were dressed, she began to name them.

“This one in pink is named… Jessica,” she said, “OH NO! I forgot!”

“You forgot what?” I asked.

“I forgot about you belly!” She said, putting Jessica down and reaching for the imaginary belly sitting by me. (I can’t seem to correct her when she says “you” instead of “your.”  Thank your.)

After dumping imaginary water in my belly where the babies used to be, she replaced the belly and then used imaginary scotch tape to tape it all back up.  I was a little skeptical about the tape, but I gotta say: that stuff is amazing.  Two days after delivering 13 babies, I feel great!  It worked wonders.

That girl is something else.  Something else altogether.  HOWEVER, we did have a first today.  She cried for no good reason in the middle of preschool.  I was mixing a bunch of letter tiles up so the kids could go “hunting” for the letter R and I warned them not to peek while I mixed them up.  The kids all put their heads down.  But not Lacy.  She cracked one eye open.

“I’m peeeeeeeeeeking,” she teased.

“Go sit on your bed,” I teased back.  Only she didn’t think I was teasing and she burst into tears and ran into her room.  I followed close behind, apologizing profusely.  I settled her down, gave her a million hugs, and then walked her back to the table.  Once there, she set to hunting for the letter R.

I watched her start to giggle over nothing.

“Why are you laughing?” I asked, smiling.  Then I noticed her giggle was sort of weird -sort of… forced.

“Lace…” I tilted my head and looked closer at her, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah!” Her strange giggles got louder and stranger.

“Okay, because it almost seems like you’re about to cry…” I said.

“I’m LAUGHING!” She said, her giggles getting EVEN LOUDER and EVEN CRAZIER.

“Okay…” I said, doubtfully.  All at once, her giggles were gone and she erupted.

Tears!  Tears!  Tears!

I scooped her up and took her to my room.

“Honey, why are you crying?” I asked.

“I just thought I might so I laughed and then I just CRIED!” She wailed.  I’ll be darned if it wasn’t just the cutest thing.  Being a girl can be so tricky sometimes.  I put her in the middle of my bed with her favorite draw board.  Before leaving the room, I put on some kid music.  I left her alone.

A few minutes later, she emerged.

“I’m all done crying now,” she said, brightly.

Poor kid.  Poor girl.  Oh, how I understand.