There is simply no denying it anymore. Beyond the bedtime stories and hours spent on our laps with her books, there are so many other markers. The road signs. The take-out menus. The TV guide as we scroll looking for shows. Her requests for us to leave some books out for her after we put her to bed, so she "can read them as soon as [we] are gone." EJ, exactly two months shy of her fourth birthday, is a proficient reader. We had just begun to believe it in March, but now, there is no doubt.
She has attended several birthday parties lately, and has loved them all. Since her friend, Nutmeg, turned five and she received a thank you note in the mail, she has looked forward to her note almost as much as the party itself. I remember thinking mail addressed just for me was magical as a kid, and the fact that EJ can (in general) read the mail that comes for her makes it all the more exciting.
In the past week, she has received two thank you notes in her cubby at school for back-to-back birthday parties she attended last Saturday. As soon as I arrived to pick her up, she asked me to open the notes up, and she tore through them with great delight. With the exception of one or two words (i.e., Tonka, would), EJ read the following notes completely by herself.
Dearest EJ,
Thank you so much for coming to Antonio's birthday party and for the AWESOME Tonka Trucks! We loved them, and we loved your home made birthday card too!
With love,
Antonio and Family
Dear EJ -
I loved the glitter kit you got me for my birthday. Thank you for coming to my party & making my birthday so special! It would not have been a great party without you.
Love,
Belle
I can't make this stuff up. Of course, I'm proud of her, but really, I'm more flabbergasted than anything. We have always told her about letters and phonics and such when she has asked or it has been part of some fun game we are playing, but really, truly, we have not "prompted" reading or worked on it in any deliberate way. She's just picking this stuff up, which I guess was also the case for her dad, a very early reader.
It falls in line with other milestones she has hit lately, including an ability to solve line mazes on her own (two today while at lunch at Leona's), or the way she can now conceptualize her own thinking about things. The other day, for example, while we were up in Kenosha visiting my folks, I told her that if she took a nap, it would seem like her daddy's train arrived even faster, because she wouldn't be paying attention to the clock while she slept. She asked me if her sleeping would make the train move faster, and when I explained that it wouldn't actually go faster, it would just feel like the time went quicker to her, like magic, she replied, knowingly, "Oh, I've got it. The magic is in my head. I will think it goes faster in my own head."
As I've heard stories about my childhood or Mike's, I've often wondered how much of the developmental stuff is on target, not because my mom or my mother-in-law would fabricate details, but primarily because things move so fast, it is really hard to keep track of it all. I'm making note of this reading feat now, in this blog, for all to read, so someday, I will believe myself when people ask when EJ started really reading well and I say, "Three."
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Friday, May 08, 2009
Read It and Weep
One of the best parts about parenting is that, despite the stress and the responsibility and the messiness and the chaos, there are also many overwhelmingly wonderful moments---times that you can't predict and that come to you right when you need them, seemingly out of nowhere.
Tuesday was a brutal day with regard to my graduate work. I have been working hard across the past two months to learn statistics---that's right, to learn it, from scratch, with the help of a terrific friend, books, and web searches---so that I can run statistical analysis for my capstone project. It has been like walking blind into a crowded room---I bump into something, scream about stubbing a toe, then grope around and figure out what I've got in front of me. Each time I bump something, the picture becomes clearer, but the lights never come on, and I can't really conceptualize my territory---I can only describe the discreet items I've run across. Because of this, I have run into a common knowledge management problem---I don't know what I don't know, so I can't always ask the right questions to make heads-or-tails of my situation.
Learning this way is exhausting and incomplete. So, by Tuesday, when I discovered that the analysis that I had done was not appropriate a mere week before a draft of my paper was due, I felt overwhelmed. As it turns out, my analysis technique was much more complex than it needed to be, and I had to refocus in another direction. It was devastating. After all the late nights, the tutoring, the searching, I'm not ashamed to admit that it made me cry. I had just hit the wall, and gotten knocked out.
Unfortunately, I found this out about ten minutes before I had to pick EJ up from preschool. I had the joy of showing up at her school with big, puffy, eyes, a tear-streaked face, and that fuzzy-headed feeling that makes you feel like you are floating in an uncomfortable way. EJ's teachers looked so worried for me---I think I was moments away from them offering me a snack or some paints to make me feel better. I told them what had happened, and that I would be fine, I was just in for a long couple of weeks.
The next morning, with some fresh perspective and my wits back about me, I headed into preschool with EJ for drop-off. One of her teachers met me the hall, and told me that they had gone through stacks of stories that the kids had written across the past few months, and she thought EJ's might cheer me up. They were waiting for me in her cubby. They were just what I needed, and I teared up for the second time in two days, not because I was sad, but because I was so grateful that I have such a wonderful kid and a wonderful life, challenges and all.
Here are her tales, dictated to her teachers:
1) "Elizabeth Letter"---EJ and I turned on the television the other day, and before I could change the channel to one of her shows, she caught a clip of Elizabeth Edwards on the news. She wanted to know who the lady was, and why she looked sad. I told her that her name was Elizabeth Edwards, and she was sad because she was sick, and she was having some trouble with her family, but that EJ shouldn't worry. Apparently, she was quite insistent the next day that she needed to write a letter to Elizabeth.
Dear Elizabeth,
I hope you are safe. Sorry. I am thinking about you.
EJ
2) Halloween Redux---When I first read this, I assumed it was from this fall, as the teachers had said that the stories had been collected throughout the year. The hiccup? EJ didn't start calling us by our first names until a couple of months ago. If she really wrote this in the winter/spring, she has one heck of a memory.
Once upon a time, a little girl named EJ went trick-or-treating in her pink piggy costume. It was a beautiful night for trick-or-treating. After trick-or-treating, EJ went to Istria Cafe with Kori and Mike. She got strawberry and lemon ice cream. Then, EJ wanted to go back home.
The End.
3) Halloween Discipline---Sure, we bought her gelato after trick-or-treating, but apparently, we were big meanies when we got home. For the record, she uses the computer all the time.
One day I went trick or treating with my mommy and daddy. Then I went back home and played Wii. But my parents didn't want me to touch the computer. But I wanted to touch the gray computer. I wanted to compute on it. But when I'm four they said I can touch it. Then I wanted to play with my toys but my mom and dad said, "No, no, no!"
By: EJ
4) Birds---The kids wrote stories on a sheet of paper with a bird image, and here was EJ's take on the theme.
There were two little girl birds named Kori and EJ, and one little boy bird named Mike. There was one dog bird named Ada. They ordered a pepperoni pizza. That was good. They ate it all up for lunch. Soon it was night time and the three little birds went home to have dinner at Kathy and Ed bird's house. They had pasketti and meatballs. Mmmm, my favorite! It was all the way in Kenosha.
The End.
By: EJ
5) Easter---EJ gave another shout-out to her grandparents (Kathy and Ed) and meatballs (hurray, Italian genes!) in her account of Easter.
Easter is my favorite holiday. I had Easter dinner at Kathy and Ed's house in Kenosha. My favorite thing to eat was meatballs.
If she keeps writing, I can certainly keep writing, at least for two more weeks.
Tuesday was a brutal day with regard to my graduate work. I have been working hard across the past two months to learn statistics---that's right, to learn it, from scratch, with the help of a terrific friend, books, and web searches---so that I can run statistical analysis for my capstone project. It has been like walking blind into a crowded room---I bump into something, scream about stubbing a toe, then grope around and figure out what I've got in front of me. Each time I bump something, the picture becomes clearer, but the lights never come on, and I can't really conceptualize my territory---I can only describe the discreet items I've run across. Because of this, I have run into a common knowledge management problem---I don't know what I don't know, so I can't always ask the right questions to make heads-or-tails of my situation.
Learning this way is exhausting and incomplete. So, by Tuesday, when I discovered that the analysis that I had done was not appropriate a mere week before a draft of my paper was due, I felt overwhelmed. As it turns out, my analysis technique was much more complex than it needed to be, and I had to refocus in another direction. It was devastating. After all the late nights, the tutoring, the searching, I'm not ashamed to admit that it made me cry. I had just hit the wall, and gotten knocked out.
Unfortunately, I found this out about ten minutes before I had to pick EJ up from preschool. I had the joy of showing up at her school with big, puffy, eyes, a tear-streaked face, and that fuzzy-headed feeling that makes you feel like you are floating in an uncomfortable way. EJ's teachers looked so worried for me---I think I was moments away from them offering me a snack or some paints to make me feel better. I told them what had happened, and that I would be fine, I was just in for a long couple of weeks.
The next morning, with some fresh perspective and my wits back about me, I headed into preschool with EJ for drop-off. One of her teachers met me the hall, and told me that they had gone through stacks of stories that the kids had written across the past few months, and she thought EJ's might cheer me up. They were waiting for me in her cubby. They were just what I needed, and I teared up for the second time in two days, not because I was sad, but because I was so grateful that I have such a wonderful kid and a wonderful life, challenges and all.
Here are her tales, dictated to her teachers:
1) "Elizabeth Letter"---EJ and I turned on the television the other day, and before I could change the channel to one of her shows, she caught a clip of Elizabeth Edwards on the news. She wanted to know who the lady was, and why she looked sad. I told her that her name was Elizabeth Edwards, and she was sad because she was sick, and she was having some trouble with her family, but that EJ shouldn't worry. Apparently, she was quite insistent the next day that she needed to write a letter to Elizabeth.
Dear Elizabeth,
I hope you are safe. Sorry. I am thinking about you.
EJ
2) Halloween Redux---When I first read this, I assumed it was from this fall, as the teachers had said that the stories had been collected throughout the year. The hiccup? EJ didn't start calling us by our first names until a couple of months ago. If she really wrote this in the winter/spring, she has one heck of a memory.
Once upon a time, a little girl named EJ went trick-or-treating in her pink piggy costume. It was a beautiful night for trick-or-treating. After trick-or-treating, EJ went to Istria Cafe with Kori and Mike. She got strawberry and lemon ice cream. Then, EJ wanted to go back home.
The End.
3) Halloween Discipline---Sure, we bought her gelato after trick-or-treating, but apparently, we were big meanies when we got home. For the record, she uses the computer all the time.
One day I went trick or treating with my mommy and daddy. Then I went back home and played Wii. But my parents didn't want me to touch the computer. But I wanted to touch the gray computer. I wanted to compute on it. But when I'm four they said I can touch it. Then I wanted to play with my toys but my mom and dad said, "No, no, no!"
By: EJ
4) Birds---The kids wrote stories on a sheet of paper with a bird image, and here was EJ's take on the theme.
There were two little girl birds named Kori and EJ, and one little boy bird named Mike. There was one dog bird named Ada. They ordered a pepperoni pizza. That was good. They ate it all up for lunch. Soon it was night time and the three little birds went home to have dinner at Kathy and Ed bird's house. They had pasketti and meatballs. Mmmm, my favorite! It was all the way in Kenosha.
The End.
By: EJ
5) Easter---EJ gave another shout-out to her grandparents (Kathy and Ed) and meatballs (hurray, Italian genes!) in her account of Easter.
Easter is my favorite holiday. I had Easter dinner at Kathy and Ed's house in Kenosha. My favorite thing to eat was meatballs.
If she keeps writing, I can certainly keep writing, at least for two more weeks.
Monday, May 04, 2009
Our Power Ballad
Every night, I carve out a little time to sing a lullaby to EJ. On nights like tonight, when I am overwhelmed with the sheer amount of work I have remaining on my capstone (i.e., thesis) project and the ever-nearing deadline, I think that lullaby time does more to calm and fortify me than it does my daughter. This has been especially true this week, as EJ has begun to sing back to me the lullaby that I made up for her when she was just an infant.
Singing lullabies to my child is something I do because I love it, but it is also something I advocate at my job. Music Together teachers receive an incredible amount of music development training from the national "mothership" (as my employer calls it), and part of our mission is to pass this information on to parents during class without turning the class into a talkfest. One of the primary things we share is that a parent's voice is the most important one in a child's life---kids don't come to music class to hear the teacher sing, they come to model their moms, dads, and caregivers. For those parents that aren't in the habit of spontaneously singing with their kid while making lunch or waiting in a bank line (yes, I have done those things, among others), lullabies are often the best way to begin incorporating music-making into daily life. To this end, Music Together includes at least two lullabies into every song collection, and a lullaby is sung in class each week.
If I sound like an apologist for this program, I happily admit that I am. Not only do I love the research underpinnings and the pedagogic wisdom behind it, the fun that I have teaching, and the joy I see in my daughter as she participates, but I really think that getting involved in a Music Together class was instrumental in helping me break free of the deep melancholy that I felt after I had EJ. Struggling to nurse while recovering from the scary, painful birth would have been enough to depress anyone. Add to this the fact that I was living in a fourth-story walk-up with a newborn in a snow-locked city I'd only moved to a year prior, and it made perfect sense that I felt disconnected to the world, and more unfortunately, to my baby. Once I attended Music Together, though, I found my bridge back---almost instantly, I knew that I could reach the child in my arms, care for her, teach her, and learn about her while sharing myself in the process. It was a miracle wrapped in a songbook.
During those same early months, when I was sleep deprived and getting up several times a night to try to nurse, then bottle-feed, then pump (while either handing EJ off to Mike or trying to calm her), then rock her to sleep, I started to make up a lullaby for her. It was never something I set out to do, it just happened organically as we rocked, and I struggled to stay awake to soothe her. It wasn't until a few days of singing that I realized where I had stolen the melody---"Hello, Dolly." It is an unlikely source for a sleepy song, but sung slowly and softly, it did the job.
As EJ has gotten older and has learned more lullabies, she requests a variety, and sometimes her original song falls out of fashion. She always comes back to it, though, and when she does, she requests, "My Song," or "The EJ Lullaby." Recently, she has begun to sing it back to me, and knows almost the whole song by heart. Today, as we walked home from school, she broke out into it spontaneously.
I have to say, every time I hear it, my heart warms. I remember those first few months of parenting as a relatively dark time---a time when I didn't have any confidence that I could take care of my daughter, much less ever share moments together that were joyful or peaceful. Our midnight song broke through, though---it broke through all that worry and sadness and hooked my child and I together, and now that there is joy and there is peace, there is also the special thrill of knowing that, even then, we connected.
Here are the words to her song. It won't win a Grammy, but it is sweet and heartfelt. For those who know EJ's "real" name, please imagine it where "EJ" is inserted, and you'll get the full sense of it. And for my folks, when you read this---thanks for all the songs you shared with me, too. I haven't forgotten them.
The EJ Lullaby
Sung to the tune of "Hello, Dolly"
Goodnight, EJ
Oh, goodnight, EJ
It's so nice to know that you will get some rest.
Your eyes are red, EJ
Time for bed, EJ
With a little bit of shut-eye you will feel your best.
You're doing swell, EJ
I can tell, EJ
That sweet dreams will be floating through your head.
Oh, say goodnight, EJ
And then sleep tight, EJ.
EJ, you know we love you
There is nothing we won't do
For you to get a good night's rest.
Singing lullabies to my child is something I do because I love it, but it is also something I advocate at my job. Music Together teachers receive an incredible amount of music development training from the national "mothership" (as my employer calls it), and part of our mission is to pass this information on to parents during class without turning the class into a talkfest. One of the primary things we share is that a parent's voice is the most important one in a child's life---kids don't come to music class to hear the teacher sing, they come to model their moms, dads, and caregivers. For those parents that aren't in the habit of spontaneously singing with their kid while making lunch or waiting in a bank line (yes, I have done those things, among others), lullabies are often the best way to begin incorporating music-making into daily life. To this end, Music Together includes at least two lullabies into every song collection, and a lullaby is sung in class each week.
If I sound like an apologist for this program, I happily admit that I am. Not only do I love the research underpinnings and the pedagogic wisdom behind it, the fun that I have teaching, and the joy I see in my daughter as she participates, but I really think that getting involved in a Music Together class was instrumental in helping me break free of the deep melancholy that I felt after I had EJ. Struggling to nurse while recovering from the scary, painful birth would have been enough to depress anyone. Add to this the fact that I was living in a fourth-story walk-up with a newborn in a snow-locked city I'd only moved to a year prior, and it made perfect sense that I felt disconnected to the world, and more unfortunately, to my baby. Once I attended Music Together, though, I found my bridge back---almost instantly, I knew that I could reach the child in my arms, care for her, teach her, and learn about her while sharing myself in the process. It was a miracle wrapped in a songbook.
During those same early months, when I was sleep deprived and getting up several times a night to try to nurse, then bottle-feed, then pump (while either handing EJ off to Mike or trying to calm her), then rock her to sleep, I started to make up a lullaby for her. It was never something I set out to do, it just happened organically as we rocked, and I struggled to stay awake to soothe her. It wasn't until a few days of singing that I realized where I had stolen the melody---"Hello, Dolly." It is an unlikely source for a sleepy song, but sung slowly and softly, it did the job.
As EJ has gotten older and has learned more lullabies, she requests a variety, and sometimes her original song falls out of fashion. She always comes back to it, though, and when she does, she requests, "My Song," or "The EJ Lullaby." Recently, she has begun to sing it back to me, and knows almost the whole song by heart. Today, as we walked home from school, she broke out into it spontaneously.
I have to say, every time I hear it, my heart warms. I remember those first few months of parenting as a relatively dark time---a time when I didn't have any confidence that I could take care of my daughter, much less ever share moments together that were joyful or peaceful. Our midnight song broke through, though---it broke through all that worry and sadness and hooked my child and I together, and now that there is joy and there is peace, there is also the special thrill of knowing that, even then, we connected.
Here are the words to her song. It won't win a Grammy, but it is sweet and heartfelt. For those who know EJ's "real" name, please imagine it where "EJ" is inserted, and you'll get the full sense of it. And for my folks, when you read this---thanks for all the songs you shared with me, too. I haven't forgotten them.
The EJ Lullaby
Sung to the tune of "Hello, Dolly"
Goodnight, EJ
Oh, goodnight, EJ
It's so nice to know that you will get some rest.
Your eyes are red, EJ
Time for bed, EJ
With a little bit of shut-eye you will feel your best.
You're doing swell, EJ
I can tell, EJ
That sweet dreams will be floating through your head.
Oh, say goodnight, EJ
And then sleep tight, EJ.
EJ, you know we love you
There is nothing we won't do
For you to get a good night's rest.
Sunday, May 03, 2009
More Fine Comedy Knocking About
EJ has taken to the knock-knock joke like a fish to water. Is there a knock-knock joke about fishes and water? If so, she will soon learn it and tell it repeatedly, probably 10 times a minute, minimum.
Since her introduction to them last week, she has become so smitten with a particular knock-knock joke that we have had to ration her use of it, just to protect our sanity. For example, tonight, on our way home from dinner on the north side, Mike found himself in a knock-knock joke negotiation---he would say, "No more while Mommy is driving in this crowded neighborhood" and she would ask, "How about on the highway?" resulting in the "Yes, you can tell the joke again five times (and five times only) once we're on Lakeshore Drive."
The joke she now lives to tell is the classic "interrupting cow," suggested to me by my dear friend, Christina, and memorized in about 10 seconds flat and adopted as her own original material by my daughter. Here it is, for those who don't know it:
EJ: Knock, knock!
Me: Who's there?
EJ: Interrupting Cow!
Me: Interrupting C-
EJ: MOO!
I can't tell you how many times I've been interrupted by this cow, as well as this cow's menagerie of rude, impatient friends, the interrupting duck, the interrupting bird, the interrupting sheep, etc.
Tonight, though, she interrupted her regular pattern and had us in utter amazement and laughing until our sides hurt. After a few rounds of giggly cow jokes, she started saying, "Moo, moo!" I would repeat her, saying, "Moo, moo!" as closely as I could to her expression. She would then say, "No, Mommy, I'm the cow!" I thought this was the game for awhile---figure out which one of us would play the cow in the next telling of her favorite joke---but when I repeated her for the third time and she protested, even more insistently, I finally asked, "EJ, what do you want me to say?" She said, "Who's there! I'm a cow mommy." What happened next was the interrupting cow joke, with me speaking English, and EJ speaking cow.
EJ: Moo, moo!
Me: Who's there?
EJ: Moo moo moo moo moo!
Me: Moo moo mo-
EJ: MOO!
She was speaking cow. COW. Now I'm really regretful we didn't send her to the Lycée Français for preschool.
Since her introduction to them last week, she has become so smitten with a particular knock-knock joke that we have had to ration her use of it, just to protect our sanity. For example, tonight, on our way home from dinner on the north side, Mike found himself in a knock-knock joke negotiation---he would say, "No more while Mommy is driving in this crowded neighborhood" and she would ask, "How about on the highway?" resulting in the "Yes, you can tell the joke again five times (and five times only) once we're on Lakeshore Drive."
The joke she now lives to tell is the classic "interrupting cow," suggested to me by my dear friend, Christina, and memorized in about 10 seconds flat and adopted as her own original material by my daughter. Here it is, for those who don't know it:
EJ: Knock, knock!
Me: Who's there?
EJ: Interrupting Cow!
Me: Interrupting C-
EJ: MOO!
I can't tell you how many times I've been interrupted by this cow, as well as this cow's menagerie of rude, impatient friends, the interrupting duck, the interrupting bird, the interrupting sheep, etc.
Tonight, though, she interrupted her regular pattern and had us in utter amazement and laughing until our sides hurt. After a few rounds of giggly cow jokes, she started saying, "Moo, moo!" I would repeat her, saying, "Moo, moo!" as closely as I could to her expression. She would then say, "No, Mommy, I'm the cow!" I thought this was the game for awhile---figure out which one of us would play the cow in the next telling of her favorite joke---but when I repeated her for the third time and she protested, even more insistently, I finally asked, "EJ, what do you want me to say?" She said, "Who's there! I'm a cow mommy." What happened next was the interrupting cow joke, with me speaking English, and EJ speaking cow.
EJ: Moo, moo!
Me: Who's there?
EJ: Moo moo moo moo moo!
Me: Moo moo mo-
EJ: MOO!
She was speaking cow. COW. Now I'm really regretful we didn't send her to the Lycée Français for preschool.
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