Dear Gwen: Month Seventy-Three

Dear Gwen,

Today you are seventy-three months old.  I still can’t believe you’re six! 

You are growing up and learning so many new things. Your reading skills continue to improve at a rapid rate, and you are also learning to tell time; you told me recently that you had the wrong kind of clock in your room (a digital clock) and that you didn’t know how to read it, so I added an analog clock to your wall as well. So far, you know what the minute and hour hands do, and can identify “o’clock” and “thirty”. Pretty cool!

 You have been telling us lots of stories about your kindergarten experiences lately, including the big spring event which was the addition of an incubator and several chicken, duck and goose eggs to your classroom. You were pretty excited when the eggs started to hatch – and a couple of days ago, you even got to hold a chick! Kindergarten sure is neat.

On the other hand, some sad things have happened at kindergarten too. The day before your birthday, we discovered that you had taken a toy from your classroom and put it in your backpack. After questioning, two different stories emerged: one, that you had been playing with the toys and with your purse, which you had taken for show and tell that day, and forgot the toys were in your purse when you put it in your backpack; the other, that you had thought the toys would be fun to play with at home, so you consciously chose to take them from your classroom. Whatever the truth might be, we needed to make it very clear to you that stealing was a BIG no-no in our family, and we came down on you hard. I couldn’t believe that after having our car broken into, and then our house broken into, and how awful it was to have so much stolen from us, you would steal from someone else. We decided to have you write a letter of apology to your teacher and, of course, return the toys to your class. Hopefully you have learned your lesson!

And more recently, just a week ago, you came home from school in a shirt that was different from the one you’d worn to school. I’d sent you in a really lovely sleeveless plaid button-down shirt in bright spring colours – no doubt a birthday gift from your grandparents. So why were you wearing a cast-off t-shirt from the lost and found when you got home? Because at recess you’d gotten really hot and taken off your shirt, and your teacher decided something without buttons might be less tempting and more likely to stay on your back. This incident did cause me to reflect on how casual we are about nudity at home – and have a talk with you about the fact that it’s not okay to do that outside our house. But mostly it made me laugh!

For the most part, you are not too fussy about your clothes. I generally pick out your outfits for you, but this is not because I don’t trust your taste – it’s because you are vehemently NOT a morning person, and if I require you to make decisions about your clothes on top of everything else you need to get done in the mornings, it would probably break you. (Or at the very least, make us all late for work and school.) So, I choose your clothes, and most days I physically help you get dressed, just so that process doesn’t take forty-five minutes. There is one clothing decision that you end up making for yourself in the mornings, and it is pretty much guaranteed to be the most nightmarish part of our day: the choosing of the shoes. 

If there is a way to choose inappropriate footwear, you will do it. If it’s sunny, you want rainboots. If it’s cold out, you want dress shoes. And lately, all you want, every day, no matter what the weather or the activity you are heading to, you want to wear these ridiculous gel sandals that really, are wrong for everything. And every single day when you choose the most awful, inappropriate shoes possible, and we try to redirect your decision, you argue and fight and whine and throw a fit and burst into tears and insist that we never let you do anything you want to do. It doesn’t matter how calmly we explain to you that your feet will be way too hot in rainboots; that your dress shoes will get ruined on the playground; or that your stupid awful pointless gel sandals will be filled with sand the moment you step outside; you are outraged that we are curbing your freedom in this way. OUTRAGED!

(We may have hidden those shoes while you were at school one day. I just don’t like having that much drama so early in the morning. EVERY morning.)

You had a start of your fifteen minutes of fame this month, with your photograph appearing in the local paper. You and your dad went to the RCMP detachment open house a few weeks ago: you had a tour of the police station, got fingerprinted by the forensics team, tried on a riot officer’s helmet, watched dad try to walk the straight line with drunk goggles on, sat in a police cruiser, and even held a SWAT officer’s gun. It was your turn on the police motorbike that got the photographer’s attention, though! The event got rave reviews from both you and Dad.

Later that same day, I took you to another event: a Rainbow Loom meet-up at the local Michael’s store. You’ve become enthralled with the Rainbow Loom, like most kids between 5 and 12 these days, and you’ve been wanting to go to a meet-up for a while. I wasn’t sure how it was going to work: the meet-up was for two hours, but surely you couldn’t sit with a group of unknown kids and play with rubber bands for that length of time, could you? Well, as it turns out … other than a brief snack break, yes you could, you can, and you did. You sure love your Rainbow Loom!

Speaking of your boundless creativity, the other crafty gift you got for your birthday was a pottery wheel. Your first impulse was to make a small bowl for your beloved kindergarten teacher, which you gave to her after bringing it for Show and Tell. I think she was touched by this: she sent home a thank you card calling you a very thoughtful girl, and a true artist.  

 

That's it for this month, my girl. I'm looking forward to a summer of adventure with you!

Love,
Mama

 

Gwen's Birthday Slideshow

Dear Gwen: Month Seventy-Two

Dear Gwen,
Today you are seventy-two months old.  Six whole years of Gwen.

You continue to astound us with your creativity, your humour, and your joy.  I recently had a meeting with your teacher, where she spilled the beans on a secret you've been keeping from us: YOU CAN READ, like totally full-on read.  You little stinker, why didn't you tell us?  Maybe you thought we'd stop reading to you if we knew the truth, but in any case, the word is out.  Mrs. Murray told me that the class had received a letter, and you, having never seen the letter before, nonetheless picked it up and read the whole thing out loud to the class.  BECAUSE YOU CAN READ.  She also told me that an Educational Aide is coming to the class a couple times a week to help you with a Grade One reader, a book that no one else in the class is working on.  We are so proud of you!  When we questioned you about this, you didn't seem to think it was a big deal, although you admitted you were really enjoying the reader.  Rock on, Gwen!

Your math skills are also really impressive.  We had the following exchange a couple of weeks ago:
Mom: There are twenty altogether, half on this side and half on that side.
Gwen: So ten on this side, and ten on that side.

It took me a minute to realize you'd just divided twenty in half, without even being directed to do so.  You are clearly a genius!

 A big milestone happened this month: you lost your first tooth.  It took me by surprise, since I'd been told by other, more experienced moms that "even once it starts to wiggle, it can take 4-6 weeks to come out, so don't get too excited."  You and I were both excited about your "wiggler", but I downplayed it somewhat, knowing it could still be a long wait until any real action took place.  I certainly still have memories of my own wiggly teeth, hanging by a thread for what seemed like week after excruciating week, and the knowledge that actually pulling it out would hurt, even as the flapping tooth itself drove me crazy and got in my way.  All of this was still a long way off, I thought, which was why when you came home from after-school club last week and asked me to look at you, I nearly flipped my lid to see a perfect little gap where your tooth used to be.  I hadn't even had a chance to warn you that sometimes it hurt!  And there would be blood!  And here you were, one tooth short and proud as anything, and I hadn't even been there at the big moment! 

Apparently the moment came and went without much fanfare at all: it didn't hurt, you told me, and it hadn't bled.  You had bit into a granola bar at after-school club and POP, out it came.  One of the leaders quickly rescued it and put it into a Ziploc bag for you, thank goodness, because now it's time for the TOOTH FAIRY!  Your heroic dad produced a perfect little box for you to decorate with stickers and pictures, and encouraged you to put your tooth inside, with no mention of the traditional "under the pillow".  The next morning, before even waking up fully, you told me in a thick sleepy voice that the Tooth Fairy must have come, and that you needed to check immediately.  You were pretty thrilled with the $2 she left for you.

This month also marked the beginning of your long-awaited Hip Hop class, which you are really enjoying.  You have learned some good moves, like the bounce, the grapevine, and the hip rock, as well as revisited some old favourites like "jump across the river" (which seems to be a staple in any children's dance class, no matter the genre).  You continue to be challenged by the concept of staying on task and focusing on the teacher's instructions for the entire 45-minute class, but despite your need for redirection, you are clearly learning, with some choreography being repeated and shown off at home.  I hope as your attention span gets longer that you will be able to attend dance and other physical classes, at is is obviously something you enjoy.

I wrote last month about your interest in making and sending cards for the people you love.  You decided recently to "mail" a card to Dad, and after I convinced you that you didn't actually need a stamp (because they are expensive!), you agreed to just put the card in our mailbox, which hangs on the outside of our gate.  When you finished the card (complete with envelope), you put on your coat and boots, marched out to the gate, REACHED UP AND OPENED IT, walked out, then reached up on your tiptoes to put the envelope inside the mailbox.  Then walked back into the yard, closed the gate, and came back into the house.  It seems like only last week that we built a fence to keep our future offspring safely trapped inside, but clearly, you are only here because you choose to be.  What a startling revelation.

Your passion for arts and crafts continues unabated, and our house is full to bursting with your creations.  You brought home yet another interesting picture the other day, and hastened to explain to me what it was: a girl with wings, flying over a mole, "like in my poetry book."  I knew exactly which book you meant, and even what poem.  Here they are, side by side: Frank Newfield's illustration for Dennis Lee's poem "Flying Out of Holes", and your interpretive fan art.

Well, that's it for this month, Gwen.  We are really excited about celebrating your sixth birthday with you, and all the things this next year will bring.  We love you bigger than space, and are so happy to be your parents.

Love,
Mama

Goodnight, Five Year Old

 

Happy Birthday, Six Year Old.

Dear Gwen: Month Seventy-One

Dear Gwen,
Today, you are seventy-one months old.

When you were younger, every once in a while I'd read something online or seek advice from a friend about your incredibly strong preference for one parent (that'd be me) over the other. And everything I read and heard from other parents said that eventually, you'd switch to the other parent.  Before long, Conventional Wisdom said, you'd be wearing out Dad and rejecting me cruelly, and then switching it up again a few weeks or months later.  Eventually, I stopped thinking about it.  But on the eve of your sixth birthday, I have this to say to the Conventional Wisdom:

NOPE. 


In six entire years, your preferred parent has never wavered. You, Gwen, are all about Mom.  While I am absolutely thrilled to see how much your relationship with Dad has improved since he quit his retail job and started participating in your childhood in a way that involved his physical presence, it is clear that Being With Mom is still Number One in your book.  You have even started to phrase this recently, telling me, "Mom, I want to be with you ALL DAY," and being somewhat disappointed when I tell you that sadly, I have to go to work.  On the weekends, when I am doing boring chores around the house, you tag along after me and ask if you can help.  Which led to you forming a mild fascination for Allen keys, after helping me tighten the bolts on our kitchen chairs.  Which will probably, in turn, lead to you being addicted to Ikea furniture in your future life.

Rest assured, though, you and your Dad have a pretty awesome bond.  You went to The Lego Movie together a few weeks ago and had a terrific time.  Even better, the very next day your grandparents gave you a great gift: a bin of Lego that used to belong to your dad.  Your very first Lego!  We brought it home and for the next several days, it was strewn about the floor in various combinations, with you, your Dad, or both of you always tinkering and building with it.  It was pretty cool!  The Lego fixation has continued (though the Lego isn't taking up our whole living room floor anymore) and we are happy to encourage that love of building and creating.  In addition, just like every other kid who saw the movie, you are endlessly singing that accursed earworm, "Everything is Awesome". 

Your second report card came home recently, and it was pretty terrific.  After a somewhat bumpy start to the year, I was counting on the second report card to be a more accurate picture of what you are capable of in school, and I was not disappointed.  Your teacher noted "excellent growth in academic skills" and congratulated you on being a reader.  Every single graded measure either improved or stayed the same, and you got your first "Exceeded Expectations" - in Science.  "Well, YEAH she knows all the planets!" your dad chortled with pride.  "That's my girl!"

Speaking of which, one morning you greeted me with a sleepy smile and asked, "Guess how much I love you, Mom?  Bigger than SPACE."  Sleepy morning Gwen is the very sweetest and loving Gwen!

To celebrate your skills in science and International Pi-Day, we watched the first episode of the new Cosmos series.  The show was excellent, but we were kind of unprepared for watching an animated character get burned at the stake for his insistence that the Earth was not the center of the universe.  This may come up in therapy later, so here you go - yup, that traumatic image was our fault, and it was in the name of science. 

Your creative impulse seems to have ramped up a notch lately, and you are creating loads and loads of artwork (particularly in the form of cards and drawings) every week.  Your cards follow a particular theme: they all open on the left instead of the right, and either the front or the back (often both) looks like this:

As you become more interested in reading and writing, you are adding words to your cards, usually just "Mom" or "Dad" but sometimes the relevant occasion as well, such as St. Patrick's Day or Valentine's Day.  Speaking of St. Paddy's, you sure were disappointed last week when you told me, "I notice it's not very St. Patricksy in here."  I guess these non-holiday holidays are made much of in school and daycare programs, so it's somehow shocking to find out that to us grownups, it's just another day: no time off work, no exchange of gifts, no themed decorations in the house, no special treasure hunts or baked goods.  Man, being a grown-up is boring, hey?  At this writing, you are completely convinced that the leprechaun trap your class set up before Spring Break is going to yield great riches, perhaps even enough to buy a new house.  I'm not sure how your teacher is going to handle the inevitable letdown ahead, but I guess that's up to her...!

Piano class continues to be a challenge and I am already working to find you a private teacher for the fall.  I'm trying to change things up so that it works better for you in the meantime, as we have a couple more months left before the end-of-year recital.  Even with your difficulties, it's clear you have no lack of musical skills, and you still enjoy piano.  It's just that the classroom setting is too distracting and overstimulating for you to be successful there, and this stresses you out.  In my attempt to change things up at home and keep it engaging for you, sometimes I encourage you to "be the teacher" and I will be the student.  It was pretty funny last week when I suggested this, and you took the role-playing to a whole new level: walking around the "class" talking to each student in turn (all of them except me, of course, being imaginary) and calling each of them by name (the names of the other kids in your actual class).  You offered lots of encouragement and relevant comments to these imaginary students, which makes me think that you must hear and see your teacher doing these things, even when you are so frustrated and distracted that you don't seem to be taking anything in.  Your brain is sure interesting.

You seem to be eating more lately, which is fantastic.  Your most recent check-up had you in the 90th percentile for height and the 10th percentile for weight.  We don't worry about these things the way we did when you were a baby, but oh my word, it is nice to see you eat!  It's especially wonderful that your appetite seems to be broadening somewhat, and you will actually consent to eating beef sometimes instead of the endless repertoire of chicken.  In the past month, you have willingly eaten chili, hamburger casserole, tacos, and hamburger soup!  And one glorious night, you ate PASTA WITH SAUCE (white sauce with chicken, but still, SAUCE).  Hooray!

One day I asked you to tidy up your table spot as I tidied up the kitchen.  "Could you tidy up your spot, please?"  "No, thank you," was your somewhat surprising response.  More fool me for not phrasing that request properly - so I quickly rephrased: "Please tidy up your spot."  Just as quickly, you responded: "Mom, is it an option?"  Hee hee!  Obviously I use that phrase often enough that you can not only use it, but use it correctly: I say, "Gwen, this is not an option," or "You have two options".  In this case, I told you it was NOT an option, and you carried on and tidied up while I made a mental note to be sure and record this story.

I've known you nearly six years now, and you are still the most amazing kid I know.  I recently had the opportunity to write an answer to the question, "What are Gwen's strengths?" and that was the funnest writing I have done in quite a while.  Here's what I wrote:

Gwen has a vivacious and charismatic personality that others are drawn to. She is a very bright girl with a curious nature. She is a loyal, caring, and incredibly generous friend. She loves to laugh and to make others laugh, and has a bubbly, joyful approach to life. She is creative and loves to undertake a great variety of projects. Gwen is a very loving and affectionate child who craves physical touch and attention. In some areas she shows a lot of determination and persistence in practicing skills so that she can master them. She is a willing problem-solver although she often needs some assistance to work through problems.

 
I am so lucky to be your mom!  I love you more than SPACE, my amazing girl!

Love,
Mama