This morning I took Sahsez to school half an hour early because she had left her spelling list behind the day before and Thursday is spelling test day. Ever since she told me that she was in the challenge spelling group in her class, I have been overseeing the spelling test preparation a bit more than before. We wouldn't want her teachers to think she wasn't up to the challenge, would we? So 8:15 this morning found us sitting in a bench in the hallway of her school, reviewing the spelling list and trying to steer M'hijo away from the urinals in the boys' bathroom.
(Aside: one of the challenge words was "albatros". "Albatros", not "albatross". Now I ask you, is the point of spelling test to learn how to spell English words correctly, or is there some other goal that I don't know about? I know teachers will get all philosophical and say "it's about learning to learn!" or some nonsense like that but surely learning to learn to spell words actually wrong cannot be a good idea! Also "color" rather than "colour". The mind boggles.)
While we were reviewing, one of Sahsez' teachers came down the hallway and stopped to chat, then told me that when we were done, I should take a look at Sahsez' journal because "she has been doing a lot of great writing recently!" Oh alright, then, Ms. Teacher. I guess I'll let the whole "albatros" thing go then, if you're going to compliment my genius child so vociferously.
Sahsez fetched the journal, and I read it while we followed M'hijo, who toddled all over the school examining each classroom and conquering each set of stairs.
People, it was the best read I've had in a long time. It rivals my previous favourite book, her seminal "My vacation Journal!" from our trip in the Southwest US last October (sample of MVJ at right). It contains little jewels such as "Last night we had Sunday dinner again, but this time we got (drum roll) HOT DOGS!" "Drum roll"! I mean, when adults put "drum roll" into their sentences (and I am not innocent), I think it's tired and cliche, but when my seven-year-old does it, it's totally adorable and witty. To me it signifies that she is comfortable with expressing herself on the page and I like that because it means that not only will she not have to resort to beating up Chuck Norris to show her true feelings, but also that she and Tobias and I will all share a love of words and language and that this can be a special bond between us, as it has been for my dad and me.
Okay, maybe I'm making a big leap between the use of the phrase "drum roll" and a lifetime of passionate appreciation and creation of great literature, but how about this?
When we walked into Miniature World, I said "This is just like, like, hmmm, it's like...." and Mummy said "Like everywhere else?" and I said "Yes!" and we laughed an laughed because there were purple lights there too!
I mean, she really has a hold on what it is to tell a story and she really knows what details are interesting (in another entry, she listed all the menu items that she could remember from our date at the Empress tea room last week*) and look at that use of ellipsis! What a girl.
But enough bragging and drooling over Sahsez' pen-and-paper prowess. That's not what I really want to remember. What I want to remember is the surprise I felt over what she covered in the journal. It's not the first time I have noticed that what's important to her is not necessarily the same as what's important to us (T and I) but it is a good reminder. For example, I remember in her first week of public school, asking her what she shared during "News Time" each day. I was hoping that she would eventually share the fact that just 48 hours prior to starting school, she had returned from a three-week thrill-packed European vacation. No dice. Instead, she shared about a "weird leaf" she had seen on the way to school and about how even though she hadn't seen her friend R in a long time, they were still best friends.
My hopes of
a) impressing the teachers and the other parents (because the "News" was typed up and sent home each day) with our family's glamorousness in taking Sahsez to Europe and
b) getting a little gratification re: that trip being a meaningful and exciting and important part of Sahsez' life
were dashed but I did get something much more important from the experience: a little window into Sahsez' world; a world where weird leaves and best friends trump sleeping in a houseboat in a canal in Amsterdam any day.
And this was the world I saw again this morning, when I read a detailed description of her "corner". This is a corner of the living room that makes me sigh every time I look at it, filled as it is with all sorts of bits and pieces from various parts of the house. It's a big mess, really, but on second look, it's actually quite orderly. A boombox that we have been trying to cart off to the Sally Ann for ages delineates the area from the rest of the room. She has folded up several blankets and stacked her favourite books and shoeboxes full of Playmobil. I learned from the journal that she likes her corner because the light switch for the big red Chinese lantern is in her corner, and because her "furniture" is very versatile, the piled blankets serving as both chaise lounge and bed, and the shoeboxes acting as a desk. I was going to insist that the corner be dismantled this weekend (I periodically make her put everything away, knowing full well that it will all eventually creep back anyway) but after reading the three journal pages she devoted to her "corner" this morning, I think I'll leave it be.
I was also surprised to read that she has really been enjoying our Sunday dinners of late. A month or so ago, I decided that I was going to try to create a tradition of doing something a little special for dinner on Sundays. I mean, our family eats dinner together every night, so it couldn't just be "let's all sit down together", it would have to be something extra: a fancy dessert, some big hunk of meat slow-roasted, gravy, candles, wine, cloth napkins, dressing up. We've done this four times (okay, three. The hot dog time doesn't count.) and while it's been pretty nice, it's also been a bit stressful for me trying to get dinner done early enough so that M'hijo wouldn't be grumpy, and also fitting in the cooking and other preparations into our haphazard, but usually quite packed, Sunday schedule. (Once we determined that my presence was not strictly necessary at the weekly trip to the nursing home to visit Far Mor Mor, things got a bit easier.)
I assumed that the Sunday dinner tradition would be something mainly for Tobias' and my enjoyment, and that Sahsez' appreciation of it would kick in when she was in her twenties, or her thirties, more of an "in retrospect" type of childhood joy. But apparently I was wrong because each of these dinners has been chronicled in detail in her journal, including what she wore and a list of everything I served, even things she had to be coerced into eating. I don't need to tell you that this discovery is more inspiring to my kitchen aspirations than anything I've seen on The Food Network.
I'm sure I'll forget all this again the next time I pick up a copy of Island Parent magazine and come down with a case of the "I'm not doing enough for my kid!" fever as a result, but maybe I'll photocopy that journal and keep a copy at home to act as an antidote. Because gems like this:
"In my corner, I can do drawing. I like to draw in my Sketchbook, which is a very nice Sketchbook that Mummy bought me for no good reason!"
remind me that yup, it is enough. It's not sailing lessons at the yacht club, weekly trips to the IMAX, Sony Playstation, her own bedroom, pet gerbils, or tuna sandwiches and gum for lunch EVERY day, but it is enough.
Sahsez on top of the world.
*Actually, I've noticed that this business of describing food in great detail in the middle of a fictional narrative is a real dividing point for readers and writers. Chris Baty, of NaNoWriMo fame, lists it in his "Magna Carta II" or things he hates to read in novels. Laurie Colwin says it is her favourite part of any novel. It's no mystery to anyone reading this where my opinion lies in this matter.
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