My husband seems to think that I have neglected my second child. And, admittedly, I will say that, no, I have not taken up as much time with her as I did with David. I mean, hello! It was easier when it was just me and David. I would sit with him and read books to him and teach him things. By age two, he could sing the ABC song and knew his colors and could count to twenty and knew most of his shapes. But he also walked at nine months and could communicate very simply when he was just a year old. Basically, David was born running and just had, and still has, a zeal for learning. Madalyn is quite the opposite. And being the intuitive mother I am, I notice those differences and don't stress about it at all. For what Madalyn lacks in zeal for learning, she makes up in the art of manipulation and just plain common sense. She will be my child that struggles with school, not because she isn't able, but just because she could care less. She doesn't want to sit and read a book, but would rather hide out and plan her next attack on the pantry. These attack are daily, sometimes multiple times a day, and she will pull anything that she can climb onto and stand on in front of the pantry so that she can get what she wants. In fact, she has already done it once this morning and is probably as we speak plotting her next attempt. That's the tenacity that she exhibits. Not for learning, but for cunning.
All this being said, Madalyn does not know her colors. I mean, not at all. She just doesn't get the concept. And I could really care less. I mean, seriously, where in the book does it say children must know their colors before they turn three? Well, apparently Scott's edition of the book states it clearly. This tends to be the topic of discussion around our house at least once a week. Scott will tell me how I ought to be ashamed of myself that I haven't taught Madalyn her colors. And I will just laugh at him and tell him that it really doesn't matter. She will not enter the work force confusing red with green, of that I am certain.
Yesterday morning, I was in the bathroom getting my makeup on, and of course I had company, because there are no sacred places or moments when you have children. And Madalyn had something in her hand - I can't remember what - and I asked her what color it was.
"Green and whipe (replacing the t with a p)," she replies confidently.
I say, "No, baby girl, that's blue."
"No, mama. It's whipe."
"Okay, so what color is your shirt?" (Her shirt is red, and I am thinking surely she will get this one. She always recognizes red.)
Does anyone see my dilemma here? First of all, any time I try to teach her the colors, she freaking argues with me. So here I am, a thirty-one year old woman, arguing about the fact that something is blue and not whipe. Secondly, she actually believes that there is a color called brownie. Granted, she does have a little of me in her if she is confusing sweet treats with colors. But this is just a battle I think I will save for her preschool teacher.
On a totally different note, my son took his first shower this morning. This may sound odd to some, but for my child who was so totally petrified of getting a drop of water in his precious eyes from the time he was six months old, this is a big accomplishment. And it was all his idea. Just out of nowhere he asked to take a shower. Of course, he had to have a towel on the side of the tub so that he could wipe his face off, but it was a legitimate shower. He is just growing up all the sudden. His legs are almost as long as mine. It won't be long and he'll be as tall as me. Parenthood is so scary. Rewarding sometimes, frustrating at others, but scary always.