A Break in the Morning

Some thresholds are so major you spend months looking forward to them -- first steps, first words, that sort of thing. Other thresholds fall into the category of mixed blessing, at best -- the first time Fiona showed she could unlock the front door, or the moment last month where I was in the office and suddenly heard the sound of the refrigerator door opening.

We hit one this week that isn't quite in the category of first steps, but it was a big one for us.

Lying in bed on Monday morning I could tell Fiona was wide awake. The clock read 6:59, and just like you might buy something at $19.95 that you wouldn't buy at $20, we do our best to stay in bed until at least 7:00.

Fiona announced "I want to get up."

"That number 6 is going to turn into a 7 very very soon," I replied. "As soon as it turns 7, we can get up."

Fiona sighed heavily, and I wondered if she was going to start crying. She got out of bed and headed to her room; sometimes when she wants to cry but doesn't want us to know about it (as opposed to temper tantrums where us knowing is the whole point), she retreats to her room. I figured that she'd pout for a little bit, maybe play with some stuffed animals, and I'd get an extra 5-10 minutes.

Instead, 20 minutes later I woke from a snooze and no sign of my daughter. I got up, poured myself a coffee, and walked into the living room...

...where I found Fiona, fully dressed, lying on the floor coloring one of her princess coloring books.

Oh blessed day.

The cynic in me would point out that Fiona did this on one of those days where she didn't have to go to preschool but I still had to get up for work, meaning a day where she could have slept in and I couldn't. But then she did it again this morning, so it wasn't a one-time fluke. Two-time, maybe; we'll see.

The amusing sidenote to all of this is that she's started wearing pants again instead of tights. For months we've struggled to put her in pants from time to time, forcing her to wear pants over her tights on cold mornings with the promise that she can take them off once we're done walking outside. Now that she's dressing herself from start to finish, it turns out pants are easier to put on than tights. So it's a double blessing, at least on 25 degree mornings.

100 = Infinity

Fiona's been able to count to 100 for a while now (at least with some help here and there). That's about as far as we're willing to count with her most days, so it's about as high as she can imagine numbers going.

This means that, according to Fiona, 100 is:

• The total number of people in New York City
• The total number of bugs in New York City
• Mommy's age. And Daddy's age. Sometimes this is phrased as "how old are you? Are you ten or one hundred?"
• How tall she's going to be when she grows up. Of course, she doesn't provide the units. She's getting up toward 100cm already.

Straight AS's

We had our first ever parent-teacher conference this morning. We'll try to keep the bragging to a minimum here, but Fiona pretty well ran the board. Children were given a grade of AS (area of strength), AA (age appropriate), PA (progressing toward age appropriate) and AC (area of concern).

Fiona got AA's on sharing and one or two motor skills points (I one was something about using art implements, although I could go check). Everything else was AS. Of course, consider some of the categories:

• Self esteem (um, she's not lacking here)
• Vocabulary (once upon a time we could actually list ALL the words she could say)
• Able to relate a story (ever been around for one of her songs?)

Anyway, we'll control the parental desire to crow too much, but it was nice to hear that 1) she's good at playing in groups (since she's an only child) and 2) she doesn't quit when challenged by something she can't do yet, the way she sometimes does at home.

Oh, and that she's the most special-est child in the whole history of creation. I don't think the teacher used those exact words, but we know it's true.

Polite as a Princess

As bedtime approaches, we tell Fiona it's time to brush her teeth. Daddy starts toward the bathroom with his daughter.

Fiona: I can do it myself!
Daddy: (knowing the relation of the medicine cabinet to the height of a four year old) Let me just get the toothpaste down for you.
Fiona: Okay.

Daddy retrieves the toothpaste and, after some back-and-forth deliberation, leaves it in a spot that is almost-but-not-quite out of reach so that Fiona can expend the maximum effort she demands.

Fiona: Now go away.
Daddy: That's not a very nice way to talk.
Fiona: (vocal tone unchanged) Please go away.

MLK

Most weeks at preschool Fiona's class focuses on a specific letter. They're up to "M" now, and with the school year probably running about 35 weeks or so (I haven't actually calculated it), you can do the math and figure that most weeks will be given over to the alphabet with a few breaks for seasonal lessons (the week on fall seemed to mainly be about convincing the kids to let their parents put them in sweaters and gloves as the weather gets colder).

Anyway, while we're always happy to devote our dinnertime conversation to figuring out which words start with the letter M (and lord knows we do), we're even more intrigued by the days or weeks where the lesson is a little more unusual. Today, Fiona learned about... "who was the person we learned about?"

Remembering the picture I'd seen up on the wall when I dropped her off that morning (not to mention having at least a rudimentary awareness of the calendar), I asked if they'd learned about Martin Luther King. Fiona nodded.

"He had the dream come true," she said.

Here are the major salient facts that Fiona took home from her lesson on Martin Luther King:

• Everybody should be friends
• You shouldn't hate (this might have been "hit", but hate works better)
• You shouldn't fight
• Don't be mean
• Don't throw things on the floor

That last one really gets me; who among us can ever forget Dr. King's great oratory on the subject of litter?

In all seriousness, when I hear about lessons like this from Fiona I always get a little emotional. She's in preschool, and she's learning about all these wonderful, hopeful ideas and she and her friends are fortunate enough not to have any notion of just how hateful the ideas were that King fought. And I know sooner or later she's going to learn about all the awful things that have happened in the world, and it's both touching and heartbreaking to realize that she doesn't know about any of that yet. For a four-year old, the lesson can be as basic as "don't be mean" and part of me wishes that was all she'd ever need on the topic.

We've Got Ourselves a Four-Year Old

And a happy birthday to our princess at that:

That's one hat for each year, if you're counting.

Could she be any more of a little girl?

Princess and Unicorn--a twofer!

And here's one from the Dept. of Nice Try, Kiddo:

Daddy and Mommy greet Fiona in the morning with a big "Happy Birthday!"

Daddy: How old are you now?
Fiona: I'm three!
Mommy: Only three?
Daddy: (reminding her, since we did have the party a day before her birthday, and she might be a bit confused as to whether or not the real day has finally arrived) It's January 7th now, for real, sweetie.
Mommy: You're four!
Fiona: No, I'm not four until I eat some birthday cake.

Hey, it's worth a try at 8am. Cue that Bill Cosby routine:

(For the curious and gullible, that photo is not from 8am this morning)