Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Shhh.... Don't Tell!

Princess Maren came home from pretty school with a new jumproke. She has been jumproking ever since - and getting mighty good at it. Please don't tell her it's not a jumproke. Don't even mention jumpROPE. The ROKE is so much better, don't you think?

She has figured out pretty school. "Mom, it is PRE -school - not pretty school..." she tells me disdainfully, with a far beyond her four and a half years eye roll. Like I'm the one who started it. I did not however, do anything to stop it, and in fact may have promoted it just a bit. How cute is pretty school? Pre-school has nothing on Pretty School. In my mind, pre-school will always and forever and ever be pretty school.

Parenting is a different story all together when it comes to your last child. I know we only have two, but the differences are there none the less. With Sweet Marissa, we were constantly watching and cheering for her first every things. We wanted her to be brilliant and talented and more brilliant and talented - and she is. : )Although, if Marissa had come home with a jumproke, I probably would have smiled, but gently corrected her, pulled out the flashcards and spelled it out properly and hoped and fervently prayed she wouldn't enter Kindergarten with a stunted vocabulary.


It seems I am mentally compiling a list of
lasts for Princess Maren. I remember the last time she fell asleep on my shoulder (four year old birthday on Lake Okoboji after watching the 4th of July fireworks on Uncle Don's boat) although I remember Marissa's too (Denver airport after a failed stand-by attempt - also four years old) I walk through Target and almost tear up and observe a period of silence and mourning when I pass the toddler girl clothes section.

Funny how those mispronounced words stick. My little brother Nate called hamburgers,"hangaburs" - and we still call them that in our family to this day. My patients granddaughter called ice cream "ham heam" and one of my old friends from Tulsa little three year old son called dirt "gick". This was before I had children of my own, but hearing Bryce say "gick" caused that maternal instinct to rise up in me so pure and strong and true, that next year we had Sweet Marissa. Marissa asked me what blog "ar-chee-vees" were the other day. So sweet. I need to go get out the baby book.

So, please don't tell Princess Maren about her jumproke. Let's just work that for as long as we can, OK? Thanks.

4 comments:

Baloney said...

I think I have a funeral for each and every one of Jacob's lasts. I can't help it because he is my baby! I have definitely enjoyed parenting him in a whole different way. Not sure that is a good thing!! :)

Annie H. said...

I love this post. So many touchy feely truths in it... makes me sentimental.

Luke's lastest mispronunciation: when he was sick with an infection, he kept calling it a confection. Much better than an infection, I would say!!!

Swizz said...

It's so true how we mourn over every cute mispronunciation they correct on their own. I have to admit I still continue on with some of them...even after he has stopped it long ago.

Jamanas are so much better than pajamas in my book.

And don't even get me started on how cute they are when they get the words to songs wrong. Ah, to freeze them in time.

The B Keeper said...

I am so with all these mamas and their sentimental mournings for the "lasts" of their youngest babies.

Chloe still sometimes says her "L" like "ya's". But pretty much kindergarten fixed all those remaining preschooley things.

Her first tooth fell out & I wanted to glue it back in. Sad...sad day for mama.