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.