Sweetness, Porcupines and a glimpse of the future

An update on my not-so-baby, Grace...

The other day in the car, Grace took the ear buds out of her ears and said:

"hey Mom, you know what?"

L: "What, baby girl?"

G: "Sometimes I listen to a song on my iPod, you know one I always skip, just to see if I like it and you know what?"

L: "What?"

G: "When I listen to it, then it turns into my favorite song!!"

L: "You know what? I do that too!"

G: "You do? Wow, we must be related."

Grace had to memorize a poem for her class, the 4th verse of the Star Spangled Banner. She remembers first grade where memorizing poems was a bear for her, but she's come along way since then. I've also come a long way. I know her better, so I know better what will help her. We put the words to a beat and memorized them to clapping, then when she had the basics down, we made up an action for each line. (Thank you Primary General Board for that great training about how to teach song - that's really helped my mothering.)

We practiced it with the actions for a while and then the week she had to recite it in class we stopped doing the actions and I just did an action if she got stuck or needed a prompt.

She was doing great and I could tell she was going to be fine, but she was nervous and she kept saying things like "I'll never be able to do this...when I get up I think I'll faint...I'm not smart enough...This is too hard..."

For a while I was saying in response like "You'll be fine...You won't faint...You can totally do this...You are really smart..." And then I stopped saying those things and I said "You listen to me, you have to stop saying negative things. If you tell you brain something is hard, your brain will believe you. You can't psyche yourself out. You have to say positive things to yourself. You have worked hard and you can do this. Now you have to train your brain to be confident."

The night before her assigned poem-recitation day, I sent her to get ready for bed. In the summer part of her bedtime routine is to sit on the edge of the tub and wash her feet (if she would keep her shoes on her feet probably wouldn't be black as soot at night, but I digress...). I was in the hall and I heard her practicing.

I peeked into the bathroom and saw her sitting with her back to me. She was wearing a long sleeve pink pj shirt with the arms pushed up, and had the legs of her pink, blue and white snowflake pj pants rolled up around her thighs. I stood to listen, knowing that she didn't know I was watching her.

She was going great until she got to a part where she often gets tripped up and she stumbled a bit. Then I hear her say out loud to herself "Grace, relax. It's fine. It's ok to mess up. If you tell your brain it is hard, it will be hard. Tell your brain you can do it. You can do it. Now relax and try again."

And she started again finishing it flawlessly.

What a lovely moment. A sweet little glimpse into a future where she is strong and confident and all grown up.

The afternoon of her poem, I had a really important client call, so I had the french doors leading into my office shut when the girls came home. I could hear Grace upstairs for a few minutes and finally she came barreling down the stairs and knocked on the glass. I waved and pointed to my headset to indicate I was on the phone. She had a huge smile on her face, as she waved a little piece of paper and then bent down and slid it under the door.

I walked over to grab it. It was a little note, written on one of Chad's business cards that I keep in the kitchen. It read:

Dear Mom,

I got an A+ on my peom. 

Love,

Grace

She did it. A+. And yes she spelled poem - peom. :)

"I was nervous," she told me later. "But I just told myself I could do it and I did it."

There's something lovely and perfect about her right now. I see her growing up literally before my eyes. She's happy and funny. She had a tender soul. She's noisy and mousy. Blusterous and gentle. She's the perfect mix of independent and reliant on me.

She's making a conscious effort to be responsible. She is serious about homework and practicing her karate. She keeps important dates on her calendar. Wants to pack her own lunch.

She's excited to take on jobs that make her feel big. A neighbor of ours asked if her first grade daughter could walk home with Grace and Brynn, but she didn't ask me, she asked Grace. She asked Grace specifically to be responsible for the staying with her daughter and making sure she gets to the corner.

Grace has taken the task very seriously. She's asked me lots of questions, running what if after what if scenario. What if she gets behind us? What if she gets ahead? What if she doesn't meet us at the tree? What if she falls down? What if she doesn't want to walk with us? We've rehearsed a contingency plan for every scenario she can come up with and she's armed with seriousness and responsibility.
 
Don't get me wrong, sometimes she is a porcupine. But when she's being a brat, or I'm being a brat I try to remember my mom's advice that the brattiest among us need the most hugs. So I scoop her into my arms as often as I can every day.

I try to tell myself that porcupines are furry - it you can just get past the quills.

Mostly I just pray - for her and for myself. For wisdom in raising her. For insight into her needs. For even more love for her.

And I feel it - oozing out of me in every direction.