More "Stella-isms"

As evidenced by the post before this, Stella's way of making connections lately has had me cracking up. She's finally gotten to the point where her speech is not only used for asking for things in hopes of getting them or just recalling her day, but moving beyond and making bigger connections to things. Her memory has always been good and she seems to remember things that even I don't recall at times. But lately... oh lately...

Case in point #1:

In the car coming home from Trader Joes:

Me (to the car in front): Buddy, can you drive a little faster?
Stella: Mommy? You like talking to cars?
Me: Yes, Stella. I do. (We have had this conversation a few times before). 
Stella: I like talking to cars too.
--beat--
Stella: You truck! Drive straight! Stay on the road!

Case in point #2:

To encourage teeth brushing, we sing the "When you wake up in the morning and it's quarter to 2, and you don't have a thing to do, you brush your teeth shh-shh-shh- etc etc" The other night in the bathtub:

Stella (with washcloth in hand): When you wake in the morning, you brush your butt. shshh-sh-sh-sh-sh - you brush your butt.

Case in point #3:
(We were making banana bread this afternoon).
Stella: Mommy? When you go to school and teach your students, do you teach them how to mash 'nanas?
Me: Yes Stella, I wish I was teaching my students to mash bananas. I wish that were my job.
Stella: That would be fun.

Seriously, considering this horrible academic job market (year #3 folks!) I think those "Mommy and Me" cooking classes are looking better all the time. Anyone want to be a business partner to contribute start-ups costs? Don't you think these Santa Barbarians would totally fork over cash for something like that? Oh wait... they have people that "do" for them. They don't need to learn how to cook with their kids. Maybe they would send the nannies instead.

Not that kind of dancer….

A friend’s blog post prompted me to relay this on-going story about Stella. About six months ago, Stella came home from school and said to me “I’m a dancer, Momma.” Ok, Stella, yes, you are. Around the same time, my mom had sent some pajamas with a little ballerina applique on them. They now, of course, are her favorite pajamas, with the monkey ones coming a close second. “I’m a dancer” she likes to say randomly through the day, twirling and spinning and, if prompted by the appropriate music, lots of hip shaking and boogie-ing.

I’m not sure when one enrolls a child in dance classes (??) although by some friends’ stories, it seems that 3-4 seems to be the time that kids start to do these things. But I have been encouraging her to express herself through movement as much as she wants – either with music, or without. The local ballet company was doing a small showcase of their upcoming production in the local libraries last week, and after seeing that, Stella has increased the “I’m a dancer” rhetoric tenfold. She sweeps through the house, moving her arms purposefully and gracefully, and asks occasionally for me to pick her up “like the daddy dancer did to the mommy” at the “li-bar-bee.”

Yesterday morning, she almost made me spit out my tea, however. Trying to say quiet so Daddy could sleep in a bit, we headed to her room after the usual routine of cream cheese on toast to take off her pajamas and overnight diaper (oh when oh when will we be done with these??) Once in the nude, she began dancing through the bedroom, staring at herself occasionally in the small mirror I put up on her wall (for all those silly faces she likes making). “I’m a dancer, Mommy.” Yes, Stella, I really like the way you are moving so slowly, but shouldn’t we put on some underwear?

“I’m a naked dancer.”

Cue tea through nose.

Identifications

I teach college kids. Three years ago, even though I babysat throughout my youth, I don’t think I really knew *that* much about young children, much less how they make connections and their minds work. Every week, I continue to wonder at the connections Stella makes, her ability to remember things, and (after not speaking for so long) her articulation about the world around her. I’m not saying my child is brilliant. I’m sure she is just doing the things that’s she’s supposed to at this age, I just don’t always know what those are, so I’m continually amazed.

One thing I have been wondering about it is the insistence on animal recognition. I’m totally guilty of this. I guess it’s because so many children’s books have animals as the main characters, but seriously, does Stella really need to know what a rhino is? Chances are, she’ll be lucky if she even ever sees one of these things in a zoo. (Oh how we miss the awesome zoo, San Diego). Of course, I continue to ask when we see pictures, when she gets her monthly “Wild Animal Baby” magazine her grandparents graciously send her, etc. Then again, her little brain is such a sponge right now, why not? So I’ve also started on making sure that she learns the names of the things around her. Luckily, the barnyard animals actually do live in our neighborhood, so the fact that she now knows the difference between a “hen” and a “rooster” and a “coop” and a “sty” seems appropriate. She knows that Shasta and Cortez have hooves, muzzles, and manes, and that pigs and goats have hooves too, but not dogs. Dogs have paws, Mama. She can recognize by sight and sound the woodpeckers that nest in the palm trees, the hummingbirds that go to the feeder, the mourning doves that perch on our telephone wires, and the blue jay that likes to throw all the bird seed out of the feeder. The crows, the rooster, the ducks, the goose, and the turkey are old hat to her now, and when I casually ask “what was that?” she looks at me like, really? Come on, I know that’s the darn turkey. She asks now so I have started specifically identifying flowers and plants on our walks by name, so we’ve added gum tree, agave cactus and birds of paradise to our roster as well. Sadly, if we move anywhere else in the US, none of these things are going to be as commonplace again. The crux of living in Southern California. The weather and surroundings are beautiful; the people, not so much.

I list all of this not as showing off, but more as a reminder to us of all the experiences that she has had here in our little neighborhood that sadly, she will not remember hardly at all, and even more sad, my brain will probably fail me and I will not remember either! And yet for all that she does do to stupefy Steve and I, her occasional tantrums, screaming matches, and throwing herself on the floor and crying remind us that yes, she is indeed not yet 3. There are times when I forget, when I’m in the middle of having a perfectly normal conversation with her, and believing that she is more mature than her years, and then she has no concept that I can’t read a book to her while I drive from the playground , and then all hell breaks loose and I try as hard as I can to focus on the road while she screams from her carseat.