I am thankful for Mary.
Mary loves her friends.
Based on a sample of two (David and Mary), I am now going to make a generalization that applies to all children. (Because that's what we moms do.) At age 2, we parents want our children to have friends, but, really, they couldn't care less. But that's okay because we moms need to be friends with other moms. Who cares about our kids. When they are 3, our children desperately want to have friends, but they're really bad at it. They pretty much need an adult or older child around to give direction. So play dates are possible, but possibly painful. But by 4, friends really do start to matter. And our kids are getting the hang of it. (By 5 or 6, kids are pros at playing together, and I base this, of course, on my wide expansive experience of one child this age.)
Mary is 4. She loves a good play date, and she's quite good at it. Hallelujah!!! Despite being bright and fun and talented and lovely, Mary is self-conscious, and I sense that she lucked out (not) with the insecurity gene. So I love to see her build genuine friendships. To relinquish the control she wants to have on the universe in the give-and-take of imaginative play. To respond warmly to gestures of friendship. To be herself, to be uninhibited with close friends. Friendships are important. I am thankful Mary is learning to build them.
Mary bravely gave up her binkie.
Yes, this was a recent occurrence. Now you have reason # 218 of why I won't win Mom of the Year. In my defense, it seems perfectly reasonable to have a one-year-old who enjoys a good binkie. And I certainly wasn't going to take it away when Mary was two. That was the year Greg was gone. I myself considered taking up the binkie that year. We weakly tried taking it away when she was three. But she would start sucking her thumb! Which she'd never done before. I certainly didn't have two million binkies in my house along with two million pictures of Mary with a binkie plugged in only to have her switch to the thumb at age three!! She played us good--the thumb freaked us out and we backed down. (But we did place more and more limits on her binkie. First it was only in the car and in her room, then only in her room, and finally only in her bed.)
Finally, a few weeks after she turned four (yes, I had a four-year-old still addicted to her binkie--feel good about yourself, that's why I'm here), we took it away. We did it because she was going to the dentist, and I had to be able to say that she no longer had a binkie. (I have to maintain some shred of decency in this community.) It was really, really heartbreaking for a couple of days. But she got over it. And she did not rediscover her thumb. Phew.
I am thankful that Mary gave up her binkie because now I have one less deep dark shameful parenting secret to hide.
Mary skips along.
Mary often skips when she walks. And sings. She also loves to dance. She'll turn on Pandora on the computer and dance away. When I'm walking down the sidewalk, and Mary is holding my hand and skipping along and singing a song, well, I just feel so thankful to have a daughter.
Mary takes care of Hello Kitty.
Mary has a bear. She built this bear on her birthday. She named this bear Hello Kitty. And she finds nothing odd about that fact. She lovingly cares for Hello Kitty, changing her clothes, feeding her marshmallows, tucking her into bed, bringing her to the playground.
Mary can play imaginatively with her toys now. She sets up her dollhouse, playing out elaborate family dramas. She can disappear into her room for an hour at a time to play with her princesses or baby dolls. She and her friends will dress up like fairies, fly around the house on brooms like witches, and cook fancy meals with plastic and wood.
I am so, so, so thankful when my kids develop the ability to play. Really play, like Mary can now.
Mary loves clothes.
Mary loves clothes. She digs around in her closet for all kinds of fashion treasures. She will squeeze herself into last summer's tank tops or drown herself in next year's dresses. She changes her clothes several times a day. We never know what she's going to be wearing when she emerges from her bedroom.
Mary especially loves new clothes. She is great fun to take shopping because she likes the dressing room. (What child LIKES the dressing room?) She'll express thoughtful opinions about what I'm shopping for. But, of course, she likes it even more when we're browsing or shopping for her. (I have to be careful--she can be quite persuasive.) I am thankful to have a fun shopping companion.
Mary works hard.
Mary is a determined little girl.
Right now she is working hard at learning to write. She constantly begs for new words to write. And she will fill pages and pages (and pages and pages!) with "Mary" and "Mom" and "Cat" and "Dad" and "Mat" and "Mit" and whatever she might copy from an old magazine.
She is also determined to learn to read. I'm not sure she was quite ready, but after watching David figure it out, she insisted on trying too. And she's doing it! She will practice and practice--and she's reading simple books now. (And actually reading them--they're not just memorized.) I owe it to her brute determination.
Mary practices. Over and over. Whatever it is. Writing, reading, counting, tying, brushing, leaping, singing, drawing, cutting, folding, dancing, sorting, matching. I love to watch her work. She concentrates. She does not give up. She enjoys a challenge, and she has confidence that she can accomplish a difficult task.
I am thankful for Mary because she teaches me that hard work is beautiful.
Oh, Mary. I am thankful for your beautiful brown eyes. I never imagined that I would have a child with brown eyes. Until God gave me a glimpse of you, before you were born. And I fell in love with your brown eyes. They remind me that you are not me. You are a separate, determined individual. I cannot bully or boss you into being just so. (But you need to learn that you can't bully and boss the universe into being just so.)
You are strong. But you don't always have to be so strong. I can comfort you. Let me hold you close and protect you, even from yourself. I love you. And I am thankful for you.
