I often refer to my eleven year old daughter as a “freak of nature”. I mean that in the best possible way.
Let me start by saying that if I had stopped having kids after she was born, I would think the rest of you were horrible parents. I remember taking her to toddler storytime at the library only to be surrounded by children who didn’t look as much like small people as they did drunken vagrants. Stumbling about, picking their noses, their shirts covered with a mixture of snot, chocolate milk and popsicle stains.
Some would put their fingers in the floor outlets, others would dump their crayons and some would run completely out of the room. Not my kid. If she had been wearing a halo she couldn’t have appeared any more angelic.
Her pacifier, which had been an extension of her lips, was taken away when she turned two and she never asked for it after that. There were no tears or drama. She was potty trained in three days and never had an accident. If I told her not to do something, she never did it again.
So, I’m sure you will understand that I believed I was the best parent IN THE WORLD and the rest of you were a bunch of schmucks. Just sayin’.
Then my son was born. Someone got set straight. That someone was me.
Through all of my son’s trials and tribulations and health problems and odd behavior, my daughter has never strayed from her original path of being a darn good kid. Sure she rolls her eyes at me. She talks back and fights with her brother too. I’m glad she does those things so I know she’s human.
Despite having a brother with a lot of issues and despite being involved with Girl Scouts and playing soccer, basketball, softball and track this school year, she has managed to be on the honor roll every quarter. I never have to tell her to do her homework or study for a test. As a matter of fact, I have actually insisted she “put down her book” and “stop taking so many math practice tests”.
She is a great kid and if she would start picking up her socks I would say she is extremely responsible. Also, I wouldn’t mind if she cleaned under her bed. Maybe she’s saving the old magic kit, the ripped-up foam hopscotch set and the single Barbie shoe stuffed with dust bunnies. I wouldn’t be surprised if she put it all together and made something that puts MacGyver to shame. She’s that smart.
Tomorrow is my daughter’s last day of elementary school. She is growing up. Fast. I can’t bear to think that someday she won’t be around every day.
I kind of like being surrounded by such goodness.