Unexpected Words from my Daughter

Today Maggie and I were working on her "homework." Speech therapy is a new program that we've picked up this year and I've labeled it as "school" and hype it up so she knows it's something positive and normal. Something that all her friends do. Right?

Our conversation during her homework awakened a new sense for me of who Maggie is.

Maggie (saddling my lap and hugging my sternum): Mom, you're the best for helping me with my homework.
Me (wait, when did she come up with a sentence like that, so mature, so self-aware?): Awww, I love you, Maggie.

A little later…

Maggie (looking down and thoughtful): I'm not very good at school.
Me (WHY would she think that?!): Of course you are good at school, honey!
Maggie (the sincerity in her voice slowing my heart rate): Well, I'm not very good at homework.
Me: Maggie, school is about learning something new, something that you don't already know. Homework is practicing and you are very good at it! When kids go to school, they are all learning something new, just like you.
Maggie: Yeah, but I'm not very good at it.
Me (recycling the same encouragement)
Maggie: Well, sometimes homework makes me MAD.
Me (recognizing that my baby bird is sensitive and TOTALLY aware of positive and negative reactions to her "homework" and realizing that this is going to be a careful tightrope to walk.) I know, but I love doing homework with you.

A little later upstairs while I'm trying to exit the stage and leave her to bed…

Maggie: Mom, do you want to tell me a story about yourself?
Me: Ah…(thinking that's a brilliant strategy, M, how can I say no to that?)…yes, I can tell you a story. (I start weighing whether I should tell her about the time my dad saved me from drowning or wondering if that would give her any ideas about jumping into swimming pools and expecting to be saved)…ah…(still blanking)…let me tell you about my cat, Gray. [story given]
Maggie: Would you like me to tell you a story about myself?
Me: (brilliant strategist, this one)… yes, I would love to hear that.
Maggie: (story summary: Maggie was chased, a few times, by a monster, then someone saved her.)

Finally making my escape from M's room, closed the door, and…

Maggie: Good night (said loudly through door)
Me: Good night, Maggie.
Maggie: Thank you (her standard, self-imposed, formal bedtime response)
Me: You're welcome (wondering when she decided to thank me for this. And thinking back on when she told me how much she liked the rings and necklace I got her. Somehow knowing that the necklace her dad got her for Valentine's was really from me. And she has me completely whipped).

Of no small note, Jack's repeated and emphatic kisses on my cheeks amplified both of his bedtime songs in the dark, after which he insisted on a pack of four stuffed animals (bear, woof woof, fox, kitty cat) to stand guard in his crib before I could shut the door. Previously today, (and unrelated to bed), Jack and Maggie's trained response of "I do" when I ask if they want something has morphed into an if-looks-could-kill stare down:

Me: Who wants grapes?
Jack (raising hand as if in school): I do!
Maggie (taunting a challenge and quizzically staring at Jack): "no, I DO."
Jack (producing a significant scowl, half smile and pout for Maggie): "I DO" said slowly, clearly, and loudly.
Maggie (launched even louder): "NO, I DO."
Jack (begin punching motion and crescendo-d speech):  "I DO" with tonality that drops into a slightly quiet, darker, deadly-certain place in Jack's voice range, sort of like he's saying "I DO" and I'll take you out if you do, too.

Since Jack is only one, yet in on the joke, it obviously belies a sensitive and centered human being who is wise beyond his years. Of course that's the Rampton…er… I mean the Grandma Elgie in him. Hat tipped, Monseigneur Jack Park.

Good night my darlings, my lovely ones. And you too, Bill.