She:Ā What’s a Baby Monitor?
Me:Ā Ā Ā It’s something people use to make sure the baby isn’t
getting into any trouble.
She:Ā Ā We need to get you a Mommy Monitor.
The Mommy Monitor
She:Ā Ā We need to get you a Mommy Monitor.
To Infinity, and the Bus!
From the moment she could talk, our daughter was telling us how she was going to take the “Big kid bus”Ā on her first day of school. At first, she’d surf along the back of our sofa, peer out our front window, and point at it with a near-toothless grin.
“Bus! Bus!” she’d call out in excitement. Eventually, she’d walk to the kitchen and tug at my shirt, telling me how she wished she could be on that big yellow bus, too.
“You’re too little right now, but some day, honey, some day,” I’d tell her.
Some day arrived today. It crept up on us like dusk creeps up on one of those perfect summer days –the ones you wish could go on and on forever. They don’t. Nothing lasts forever.
“That’s just how it is,” our daughter would say.
I could have used her five-year-old wisdom as that school bus pulled away today with half of my heart sitting on it. You prepare yourself for days like this. You tell yourself you must be strong for your child. I was. But I wasn’t prepared for her to run up to the bus without hesitation, climb the stairs like she was conquering Everest, then sit somewhere on the far side. In the ridiculously perfect movie-moment that had played in my mind for ages, she was peering out a window in our line of vision, blowing big fish kisses at us, waving at us–needing us.
As the bus pulled away, I clumsily chased after it a little, hoping she’d hear me say “I love you,” hoping she’d catch me waving madly at her. This was, of course, the scene in the movie where Mom looks like a complete idiot. Our daughter was oblivious to all activity outside the bus. She was gleefully talking with one of her little friends from down the street. She’d made it atop Everest, and she was happy.
I’d promised myself I wouldn’t call a soul for fear of spending the morning like a blubbering fool, but when we got back to the house, my fingers magically made their way to the phone, then dialed my mother.
“So, she’s off then? Did it go okay?” she asked. The moment I heard her voice, I burst into tears.
“Yeah. It went great. She didn’t even wave goodbye! She sat on the other side of the bus!”
“So, for five years, you’ve been working hard, preparing her for this moment. Making sure she’ll be okay. And now you’re crying because she’s so well-adjusted, she didn’t need to wave goodbye?”
I couldn’t help but laugh as I wiped the tears off my cheek. “Yeah. I see your point.”
Parents who have been in my place before have hinted to me that today was smaller than I think. It was just a pebble in an ocean of slippery rocks and perilous waves. Someday, our daughter will want to cross that ocean, losing sight of the shore completely. Today was just a first step–and it’s pretty clear she liked getting her feet wet.
It’s been our ritual for years now to say goodnight in an unusual way. “To Infinity!” I call out from her bedroom doorway as I turn out the light. “And beyond!” she responds from under the sea of glowing stars Daddy pasted on her ceiling.
In my always flamboyant, often clumsy, non-Disney-Mom manner, I will love this girl to infinity and beyond.
Today, I just needed to love her all the way to that bus.
“Poetry, Ahhhh!” –Not “Poetry, Arghhh!”
I’ve always been in love with poetry –but I loved words at a very young age, and my first experience being told to write a poem was a very positive one. My grade one teacher took us to the local arena, and when we returned, she asked us to write an “expressive limerick” about it. Then she explained that meant, “just write what you felt.” I wrote down, “I felt grand!” and away I went, titling the poem, “At the Arena.” Now an avid inline skater and a published poet, I’d like to think I was a natural at both skating and poetry (and I actually come up with a lot of my ideas for my poems while inline skating along the river.)
I also think the way poetry was first taught to me gave me such a positive experience that I didn’t ever fear it. All of my creative writing teachers let me be expressive. They didn’t force the rules. They taught me what I “should” do for a certain type of poem, but let me throw in my own style, too.
I’ve met (or cyber-met)Ā a lot of people from many walks of life while on this journey of writing and promoting my poetry. Many tell me they didn’t think they liked poetry–feared it, even– until they came across mine –and somehow, it spoke to them, and they realized it wasn’t as intimidating or as dull as they’d imagined.
Do you remember the first time you were told to write or recite a poem? Tell me about it. Were you intrigued, or scared out of your mind? Thinking about your experience, what do you think teachers and poets need to do to excite children about poetry, so that feeling stays with them for a lifetime?
I’ll be visiting some schools this year as part of the League of Canadian Poets’ ‘Poets in the Schools’ program, and I think your stories will help me keep the children engaged.
I’m asking this question on my Facebook Author Page too–come join in the discussion!
Three Poems by our Four-year-old
This month, I’ve been putting the finishing touches on my next collection, Leap, due out March 2010 and available here, where you can also find my other collection, Where the Butterflies Go. I’ve been incredibly busy with three other writing projects, so what better time to introduce a guest poet to my blog? Our daughter Kayla often speaks in poems–at least I think so. I’ve copied down a few of the sentences she said this week. This will be her first time being published and she’s very excited!
I copied her phrases word-for-word, but titled two of the poems myself (with her approval). “Suppertime Astronomy” came to her while she was eating supper. She got up from the table, peeked out the window, and said exactly this. “Spring Festival” is what she told me her painting above was called, and so when I asked her to write a poem called Spring Festival, she came up with those three lines.
Introducing, for the first time ever, the art and poetry of Kayla Mae Stewart!
Suppertime Astronomy
The man on the moon
is fishing for stars
and playing the piano
On Thunder
I think the Earth is mad at me
because I put the cat
inside the Barbie camper.
Spring Festival
There’s honey inside flowers;
The bees and butterflies spread it.
That’s just how it is.
Heather Grace Stewart 