Celebrating Our Talents

Once the label was slapped on, it didn't take long to figure out that it was going to be a problem.

Smart.

I was labeled as smart in first grade. It came in the form of the word, "Talented," along with inclusion into a special program at school. For the grown-ups in my life, it was A Very Good Thing. A reason to be proud, an excuse to brag, something to shout from the mountain tops.

But, oh, to be a kid labeled as such was not at all a good thing. It came with a side of Don't You Dare Put Your Hand Up to Answer a Question, a dose of Don't Ever Share Your Grades, and a heavy hit of Will You Help Me Cheat on this Test? When you're a wee little kid, you're proud of your every achievement, but slowly things change and it becomes bad to be different. Being good at something, being better than average, well that's just not acceptable.

Recently @jayesel wrote about how it really kinda sucks how we start out knowing how to celebrate our talents, but that for some reason that pride is beaten out of us as we grow up. She challenged everybody who read her post to list seven things they are good at.

I can do that.

1. I am smart. I can be totally and completely ditzy at times, but when it comes to figuring out a situation and piecing together a solution, I'm your girl. I can figure out absolutely anything if I set my mind to it.

2. I am stubborn. See also: #1. If I decide I'm going to do something, I'm doing it. It may take me forever and a day to get it done, but I will.

3. I catch things other people miss. It's exactly what makes me a good classroom trainer. I pick up on nonverbal communication very well, I hear muttering from miles away, and I piece it all together to figure out what people are really thinking.

4. I am a word game queen. I may not be the best out there, but ask the peeps who have fallen to my wrath in Words with Friends about how I am with two-letter words.

5. You don't have to ask "How does your garden grow?" because the answer is very well. I can't keep houseplants alive, but if it's outside, I can make it look good. In the event it doesn't, I'll figure out why a plant isn't happy and find it a better place. I am a beast with a shovel and a pair of gardening gloves.

6. I am flexible. I don't mean that in the bendy sort of way (because, uh, NOT AT ALL), but rather in a BRING IT ON, WORLD sort of way. No matter what unexpected curveballs are thrown my way, I manage to hit the snooze button on the universe and snore my way through it. I dodge disaster like a pro.

7. I am an overachiever. Here, let me prove it! I asked Alexis to list some things that she is good at. Since she's still young enough to be WAY proud of her accomplishments and still loves to tell people her talents, she was much faster at coming up with seven things than I was. I'm challenging myself to help her stay that way, but yet find the balance between pride and conceit. Anyway, her seven were: a good hula hooper, a good jumper, a good painter, a good speller (she rattled off L-O-V-E to prove her point, which, SWOON!), a good colorer, a good reader, and good at being silly. She's totally right on all accounts.

Now, it's YOUR turn. What are your talents?

Whichever.

This is the post where I should be telling you about all the fun that Alexis had at Kennywood. I should be showing you cryptic photos that may or may not show the kid having fun:

Did she like the giant pirate ship. Maybe? It's hard to tell.

I should also be telling you how crazy it is that they installed new swings in Kiddieland. Really small swings, at that. They had these ones in 2007:

But now the new ones are a LOT smaller:

(You can try to tell me that they just painted the old one, but clearly the photographs show that the ride has shrunk. Ahem.)

But I'm not telling you all about Kennywood because all I can think about is The Toad. The Toad that tried to murder me tonight.

I was minding my own business, just doing a little yard work. I lifted up something in the yard, and there it was. A GIANT toad, easily the size of my head (Or my fist. Whichever.). It stared at me with its dark, evil, soul-sucking eyes for a moment, not even considering that it should maybe MOVE OUT OF MY WAY. I needed to stick my hands exactly where it was, but The Toad was willing to wage war.

So, I went over to another part of the yard to do some work. What can I say? I'm a chicken.

Twenty minutes later, I surveyed my original crime scene. Finding no evidence of The Toad, I went back to work. I was happily minding my own business, finally making a little progress when it happened.

The Toad tried to murder me.

It appeared out of nowhere and lunged towards my face (Or my foot. Whichever.), narrowly missing a chance to sink its scary fangs (Do toads have teeth? They must.) into my skin (Or my shoe. Whichever.). I demanded that The Toad move away from me (Or screamed like a girl. Whichever.), but it just sat there. Challenging me.

I grabbed my shovel and began smashing The Toad (Or gently nudging it. Whichever.), but it was far too strong. It grabbed my shovel out of my hands and hurled it at me (Not really.).

I abandoned the battlegrounds, but I will return. The Toad may have won that battle, but once I assemble an army, I shall win the war.

Right after I figure out how the heck Kennywood shrunk those swings so much.

Pyshic Children Make Me Nervous

I AM A WINNER!

No, really.

I wrote this post last week, seriously upset that I had been promising Alexis a trip to Kennywood for months, but had yet to make good on it. I happened to mention the whole thing to Mr. Husband during a phone call, to which he responded, "Isn't this weekend our last chance for a while?"

He was right. Our weekends are booked solid for the next several weeks.

So we made the executive decision to ignore all the things we needed to do this past Saturday and instead surprise Alexis with a day at the amusement park. We never mentioned it to her. In fact, we never even discussed it when in the same zip code as her.

And, yet, she knew.

She woke up Saturday morning bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, all ready to go. When pressed, she would ask if we were going to Kennywood.

HOW DO THEY DO THAT?

I can't figure out where I left my car keys, but she can figure out where we're going without us even mentioning it?

I think she has the phones tapped. There is no other explanation.