Differences Make the World . . . Different

You wouldn't even know she's the same kid. A simple little thing like changing teachers was enough to fix that which was broken when it came to Alexis and dance class. She is now a happy little participant who eagerly looks forward to her time in both the dance room and the gymnastics room.

But.

(Of course there is a "but.")

I'm not so sure about this different group of parents.

They're . . . different.

We're talking about drastically different parenting styles. DRASTICALLY. To be honest, I don't much care how people go about bringing up their kids. Do what you want, just so long as it doesn't negatively impact me or someone I care about. It's all good, and I truly believe there are a million and one "right" ways to do just about anything.

But.

There is this little group of moms, three of them, who clearly have a WHOLE other view of the world. Mostly, I get it. They are stay-at-home-moms who take their kids to dance class so that they can get an hour of kid-free chatting. They sit in a corner and talk, never once glancing up at their dancing daughter or son.

I TOTALLY respect that. It's weird (because hello! super cute dance and gymnastics action!), but I understand the need to escape.

But, uh, none of the three of them is a singleton parent. Their other eight kids (combined) run around like maniacs all over the dance building.

Whatever. Doesn't impact me. I'm usually glued to my chair, face practically touching the glass as I watch Alexis learn all about doing curtsies and leaping through the air. I can very easily block out the running and screaming and whatever.

What I can't ignore is the fact that the kids are frequently in a position to hurt themselves.

Yesterday the three-year old little boy (who last week broke his big brother's arm by slamming a car door on him--makes me glad to have a girl) was standing on top of a chair, one foot on the seat, the other foot propped up on the chair back. Rocking. Back and forth. I was sitting about three feet away, so I couldn't help but notice that he was trying to use the chair as a surf board, and that he was REALLY close to falling over and smashing his head on the concrete floor.

His mom never even glanced his way.

Back and forth. Back and forth. He rocked and rocked, very nearly killing himself. Fortunately, he got distracted by something shiny and ran to another part of the room to wreak havoc.

But, what do you do? How do you deal with other people's kids when you know you can't "fix" what is really going on? Do you say something to the kid? To the parent? Or just walk away?

The whole thing makes me miss the good ol' days when I was certain to get my butt kicked by any parent in the neighborhood if I did something stupid.

But then again, nobody ever said to me, "Hey, let's go splash in some puddles."

It's a Yellow World After All

It was just another Wednesday afternoon. Alexis and I were in the car, cruising down the road on our way home after dance class. As the rain fell gently on the windshield, my mind was full of thoughts Children Gone Wild Without Supervision. Alexis sat peacefully in the back seat loudly singing whatever song it was that she was singing. We were lost in our own little worlds when suddenly Alexis called out, "Yellow car!"

She was right--a yellow car was parked in the lot on our right.

It's a game we've played for ages. We compete to see who can spot yellow cars first. Except, "compete" isn't so much the right word for it as I long ago conceded defeat. It seems that a toddler brain is well-equipped for scouring the earth in search of sunny vehicles. An adult brain is too busy focusing on road hazards, speed limits, and rain drops.

"Yup, you beat me!" I told Alexis.

"YELLOW CAR!" she yelled. She had spotted another one, this time on our left.

That's when I noticed it.

Yellow.

Not Lellow.

Yellow. With a "Y."

*sniff, sniff*

Our little girl is growing up.

Sort of.

Just Words

Success means _________.

Fun means _________.

Retard means _________.

Love means _________.

Value means _________.

Boring means _________.

Sporky means _________.

Go on, fill in the blanks. You can do it.

Done?

Bet your answers don't match mine.

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Frequently when the topic of my college educations comes up, I hear comments like, "Wow, you sure aren't using THAT!" or "Whatever did you plan to do with that?" or "Seriously? That's a real major?"

Apparently having a degree in Spanish Translation doesn't seem all that valuable in the world of a working mom involved with corporate training. On the surface, it's not. I don't translate anything in my work. I don't even own a Spanish dictionary right now.

However, there is one major lesson of translation that I use every single day of my life.

The meaning of words is in people, not in words.

Think about it. All those words above? Have different connotations for different people. Your life experiences shape how you interpret a word. For example, some people would say that success means being good at what you do. Some would say it has to do with income levels. Some would tell you that it's being happily married with 2.5 kids. Some would define it entirely different.

For some people, it's a pleasant word. It gives them a chance to revel in their own personal success as they have defined it. For others, it's a hurtful word that conjures up memories of discussions about disappointment, goals not reached, and choices. It's an innocent little word, yet the emotions attached to it can be very different for each person who hears it.

Context can help to clarify the speaker or author's intention when using a particular word, but the meaning of words is still open to interpretation by the person receiving the message.

The meaning of words is in people, not in words.

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Alexis and I walked casually through The Emporium, in search of the perfect memento from the Magic Kingdom. We studied t-shirts, we dug through piles of stuffed animals, we glanced at household items. Finally we stumbled upon an aisle filled with miniatures figurines.

Alexis enthusiastically pointed out all of her favorite characters. "Look! It's Minnie!" "I love Daisy." "There's Cinderella!"

Then she saw it. The shelf with the characters from Aladdin.

"Momma, I miss Jasmine. Not purple Jasmine. I miss white Jasmine," she said in her stereotypical high-pitched cheery little kid voice.

It wasn't toddler rambling. It wasn't an incoherent statement. It was a fact. A fact that instantly tore open a hole in my heart and brought tears to my eyes.

She misses our sweet little Lhasa Apso who passed away last fall.

I do, too.

Alexis didn't mean for her words to hurt me, but they did.