Because I am their mom, there are times I simply can't help telling my kids that they are "the Best".
The best snuggler, the best ABC's singer, the best twirler/bed-maker/sister/thing that ever happened in the whole, whole world.
I'm not actively trying to raise little narcissists. It just slips out every now and then. Because, in MY world, they are the Best.
Little One has been soaring through a superhero phase recently. She says, "I'm not Little One. IIIII'mmmm SUPER!" And one fist plowing ahead of Her body, She zooms around the house. When She takes on a challenge like carrying something heavy or being dared to clean up the playroom in "world record time", She pumps that fist into the air and dives into Her task, singing of course (this IS Little One we're talking about), "I am super I am smart I am really really fast! I am strong I am super I can do every-thing! I can throw the bear up high, catch it-and-put it-away, I can pick up all the blocks faster than-you-ever-seen! YES I CAN!!!"
Since thus far She has used the power of super-self-esteem for Good, I frankly am pleased to see my tiny daughter filled with confidence. I watch Her and think, please let this vast store of confidence last through puberty, at least, if not for life. It gives me a sense of peace in a part of my heart that can get very anxious as the mother of daughters.
So at first I wasn't sure how to reply.
Little One wanted me to set up a racecourse and time Her good running. So She could show me how fast She is. We marked it off with sandbox toys and each time I shouted "Go!" She took off with all Her might. At the end, She collapsed into my lap triumphantly.
"Mom! Was that the fastest running you ever seen? Was that the best race running?!"
I grinned at Her and nodded, "that was some super fast running!"
"Yeah!"
She was quiet for a moment, then. She started kicking restlessly at a pebble.
"We'll, you know mom. That's fun for pretend. I'm not really the best runner though. All the kids in my class are faster than me. I never catch them at recess time."
She looked at me almost apologetically, like She was trying to break something to me gently.
"I'm not REALLY the best mommy. The other kids are bester."
My Little One is full of talents and abilities. And childhood is full of the joy of embodying a limitless potential. I want to nurture those things in my children, I want them to shoot for any stars they take a shine to. Of course, reality is that no one is the very best, by human comparison, at everything. For a little body that struggles to grow just enough to get on the growth chart, there may be athletic feats that come harder for Her than others, and truly all achievements come with their challenges, no matter what inborn gifts a person carries.
How do I, as a parent, raise them to be fearless and confident and appreciative of their strengths without setting them up for disappointment when they aren't effortlessly the "best" at all they try?
I don't know, Peanuts! But awhile later, at bedtime, when Little One voiced a similar lament, I had to at least answer.
I told Her that to me She and Miss would always be the Best, because I love them so much that I like the way they do things more than any other way. They do things with a style that is unique to them, and that makes them the Best to me. I wanted Her to know that I am genuine in my praise, and that She will always have a number one fan.
But I also wanted Her to judge Herself according to things She can control Herself.
"You know, Little One. You might not always be the very strongest or biggest or fastest. But. You
can be the toughest. You can be the kindest. You can be the one who tries the hardest and doesn't give up. And so you can always be your best."
Little One smiled and squeezed me and told me that I am the best Mommy in the world.
Like all forms of "Best", that is certainly a subjective title. But I hope She will somehow learn what was so clear to me in that moment.
That while I might not be famous or have a particularly impressive resume or trophy collection, I prize being the Best Mommy In The World for one moment to one four-year-old more that I would an Olympic Medal.
We can't be the Best at everything, all the time. But if we try really hard (and have our fair share of luck), we can be the Best, sometimes, at what matters to us most.
What could really be better than that?
The best snuggler, the best ABC's singer, the best twirler/bed-maker/sister/thing that ever happened in the whole, whole world.
I'm not actively trying to raise little narcissists. It just slips out every now and then. Because, in MY world, they are the Best.
Little One has been soaring through a superhero phase recently. She says, "I'm not Little One. IIIII'mmmm SUPER!" And one fist plowing ahead of Her body, She zooms around the house. When She takes on a challenge like carrying something heavy or being dared to clean up the playroom in "world record time", She pumps that fist into the air and dives into Her task, singing of course (this IS Little One we're talking about), "I am super I am smart I am really really fast! I am strong I am super I can do every-thing! I can throw the bear up high, catch it-and-put it-away, I can pick up all the blocks faster than-you-ever-seen! YES I CAN!!!"
Since thus far She has used the power of super-self-esteem for Good, I frankly am pleased to see my tiny daughter filled with confidence. I watch Her and think, please let this vast store of confidence last through puberty, at least, if not for life. It gives me a sense of peace in a part of my heart that can get very anxious as the mother of daughters.
So at first I wasn't sure how to reply.
Little One wanted me to set up a racecourse and time Her good running. So She could show me how fast She is. We marked it off with sandbox toys and each time I shouted "Go!" She took off with all Her might. At the end, She collapsed into my lap triumphantly.
"Mom! Was that the fastest running you ever seen? Was that the best race running?!"
I grinned at Her and nodded, "that was some super fast running!"
"Yeah!"
She was quiet for a moment, then. She started kicking restlessly at a pebble.
"We'll, you know mom. That's fun for pretend. I'm not really the best runner though. All the kids in my class are faster than me. I never catch them at recess time."
She looked at me almost apologetically, like She was trying to break something to me gently.
"I'm not REALLY the best mommy. The other kids are bester."
My Little One is full of talents and abilities. And childhood is full of the joy of embodying a limitless potential. I want to nurture those things in my children, I want them to shoot for any stars they take a shine to. Of course, reality is that no one is the very best, by human comparison, at everything. For a little body that struggles to grow just enough to get on the growth chart, there may be athletic feats that come harder for Her than others, and truly all achievements come with their challenges, no matter what inborn gifts a person carries.
How do I, as a parent, raise them to be fearless and confident and appreciative of their strengths without setting them up for disappointment when they aren't effortlessly the "best" at all they try?
I don't know, Peanuts! But awhile later, at bedtime, when Little One voiced a similar lament, I had to at least answer.
I told Her that to me She and Miss would always be the Best, because I love them so much that I like the way they do things more than any other way. They do things with a style that is unique to them, and that makes them the Best to me. I wanted Her to know that I am genuine in my praise, and that She will always have a number one fan.
But I also wanted Her to judge Herself according to things She can control Herself.
"You know, Little One. You might not always be the very strongest or biggest or fastest. But. You
can be the toughest. You can be the kindest. You can be the one who tries the hardest and doesn't give up. And so you can always be your best."
Little One smiled and squeezed me and told me that I am the best Mommy in the world.
Like all forms of "Best", that is certainly a subjective title. But I hope She will somehow learn what was so clear to me in that moment.
That while I might not be famous or have a particularly impressive resume or trophy collection, I prize being the Best Mommy In The World for one moment to one four-year-old more that I would an Olympic Medal.
We can't be the Best at everything, all the time. But if we try really hard (and have our fair share of luck), we can be the Best, sometimes, at what matters to us most.
What could really be better than that?
No comments:
Post a Comment
Comments from the Peanut Gallery go here: Let's hear it, Peanuts!