You know what?  I can distinctly remember the first time I read Great Expectations.  I was in high school and somehow the copy of the book that I got from school was very old and musty and I think probably a little bit moldy.  (I guess they didn't care about posioning public school kids when I was in school).  Now, you might think that that is a bit of a gross thing...a moldy book.  But, in this case, I think it added to my reading experience.  Now, even twenty-some years later, when I think about Great Expecations, and particularly Miss Havisham, I can instantly smell the mustiness of that book.  That seems appropriate, don't you think?

Okay, I'm done with that walk down memory lane....this post has nothing to do with Dickens or Miss Havisham or even moldy books.  No, this post is about my little kindergartener and more specifically her mommy who has serious, serious control issues.

Gracie is smart.  I don't really think anyone would dispute that issue.  And I don't say that with any kind of bloated pride.  It's just a simple fact...like the fact that she has green eyes or brown hair or a horrible temper.  She didn't do anything to aquire any of those traits...she was just born that way. 

Gracie started reading right at a year ago, just after her fifth birthday.  She is a great reader - her voabulary and her inborn sense of drama allow her to really get into the characters of the books that she's reading.  She's very animated when she reads and uses the proper inflection when she reaches a question mark or an exclamation point.  And she seems to have really good comprehension, too. 

Here's the thing, though.....Gracie has no initiative.  And by no, I mean none, zilch, nada.  She would be perfectly happy never to pick up a book again and read it.  She was the third kid in her class to get on the Wall of Fame (a board in the school hallway that you can have your picture put on when you've read twenty books and passed tests on them).  She could care less.  I don't think it would have bothered her one bit if she'd never made it to the wall.  Nor would it have mattered to her if she'd been the first one on the wall.  She's the same with her homework, with math, with just about everything.  She's not exactly what I'd call goal-oriented.  If there was something called goal-disoriented, that's what she'd be.

And, here's the rub with that.  I am extremely competitve goal-oriented.  I want to be the first to do something; I want to be the best; in kindergarten, I would have stayed up all night reading so I could have been the first kid on the Wall of Fame.  Heck, I'd have wanted to been not only the first one on the wall, but the kid who got on it faster than anyone in the history of kindergarten.  I think my competitiveness has mellowed some as I've gotten older.  I no longer feel the need to be the best or the brightest or the fastest.  But, I still, at least most of the time, want to do my personal best.   Which is where I run into trouble with Gracie.  Many times, I sit down to read with her at night and I feel my blood pressure shooting through the roof and I find myself wanting to hurl the book we're reading at the nearest wall.  It frustrates me to no end when I sit with her and she mumbles along with her reading, intentionally not doing her best.  It frustrates me beyond end because I KNOW that she is capable of flying through her reading with the greatest of ease.  But, she won't.  For whatever reason, she just won't try.  And I swear, sometimes, I want to strangle her.

But here's the thing:  in reality, this is MY PROBLEM, NOT hers!   I am the one with the great expectations.  I am the one who thinks because she is smart, she should breeze through her work.  I can't shake that feeling of "to whom much is given, much is expected"  But, I think I need to turn that saying around on myself.  Because I have been given much.  I have been blessed with a darling daughter, with a personality and a spirit that is amazying.  I should be expected to be patient with her and nurture her.  I should be expected to love her unconditionally and guide her down the path of life, even if her path is different from the one I think she should take.  I need to take my own expectations and leave them at the door.  I need to simply love her for who she is, even if (and maybe especially if) she isn't like me.

I'm proud of the child that she is....and I'm proud to be her mommy.