kidling compliments

Those of you who read kidlingville regularly (all four of you) know that The Kidling has been working through some concerns lately. It turns out The Mama was right to be worried about kindergarten and the myriad changes it brings.

Now that I have gratuitously linked to my most recent angsty blogposts, I shall continue.

The Dada and I have been asking careful questions after school lately in order to get as much information as we can about The Kidling’s day without triggering a pity party. As anyone who has regular contact with six-year-olds knows, pity parties are second only to birthday parties in popularity.

So we tread lightly.

This evening yielded some positive information. It turns out The Kidling and her nemesis played together today! And he was kind! Well… kind enough. He did tell my charmingly-coiffed daughter that she had a bald head, but she accepted his excuse explanation that he was referring to his own hairless noggin, rather than calling her names.

The Kidling, it seems, is learning to choose her battles.

Bedtime approached, and we reviewed her day.  Because things had gone far better than usual, I wanted to reinforce that she is a fighter. As I kissed my dear child on the forehead, I told her that we all have rough patches. We will have difficult days and tough weeks, but we survive and get better as a result. “You are strong, you are kind, and you will be okay,” I reassured her.

As a slow smile spread across her face, she returned the compliment. “You are big, you are never late for anything, and you are gorgeous. And so am I.”

The Kidling has returned.

on confidence

Whilst marching around the kitchen la-la-la-la-ing for minutes on end, Alice stopped suddenly and smiled. This, of course, elicited thunderous applause from her audience of one (aka The Mama). With great form and stage-presence, Alice took a deep bow, smiling with confidence and grace before declaring, “I think I will be a singer when I grow up. On a stage. Because I have such a nice voice.”



I just ran across a quote I had written down on a scrap of paper. That’s the number one problem with being the personal archivist of a four-year old: organization.

Anyway, we had been talking about a soccer program Alice had at her daycare this fall called Soccer Shots. A coach (“Coach Banana.” Gotta love it.) came and worked with the three- and four-year olds on soccer fundamentals. I think the goal is to have herd-ball be a bit less herd-y when they start to play actual soccer.

Anyway (again), I was asking how things were going and Alice told me, “I am awesome at Soccer Shots. How could I possibly not be?”

Here’s hoping she will be able to channel that same confidence on some rotten, mean-kid day when she is 13…