Compare and Contrast...Or Maybe Not

I'm not one of those moms who baby their youngest. I've often wondered how that's even possible, since the younger child always wants to try whatever his or her sibling is doing. If anything, they tend to grow up too fast and do more at an earlier age than their siblings. Right?

Lately, I've begun to wonder.

Because it seems that I might have been guilty of underestimating what my daughter is capable of. The problem is, my son was always so darned advanced that Little Miss suffered in comparison. I know you aren't supposed to compare your kids, but it's impossible not to. It's not like I judge them based on the comparisons--that would be mean--but I can't help but set a benchmark based on what my son has been capable of at various ages.

And, unfortunately for my daughter, the kid's fine-motor skills have always been off the charts. Which I didn't realize for a long time because I had nothing to compare it to. Eventually I began suspecting he was more artistically capable than the average kid. I have seen other mothers blanch as they looked at my son's drawings on our refrigerator and then mentally compared them to their own child's scribblings.

My son's drawing of a dinosaur (a Therizinosaurus, no
less--look it up, it's pretty spot-on), done when he
was almost four.

My daughter's drawing of Minnie Mouse, also done
when she was almost four. 

My daughter's fine-motor skills weren't nearly as impressive. Because she wasn't great at drawing, she didn't seem to enjoy it all that much. She didn't show any interest in coloring until she was three-and-a-half; then it would be just five minutes of haphazard scribbling and she'd move on to something else. As a result, I've never really encouraged her to develop her fine-motor skills.

It also doesn't help that, while my son had brand-new markers, 64-pack of crayons, colored pencils, (the works), poor Little Lady has had to make do with half-dried out markers and broken crayon nubs. Not exactly inspiring.

Over the past few months, however, my daughter has gone to some birthday parties with craft themes. I was concerned that the parties might bore her because her preferred party entertainment is usually more of the physical, gymnastics/tumbling nature.

But I've been pleasantly surprised how into it she's been. And actually not all that bad at it, either. Lately, she's been drawing and coloring up a storm and she can't get enough of craft kits. I've been surprised by her coordination and attention to detail, and she's starting to take real pride in her work.

No thanks to Mom.

Oh, sure, I'm trying to make up for lost time: new crayons, setting aside time to color together and do crafts every morning. But I still feel terrible because I've totally been selling my daughter short. I've been treating her like she couldn't do something of which she's more than capable. I've been babying her, I guess.

I hope just I haven't soured her to artistic pursuits or hurt her self-esteem in any way.

I'm sorry, my darling! Let's blame your brother, okay?

I'm Not Ready to Say Goodbye to the Trucks, Dinosaurs, Skyscrapers & Dragons

I didn't think I was stressing too much about my son starting Kindergarten next week--okay, maybe a little about the bus picking him up at 7:49 a.m. (so early!), and also about having to pack him a lunch and snack everyday...but not about the idea of him going to Kindergarten. I've been handling that just fine, thank you. 

One of the Empire State Buildings I
found in the Ariel notebook

Or so I thought. But then I noticed something strange. Earlier this evening, I picked up a little Ariel notebook my daughter received as a favor from a birthday party--I wanted to jot something down--and when I opened it, there were pages and pages of sketches my son had made: multiple Chrysler Buildings, Empire State Buildings, and Eiffel Towers. Seeing them there so unexpectedly made me gasp, and I found it hard to breathe. I quickly flipped past the drawings to a blank page and cleared my head so I could jot down my note. 

My son loves to draw, so I'm used to finding his little masterpieces all over the place: on the back of the notepad meant for phone messages, on the pieces of cardboard that come inside new tights and socks, on the backs of receipts. In my nightstand drawer, crumpled up at the bottom of the Lego box, under the car's driver seat.

I've always adored coming across them. It's fun to figure out when they were drawn. A truck? Age two. Volcano? Three. Velociraptors and skyscrapers are from when he was four, and dragons are his current passion. 

But that seems to have changed. The drawings I found in the Ariel notebook tonight aren't the first ones that have left me short of breath. It's been happening for the past few weeks. I think it's because my son is growing up so fast, and whenever I find one of his drawings, it makes me wonder how much longer I'll have this pleasure. It's inevitable: The day will come when I no longer find his random sweet sketches all over the house. I can hardly bear to think about it...it makes me cry every time.

He's going to Kindergarten, he's getting older. My little boy is growing and changing, which means our relationship is going to change, too. And while I know that's a healthy thing, it also just happens to break my heart.