Anna turns 5 this week. Five. FIVE. And she is so beautiful. She is such a little kindergartener, with her blunt, shoulder-length hair, her brightly colored and patterned skirts with even more brightly colored clashing leggings underneath, her glittery pencils and princess notebooks, her infectious giggles, her questions and answers, the bounce in every step. She doesn't walk. She flits. She doesn't laugh. She shrieks.
This weekend, we celebrated her birthday with Grandma and Didi, Grandma and Grandpa, and Jessie, Carl and Linnie. By Sunday afternoon, all guests were gone, and we were finally free to relax. I think Mike had an especially special day with Anna then. In the afternoon, while Emmy napped, Mike and Anna watched The Goonies together. And at bedtime, while I put Emmy to sleep, Mike and Anna watched Les Miserables in concert together. It is just so much fun to finally share some of these big-kid things with her.
However, there is one thing that nags at me. See, Anna is so smart. She just is. There is no denying it. I never take the time to write down the amazing things she says, and figures out, and explains. And I want to so badly. She can perform some mathematical calculations in her head; she understands the relationships between rain, snow, clouds and thunder; she scrutinizes everything, searching for patterns and sequences. She knows all of the letter sounds (well, consonants, at least, and some short vowel sounds), and she recognizes all letters in upper- and lowercase, even when they're in strange or dramatic fonts.
But she has no interest in reading. None. Maybe I'm pushing too hard, maybe I expect too much. I try to play a variety of phonics games with her, and she can absolutely tell you what letter almost any object begins with. (Her challenging letters/sounds include distinguishing C and K, J and G, and C and S. I don't know how or when, but it was really pounded into her head that C goes ssssss, which I thought would be hard to remember, and she is now equally likely to say that silly, for example, begins with a C as she is to say S.) But on classic beginner worksheets, there are pictures of objects and words with the initial consonant missing, like a picture of a bee, and __EE. Or a tent, and __ENT. I started these by saying the name of the picture really clearly, focusing on the first letter, so, "Bee. B, b, bee." And she quickly tired of me. She wrote a B next to it. And then she wrote a T next to the tent, and a K next to the kite without me even reading the word aloud. I was amazed. So I asked her to sound some CVC words out. (These are consonant-vowel-consonant words, like DOG and CAT, which are the classic beginner words. The Cat in the Hat, and so on.) But she's not very good at it. She's not interested, and she seems to get annoyed with it quickly. Mike bought an awesome phonics story book for her. Its rhymes go along the lines of: "Here is a Mouse. Take away the M, bring in an H, and now we've got a new House!," with pictures of a mouse and house, of course. And I read it to her letting her guess what the new word would be on each page, and she could do that, but she was just looking at the pictures. I know this because she missed some that are super obvious rhymes. Like, "Here is a Rat. Move out the R, bring in a C, and now we have a big....." "KITTEN!," she shouted.
Sigh. I know she will get it in due time. With no problem. In Kindergarten, she will suck it up like a sponge, I'm sure. But I wish she was a little more motivated. I have been checking out beginning readers from the library, creating worksheets and games, but it's just not fun for her. She loves writing, though, and will fill up a whole page with letters, written so neatly and carefully, but it's just nonsense. Just random strings of letters. I feel like she doesn't see any reward in being able to read the words by herself. And I worry that she doesn't see the value, or entertainment, in reading. She doesn't see Mike or I reading all that often. I don't do a lot of reading anyhow, which bothers me, and is probably a large part of my hang-up with her. But Mike reads a lot. But, both of us usually only read late at night, in bed, before nodding off to sleep. And she doesn't see that. She sees us vegging, watching TV for relaxation. And, not surprisingly, she loves TV. She is obsessed with TV. And so was I when I was young, and I suppose to a small extent I still am, though there are now few shows I find worth obsessing over. But, that's just it. I always loved TV, and I was never a big reader. And I regret that a lot now. I wish I got more from reading. And so I want to teach her right now, from the start, that reading is valuable. It's entertaining. It is its own reward.
But, this is not to say that it's bad. Or that I'm unhappy or overly worried. She is amazing, and I couldn't possibly be more proud, or more awed by her. But this is my blog, and therefore this is my place to dither about silly worries. So dither I shall.
