The standards we reach

So my kid is almost 5.  It is my understanding that there are certain “standards” most kids that are almost 5 are supposed to reach.   A basic knowledge of a few things.  Like the ABCs, 123s, and how to write their names.  

I guess my child is not “most” kids.  

I admit to googling “what does your child know at age 4” on several occasions and getting lots in the forums of answers from parents.  “My child knew how to write her name at 3, count to one hundred and thirty seven at 3 and a half and knew most of the periodic table by the age of 4.  I think that’s about normal.”  

Then I keep clicking.  More parents, more statements of brilliance, more more more.  I resist the urge to wake up my precious 4 year old from his slumber to go over the flash cards with him.  

I like to tell myself I’m one of those “laissez faire” mothers when it comes to pushing academics on young kids.  They’ll get it when they’re ready.  Let kids be kids.  They should be playing.  I believe these things in my head but admittedly freak myself out here and there and wonder how I will ever teach this child to read.  

Just let him be, says my husband.  To him, it’s not important.  Why should he care what sound the letter “Q” makes?  It is not important to be able to play trains, build forts, and ride his ATV.  It is of no current use to him.  

So I soak myself in that for a while and it makes sense.  

Then I’m told that my very intelligent lawyer cousin, who is able to hold conversations I can only pretend to understand, refused to learn to read until he was 8 years old.  Oh, I do love a good motivational story.

I’d say we can check off about 2 letters of the alphabet.  

But we can do a lot more than that.

We can hunt for snakes and let them wrap around our little hands and learn that “I guess I like snakes!”

We can do spontaneous rock star band concerts with our sister and practice until we think we have it perfect and then perform it in our living room.

We can play in sand for an unreasonably long time.

We can fight with our sisters so that we can learn how to get along when it’s hard.

We can listen to books and books and books before bedtime and still want more.  

We can snuggle and snuggle and snuggle.

We can fish and fish and fish, never losing hope that we will catch a big enough one to eat.

We can laugh with our Nana about nothing.  

We can learn to be.

So he may not know his long division by the time he’s 6 or be able to read A Tale of Two Cities by the time he’s 9.

But he’s living, loving, and learning.

And that’s where my standard remains.