The Lydster, Part 96: Happy natal day

This year, it’s Pops or Popsy. Popsy?

I’ve said this before, but it bears repeating: when it comes to parenting, I have no idea what I’m doing, save for my basic intellect and common sense. Still, I guess The Daughter is turning out all right.

Lydia is at least four and a half feet tall. Ballet moves are created in our living room each week after her class. While she is still shy around grownups she doesn’t know, she’s quite good with children unknown to her. I believe she’s rather good at math, and she seems to enjoy spelling. The things she can do physically on the playground I could never do at her age; she is quite physically strong. She loves doing arts and crafts and singing. Her teacher knows she’s smart but wants her to raise her hand with the answer more often.

Last year, she called me Daddy, or Dad. This year, it’s Pops or Popsy. Popsy? We watched the second video here, and we got to pretend that we were on the roller coaster together.

I read I Did These Things as a Kid, But My Kids Won’t. Without waxing nostalgic, I have to think that parents, as a whole, are more protective these days, and I’m in their number. “Where IS is the line drawn between good protection (seat belts and not letting your kids drink bleach) and being overprotective to where it is stifling for them?” I think about this sometimes. FreeRangeKids is a fascinating read if you are interested in that sort of discussion, but I’M not there yet.

She’s still in the “hug daddy” stage; she hasn’t tired of me yet. And she’ll even tell me she loves me, unbidden. Suffice it to say, I tell her the same.
A couple of songs that have caught her attention recently:
Istanbul (Not Constantinople) by They Might Be Giants
And this song, which she likes because of the instrumentation; she’s not on her own yet!