Getting Ready for Reading (in two languages!)

April 17, 2014 by  
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This month's Multilingual Blogging Carnival focuses on teaching reading to multilingual or bilingual children. Since Elliot is only 4-1/2 years old, we're not yet working on reading...in either English or Spanish. But, I'm hoping that I'm doing the right things to set the stage for Elliot to become a reader in both languages: 

Reading, reading, reading: Tim and I are both readers, so Elliot is surrounded by books. Since we live in the US, he has more books in English. But, I've made sure that his Spanish-language collection is sizable and I make an effort to read at least one book in Spanish to him each day. To supplement our collection, we turn to the local library, which fortunately has some non-fiction children's books in Spanish, which are somewhat harder to find.
Elliot also has a subscription to a Spanish-language kids' magazine, which is a great way to continually bring new reading material in Spanish into our home.

Giving him audio books: Elliot enjoys listening to a CD as he drifts off to sleep. Sometimes, it's music, but sometimes, it's a bilingual or Spanish-language book on tape. He's listened to books by Alma Flor Ada so many times that he makes jokes (in Spanish) out of her name! And, when I read the books to him, he likes to chime in, "reading" some of the sections he's memorized.

Teaching the letters: At Elliot's Spanish immersion preschool, he learns the letters in Spanish. We also have several CDs in Spanish with letter, vowel and alphabet song (although I haven't found one as catchy as the classic alphabet song in English.) Although I'm realizing I don't do it as often as I should, I sometimes ask him to identify letters in Spanish from books or in public (but it's not that effective when the letters are spelling words in English).

Telling him I read in Spanish: I'm not sure if this has any effect, but I let Elliot know that I read books in Spanish (even without him) and I go to a Spanish-language book club monthly to discuss them. 

I guess my list of reading preparation is pretty short. But, Elliot is only four-and-a-half. Am I doing enough? Is there something else I should be doing?

For more perspectives on teaching reading to bilingual and multilingual children, check out the blogging carnival on Homeschool Ways on April 27. 








The Kindergarten Conundrum

April 14, 2014 by  
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Will Elliot be ready for kindergarten in the fall or would a Young 5s program be a better fit? This question is stressing me out more than you might imagine...unless you also have a child Elliot's age. (And if you do, I've probably already talked to you!)

Kindergarten is not at all what it was back in the day. When I was in kindergarten, it was morning-only. From what I remember, I learned my phone number and address, played dress-up, ate graham crackers and took a rest on a mat on the floor. Today, kindergarten is a seven-hour day and it's not about playing or getting ready for school like it used to be. It is school, with reading, writing, science, social studies and math.

Perhaps that's why the state of Michigan is gradually pushing back the deadline for eligibility from December 1 through September 1. This year, it will be October 1...so Elliot's early September birthday makes him eligible for kindergarten. However, many parents with kids whose birthdays are near the deadline, especially when they are boys, decide to delay the start of kindergarten for a year and give their children more time to develop by attending a Young 5s program.

The thing is: I don't necessarily agree with the trend. It creates a situation where you might have four-year-olds (whose parents signed a waiver for them to start early) in the same classroom as six-year-olds. It means starting high school at 15 and college at 19. And after all, somebody has to be the oldest and somebody has to be the youngest.

But, do I want Elliot to be the youngest? After all, I do often think his reactions to new and unfamiliar situations seem quite babyish. And, he seems quite a bit younger to me than kids at preschool who are six months older. Or is that his personality?

He's very smart...so I'm not really worried about the academic challenges of kindergarten. I worry more about his ability to suddenly be in school with twice as many kids as he's used to for triple the number of weekly hours. On the other hand, I worry that he might not be intellectually challenged if he's the oldest in his class (not right away, but later on).

So, I've attended a kindergarten readiness program and am reading a book. I've visited at least six schools looking for the best option for my baby. I plan to take him to the official kindergarten assessment at the local school as well as have a kindergarten teacher I met at an event give me her opinion.

On one hand, I think: it's kindergarten...relax! On the other, as many people have told me, this will be his formal introduction to school so I want it to be positive. I want him to feel confident and ready to learn.

Is he? Will he be? I'm not yet sure. 





Happy

April 7, 2014 by  
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For much of my life I had a lot of starting. With just as much stopping.

Maybe it could have been blamed on ADD.

Maybe not.

Maybe it was fear.

Maybe laziness.

Maybe what I would start just wasn’t the right thing for me.

I always began with gusto bordering on OCD.

I would throw myself into something and think that it would be my niche. The one thing I could do that would help produce some sort of income for my family.

The one thing I could do that would make me happy.

When that didn’t happen, I would give up.

You see, I always had this expectation that I would be wealthy.

Not that I would marry someone wealthy, although that would have been a bonus.

I just always assumed it would be my own personal wealth, one that I had created by my own creation.

Whatever that creation was.

And it would make me happy.

Because I would be complete for myself.

Beyond the fullness I feel from my family.

That expectation was unrealistic, I suppose.

My mom used to always tell me that something would come along. Something that I would be able to turn into a career.

A career that I would wake up excitedly to do.

A career that would give me a feeling of accomplishment.

After all, she turned her love of antiques into a thriving, successful business.

She was positive that would happen for me.

She was sure of it until the day she died.

So, I always kept trying.

And stopping.

But when I started blogging, I didn’t stop.

Not really.

Sure, it’s exceptionally inconsistent.

I blame that on my family. They get mad when I write about them.

It’s not so fun to write about myself, I’m not all that blog-worthy.

But, I kept blogging.

Then, blogging turned into this crazy thing called “microblogging”.

Then, suddenly…there was this thing called Social Media.

When people first started talking about this ‘social media’, I had no clue what it was they were talking about.

Then, I found out and was like…whoa, that’s what I’m doing.

I was freelancing.

I had people paying me to manage their pages.

And my mom’s words started coming to fruition.

I found my niche.

Social media.

Granted, I’m no guru.

I just sort of understand how to do it.

My technical words are ‘thingy’ and ‘whatchamacallit’ and I’m sure that half the time, I sound like an absolute unprofessional idiot.

But somehow, I found my way.

I didn’t give up.

I listened to and believed in what my mother told me.

Someday, I’d find my niche and make a career out of it.

And I have.

I’m not going to be independently wealthy from being a Community Manager but I don’t care.

I have this career that makes me so happy.

I’m getting paid to be happy.

I’m getting paid to do something that I love to do.

It doesn’t even feel like I’m working because of how much I enjoy it.

I mean, that’s the best job on the planet.

Even if this job ends in a month, that’s one month of happiness I can add to my resume of life.

I probably wouldn’t be able to add a one month gig to my real resume, though.

But wow, am I happy.

 

 

 

 

Happy

April 7, 2014 by  
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For much of my life I had a lot of starting. With just as much stopping.

Maybe it could have been blamed on ADD.

Maybe not.

Maybe it was fear.

Maybe laziness.

Maybe what I would start just wasn’t the right thing for me.

I always began with gusto bordering on OCD.

I would throw myself into something and think that it would be my niche. The one thing I could do that would help produce some sort of income for my family.

The one thing I could do that would make me happy.

When that didn’t happen, I would give up.

You see, I always had this expectation that I would be wealthy.

Not that I would marry someone wealthy, although that would have been a bonus.

I just always assumed it would be my own personal wealth, one that I had created by my own creation.

Whatever that creation was.

And it would make me happy.

Because I would be complete for myself.

Beyond the fullness I feel from my family.

That expectation was unrealistic, I suppose.

My mom used to always tell me that something would come along. Something that I would be able to turn into a career.

A career that I would wake up excitedly to do.

A career that would give me a feeling of accomplishment.

After all, she turned her love of antiques into a thriving, successful business.

She was positive that would happen for me.

She was sure of it until the day she died.

So, I always kept trying.

And stopping.

But when I started blogging, I didn’t stop.

Not really.

Sure, it’s exceptionally inconsistent.

I blame that on my family. They get mad when I write about them.

It’s not so fun to write about myself, I’m not all that blog-worthy.

But, I kept blogging.

Then, blogging turned into this crazy thing called “microblogging”.

Then, suddenly…there was this thing called Social Media.

When people first started talking about this ‘social media’, I had no clue what it was they were talking about.

Then, I found out and was like…whoa, that’s what I’m doing.

I was freelancing.

I had people paying me to manage their pages.

And my mom’s words started coming to fruition.

I found my niche.

Social media.

Granted, I’m no guru.

I just sort of understand how to do it.

My technical words are ‘thingy’ and ‘whatchamacallit’ and I’m sure that half the time, I sound like an absolute unprofessional idiot.

But somehow, I found my way.

I didn’t give up.

I listened to and believed in what my mother told me.

Someday, I’d find my niche and make a career out of it.

And I have.

I’m not going to be independently wealthy from being a Community Manager but I don’t care.

I have this career that makes me so happy.

I’m getting paid to be happy.

I’m getting paid to do something that I love to do.

It doesn’t even feel like I’m working because of how much I enjoy it.

I mean, that’s the best job on the planet.

Even if this job ends in a month, that’s one month of happiness I can add to my resume of life.

I probably wouldn’t be able to add a one month gig to my real resume, though.

But wow, am I happy.

 

 

 

 

Bringing KidLit to Life: Baking Mrs. Peters’ Birthday Cake

April 1, 2014 by  
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"Let's make Mrs. Peters' pink birthday cake," Elliot suggested after the third or fourth reading of Mary Ann Hoberman's rhyming picture book, The Seven Silly Eaters.

This clever book features a family that grows to seven children, each of whom will only eat one food item. In the ending (spoil alert!), the kids make their mother a birthday cake made of all of "their" foods, which then becomes what they eat every day for dinner.

I tried to explain to Elliot that a cake made of pink lemonade, applesauce, bread, oatmeal, eggs and milk would not be very tasty. "Besides, we don't have a recipe."

"Just look on your computer."

After repeated urging, I finally did. To my surprise, the author had the recipe on her website. So, we put on our truck-themed aprons and went to work finding the ingredients.

As usual when Elliot and I embark on our baking projects, I soon realized that we didn't have all of the ingredients. We only had one egg, not three, so I decided to make just a third of the recipe -- although I have to admit that I didn't calculate 1/3 of four drops or 1/3 of 1/2 teaspoon all that carefully. We were out of applesauce, so we decided that a cut-up apple would do just fine. And, I  squeezed fresh lemon juice into the milk (which I'd randomly heated in the microwave, not to the specified 70 degrees) without really measuring the amount. Then, since the cake was so much smaller than the recipe, I set the oven timer to 40 minutes, rather than the 60 in the recipe.

As you might have noticed, I tend to have a fairly casual approach to baking. Lately, somehow, Elliot and I have been making some pretty tasty treats.

Mrs. Peters' birthday cake did not exactly fall into that category. It's not awful..but it's certainly not something you'd want to eat daily. And it's really not pink...which may be because it's somewhat burnt. Nonetheless, Tim, Elliot and I all ate a piece.

More importantly, baking Mrs. Peters' birthday cake was a fun experience and something that Elliot really wanted to try. The fact that it was inspired by a children's book makes it even sweeter.

"Don’t Want to Talk about It (Adoption)"

March 28, 2014 by  
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We recently had a nice visit with Elliot's birth father, whom we hadn't seen in a while. Elliot was happy to see him and immediately led him downstairs for what he termed a "play date."

So, Tim and I figured the next day was an ideal time to bring up a topic related to Elliot's adoption that we suspected he wasn't clear on: the role of his birth father in his birth. While simple to an adult, this concept is pretty darn confusing  from the perspective of a four-year-old.

Elliot is somewhat familiar with the idea that babies grow inside of women's "tummies" and understands (to the extent that he can) that he grew inside his birth mother's. But, like most kids his age, he doesn't have much of a handle on the specifics of how babies are made.

So, Tim started off by saying, "You had fun with [name of birth father] yesterday, didn't you?"

We then told Elliot (not for the first time) something along the lines of " it takes a man and a woman to make a baby" and that his birth father was the man who helped make him. His immediate reaction surprised me.

"I don't want to talk about it."

What? Was there something in one or both of our voices that made him think that this was a more serious conversation than the type we normally had at breakfast? Was this topic somehow uncomfortable to him? Was he simply too engrossed in his cereal to talk?

I really don't know. But, his reaction was not at all what I was expecting, especially when our goal has always been to "normalize" his adoption -- meaning that the fact that he joined our family via adoption would always be just "the way it was" and something he knew about. Obviously, it's not something we talk about all the time...just as my sister doesn't frequently talk with her preschooler about how he was conceived and born.

Taking Elliot's cue, we dropped the topic soon thereafter as I've realized there's nothing more frustrating than trying to talk to Elliot about something he doesn't want to talk about.  Later that day, I asked Elliot why he hadn't wanted to have the conversation. "Because I didn't know," he responded.

Assuming he meant that he didn't know about the role of his birth father, I continued, "Maybe you just forgot. We've talked about it before."

"Yes, I forgot."

I'm not sure if that's really the case. But, it was a good reminder I need to find the "How You Became our Son" book I wrote for him and once again make it part of our reading rotation.

Multilingual Blogging Carnival: Learning Language through Immersion

March 21, 2014 by  
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How do language immersion programs help in terms of both language and culture? This month's Multilingual Blogging Carnival takes a look at this question.

We're lucky enough to a have a Spanish immersion preschool in our community, and it's been extremely beneficial for my son Elliot's Spanish. Now in his second year at the school, he's progressed to the point where he's speaking complete sentences and carrying on conversations in Spanish -- with me and the teachers. Of course, since we live in the US and he hears a LOT more English, his command of English grammar and the size of his English vocabulary exceed his skills in Spanish. But, still...I'm very happy with the way he's progressing.

Spanish is a non-native (but beloved) language for me, and I've always spoken to Elliot in Spanish, as well as in English. I have no way of knowing where his Spanish would be now if I had continued to be his only source of the language. But, I've got to believe that singing in Spanish, playing in Spanish and hearing Spanish words associated with all the fun of preschool has played a huge role in his language development and in his confidence in speaking Spanish.

A recent trip to Costa Rica provided another kind of immersion experience. Although Elliot didn't speak as much Spanish there as I would have liked, he received a lot of positive reinforcement from locals every time he did. Since then, I've been very pleasantly surprised by how he's taken to initiating and maintaining more complex conversations with me in Spanish.

The impact of both Costa Rica and the Spanish immersion preschool on Elliot's understanding of Latin culture are harder to measure, especially since it's not my culture, so not something we reinforce at home. I know he's learned a little bit about the Mexican custom of Day of the Day and talked about famous Latino painters. More important has been Elliot's realization that not everyone speaks English (or only speaks English), which I'd imagine many American kids his age don't realize. Some of his classmates speak a third language at home in addition to Spanish and English, so it gives me an opportunity to talk a little bit about different countries and the languages spoken there. So, we he asks me how to say "capers" in Portuguese (a language I don't speak), I know it's because his friend's mom is from Brazil. And thank goodness for my Google Translate app to look it up!

Occasionally, I worry a little bit that Elliot's recognition of letters and words in English isn't as strong as it would be if he'd gone to an all-English preschool. But, he's a smart kid...and I'm not really concerned. I am much more concerned, however, about how we're going to keep the Spanish going now that his time at the Spanish immersion preschool is drawing to an end, and there isn't a Spanish immersion elementary school close to our home:-(

 This post is part of the Multilingual Blogging Carnival, to be published March 31 on www.hapamom.com.

12 x 12 Picture Book Challenge Wins over a Skeptic

March 14, 2014 by  
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Like many writers, I struggle with time management and am wary of things that detract from the limited amount of time I have for writing. That's why I was initially skeptical of Julie Hedlund's 12 x 12 Picture Book Challenge. 

Sure, I'd heard good things about the online challenge. But, really - how much time did I want to spend reading blog posts, critiquing other people's work, contributing to an online forum, being part of yet another Facebook group? If I did all this, when would I have time to work on the 12 picture books I'd be committed to writing? And, could I really write one picture book a month for all of 2014?

Despite my skepticism, I decided to take the plunge and nervously signed up for the Little GOLDen Book membership. After all, if I was going to do it, I might as well jump all the way in.

I couldn't be happier that I did. It's only mid-March, and I've already found a lot of value in my participation in the 12 x 12 Picture Book Challenge. In addition to the fantastic opportunity to submit my work to agents, I have benefited from...

  •  Writing More: So far, I've completed three new picture book manuscripts and have been working on revising two others. I always feel I could/should be doing more, but this is a huge increase from the amount of writing I did last year, so I'm pleased.
  •  Query Critiques: The query critique I received from Emma Walton Hamilton was great, even though I learned that I erred on the side of "giving away the ending." I've also really enjoyed critiquing other people's queries on the online forum and getting feedback on mine.
  •  Online Community: I've been so impressed by the participation on the Facebook group and the willingness of other members to share their expertise, ideas and writing-related opportunities and contests...which leads to my next benefit...
So, thank you, Julie Hedlund, and thank you to all of my fellow 12 x 12ers. It's been a great first few months, and I'm looking forward to a fantastic rest of the year!


 -------

Lynn Baldwin is an aspiring picture book author, marketing freelance writer, mother to an adorable preschooler and lover of the Spanish language, travel and dark chocolate.

Painfully Bittersweet Zit

March 14, 2014 by  
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I’ve been pretty much banned from writing about the teenager people in my family. I won’t mention names, they know who they are. I’ve also been pretty much banned from writing about the husband person in my family. Again, no names, the guilty party has to live with his guilt.

I do have one victim left in this house. He’s 10. He knows I blog, he knows what a blog is, but he doesn’t know REALLY what I write about. In fact, he’s quite oblivious. In a cute way, of course.

I started this blog back when my youngest was around 3. Well, not THIS blog…but blogging. I started this one about a year into the blogging thing after shutting down my old one for reasons I won’t mention. But…if you’ve been following me for all these years, you know what those reasons are.

So today, instead of a rant, which is typically what my blog has been…when I post. Which isn’t often enough. I will share a little story about my baby.

My 10 year old son. Don’t tell him, okay?

The other night, he noticed this little ‘thing’ on his cheek. It was red and puffy and he couldn’t stop playing with it. Which, of course, made it redder and puffier.

It was a…gasp…ZIT.

He had never had one before. Because duh, he’s a baby, right? Well yeah…he’s my baby, despite his protests to the title. He claims he’s not a baby so therefore, he’s not MY baby.

He’ll always be my baby.

Anyway…back to the zit.

When he finally figured out what it really was, he freaked. Like…FREAKED. As in…

“If this isn’t gone in the morning, I am NOT going to school.”

AND…

“I can’t go to school with a zit, the other kids will make fun of me.”

AND…

“How am I going to be able to go to school with this giant thing on my cheek?”

All of the above, said in a panicky whine.

People…yes, it’s a zit. But omg…tiny. Like, tiny.

But, to him, it was a mountain that erupted right on his little chubby smile line. (He’s still got those baby cheeks that I squish)

So, I did what any rational thinking parent would do…

I put Zit cream on it. The kind that promises overnight success.

Yeah. NO.

It was still there yesterday morning. Still tiny. Maybe not as red and puffy…a little flatter. But…still there.

He stared at himself in the mirror, for like…forever. Complaining that everyone was going to notice and that they would tease him about it.

I tried to make him understand that this was potentially the first in a long line of zits and that he wouldn’t be the only one who would experience this little issue.

He was unfazed because, well, he’s 10. And his zit is the only problem on the face of the earth and he is the only one dealing with such a problem.

Somehow, I was able to convince him that he couldn’t miss school based on the fact that there was this tiny little thing on his face that MOST LIKELY no one else would notice unless he pointed it out.

I emphasized the fact that…he shouldn’t point it out.

To anyone.

I don’t know how his day went, I am not allowed to go to school with him. Not that I really want to but yeah…kind of. Just to see what goes on.

I went about my day.

He went about his.

Finally, it was time to pick him up.

He bounced his way to the car, where I was sitting waiting.

Side note: I love the fact that he is still at the age where, when he sees me, his entire face lights up. My momma’s boy. Unlike my teens who are embarrassed to be seen with me. Which, I have no clue why, I’m fairly attractive and cool. Eh…what do those teens know, anyway? I mean, they won’t even let me write about them here anymore. Did I already mention that?

Digression, my bad.

My smiley little baby boy climbs into the car…after rolling around in snow hills and getting all sopping wet, including his stinky shoes. By the way, what is it about boys and smelly shoes. We buy this kid new gym shoes constantly because, despite wearing socks, those shoes STINK.

Did I digress again? Ooops, sorry.

Ok, so he climbed into the car.

Smiling at me.

I already said that.

I asked him about his day.

It was fine, he said. Okay. Typical.

I asked him about his zit.

No one noticed, he said. He didn’t point it out to anyone, he said…just like I had told him.

Good boy. He still listens to his Mommy, sometimes.

It was all good.

He figured it would be gone by the next morning.

Well…it wasn’t.

I didn’t think it would be.

It’s tinier, of course. It looks like a flat, red dot on his smile line now.

Almost gone.

But if he didn’t have a freak out again that resembled the one the morning before…omg.

So, don’t touch it, I said. Don’t mention it, I suggested. Leave it alone, it’ll go away, I soothed.

Then, I told him about the zits I used to get that were REAL zits, not this little tiny pimple thing that he had.

I’d get one big, giant one, once a month. The kind where you REALLY wanted to stay home from HIGH SCHOOL because inevitably, someone would point the thing out and make fun of you.

Those are the zits you have to be embarrassed about, I mentioned.

He looked panic-stricken.

OOPS.

Then he asked me if he was going to get those kinds of zits with a wild look in his eyes.

I mentioned that, because he was a boy, he might not. Because mine came with PMS.

Relief washed over him. The mad dog look left his eyes.

I knew I would be able to shove him out of the car at school.

And he said…Mom, it must suck being a girl then. Periods AND pimples…yuck. AND…you have to push babies out your vagina. Well, he didn’t call it a vagina, actually. He called it a ‘baby cannon’. And if I find out who taught him that, I’m going to have a few not nice words to say.

So, what’s my point to all this?

About my 10 year old baby and his zit.

I’m sitting here, looking at a picture of me holding him on the day of his Bris. He was 8 days old with a head of reddish-blonde hair, a smushed nose and red, splotchy skin. And he was one of the three most beautiful babies I had ever seen.

I realize I don’t have a baby anymore.

I have a youngest child, who will always be one of my three natural born babies. And I’ll always think of him as my baby. He’s my youngest, it’s impossible for me to think any other way.

But…

He has a zit now.

And smelly feet.

Not the good kind of smelly, either. I refuse to kiss those feet anymore.

I am baby-less now.

He’s growing up.

Just like the obnoxious teenagers did.

And there is not a damn thing I can do about it.

That zit, the one that mortified him…

It’s actually stabbing me in the heart.

Not because he’s embarrassed of it…of course, I’m trying to make him feel better about that.

He’s 10.

He’s a TWEEN.

Then…a TEEN.

With more pimples and grodier smelling feet.

And I won’t have babies anymore.

I’m so mad at that zit, right now.

Because it is a painful truth staring at me from the soft chubby curves of his cheeks.

They all grow up.

 

 

 

Ban “Bossy”?

March 12, 2014 by  
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There is this…um…ridiculous new movement taking the world by storm. It’s called Ban Bossy and what it is basically for is, well…to do away with using the term ‘bossy’ when describing girls. Or women.

If you’re shrugging your shoulders trying to understand the point, know that it’s my same reaction.

See, I’m of the mindset where, if you don’t like a word, you just don’t use it. And to try to ban a word like BOSSY? It’s a freaking waste of time. How about setting up a DOT COM to ban hate words like the N word. Or how about the awful K word used for us Jewish people. Those I would understand.

But to try to BOSS us into not calling girls BOSSY anymore? Don’t even. Because…well, that’s not leadership, ladies. That’s flat out bossy. Asserting your opinion, based on the fact that a word bothers you, into the minds of others…

I refuse to drink your Kool Aid.

I see absolutely NOTHING wrong with being called “bossy”. And trust me, I’ve been called that a few times in my life. Did it hold me back in life?

Um…no.

The way I see it is…if someone is going to be negatively affected by one word, then that person will be negatively affected by many words.

Teach your kids to be strong.

Teach your children to be hard working and goal oriented.

Teach your kids that there are always going to be obstacles to overcome.

And not just made up obstacles like the word BOSSY, for God’s sake.

If people making a big deal out of little things just stopped making a big deal out of little things then maybe the word BOSSY wouldn’t be a big deal? If that made any sense.

I’m bossy.

My kids…omg, they are so freaking bossy. Both my girls AND my boys.

So is my husband.

And I don’t see a single thing wrong with it.

I’m so incredibly tired of these kinds of movements.

You have that kind of online and real life power, use it for good. Not, well…silly. Because yeah, trying to BAN BOSSY is silly.

I’m not going to stop using the word just because someone else thinks it holds so many negative connotations.

Well, that word in particular.

I totally understand the premise of this movement, I do. Empowering our daughters to be leaders.

Do you really, honestly mean to tell me that if none of us had been called Bossy in our lives, then we would have become bigger and better than we are now?

Um. NO.

I can’t imagine that is even a remote possibility.

I am who I am because of the path I chose. Not because someone in my past called me bossy.

My kids will go on to become whatever it is they choose to become and their end result will have nothing to do with the fact that they were, maybe once or twice (or more) in their lives told they were bossy.

I guarantee that those that started this movement were called BOSSY in their lives. Because clearly, that is what they are.

And they made it to the top.

AMIRIGHT?

And now, they look down on a word that most likely precisely describes them.

So, if my daughters can be as bossy as those bossy leaders, then I’m all for it.

Bossy DOES equal leadership, diplomacy and the ability to work successfully with others. Because hey, you’re in charge, taking the lead.

If someone wants to call ME bossy?

I’ll tell them THANK YOU.

Maybe the word they meant, however…was BITCHY. Because BOSSY? Yeah, I’ll take it as I’m climbing the ladder.

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