Today at dinner Victoria and I discussed the delicious fresh, organic lemonade I got at a great price today, 2 for $5.
After I mentioned that we had a second jug waiting for us in the fridge, Victoria said, “So we have a gallon all together.”
I was impressed — I don’t recall discussing volume measures with her, and half-gallon wasn’t printed on the container, so I asked her, “How did you figure that out?”
Victoria: “I used math.” (Duh!)
Me: “Oh, so how big is one container?”
Victoria: “I don’t know. A skinny jug is a pint, but this isn’t a pint. So maybe . . .” (trails off)
Me: “Well how did you know that two make a gallon?”
Victoria: “I read something in a book.”
And that’s all I know. Did she visually combine the two jugs to approximate a milk gallon jug? Did she read the 2 quarts (or 64 oz.) and add that up to a gallon but assume that I could not be asking her such an elementary question?
She’ll never tell.
What does she know? How does she know it? She holds these things close to her, secret agent-like.
We’re going to do some educational assessments this year with Victoria, which may or may not tell us something useful about our child. What I know already is that she is our little engineer, and the tiny guru, and the 7 year old going on 27 — not just to us, but to Sunday School teachers, cashiers, hairdressers, and friends. I know that if she tells me where to find something, 99.8% of the time she is dead on. And when she tells me what she likes about her different friends, she has a depth of understanding that blows my mind.
I don’t think any of that will be on the Woodcock Johnson or the WIAT-II, and I don’t think they take answers that start, “Well, maybe . . . ” Is she smart, or gifted? Probably. But what stands out more strongly is that she really is a different kind of learner, and she’s not giving up the keys to her mind to me or anyone else.