We’ve hit yet another one of those “mixed blessing” moments around the house lately. According to her occupational therapist, Stella is hyperlexic.
My kid reads. And she’s reading at probably close to – or even surpassing –a 1st grade level and improving by the day. She’s only 3 ½. It’s kind of crazy. Googling this phenomenon, you’ll see that sometimes – not always –hyperlexic kiddos will read but not comprehend. They simply are good at the mechanics of sounding out words. That’s not the case here. Stella is getting what she’s reading.
I picked her up from school last week, and her teacher told me the story about how that day one of Stella’s buddies noticed that Stella could read “just like Ms. T! Even the big words!” She then had Stella read her the whole story. Then she brought over another book for my daughter to read. Stella is becoming her class’s “reading bitch.” I love it.
This does have some potentially negative implications.
For starters, our days of being able to spell forbidden words around her are almost over. You’d better believe if she hears “C A K E” she’s going to demand chocolate with pink frosting. Will has suggested we learn Pig Latin. I’m taking the “alternate flowery/atypical word choice” route for now. Impler-say.
I also have to watch my captioning on the TV. To be fair, I don’t watch anything really naughty or heavy around either of my kids. But sometimes during the bedtime push I’ll put on a cooking show or the like and turn it way down, just to have something to stare at while I get Felix to go to sleep.
True confession time, I had Honey Boo Boo on one night. I know. I know. It’s totally crap TV. But it’s a guilty pleasure, all right? Geeez. Mama June was fussing about something in the way that only Mama June can. She said “Oh hell no” about something. I’ll be damned if Stella didn’t read it perfectly. And then she started to repeat it. Again and again.
Not that “hell” is a tough word – especially to a kid who can read “unattractive,” but it’s the principle of the thing. I frantically hit the off switch on the remote and told her to stop saying that stop saying that stop saying that.
Remind me to keep her away from any of Gordon Ramsay’s shows. Although to be fair, I’d love to hear my daughter chirping away about so and so being a “donkey” and “having the palate of a cow’s backside.”