"Mom, when are you going to write a blog about me?"
<insert sad puppy face here>
Emily, here's your blog post, complete with videos.
I have to start with Emily's 4th grade doctoral presentation at the University of Minnesota entitled My Epistemology: How I Know What I Know.
That's right, I said her 4th grade doctoral presentation.
I was in my last doctoral class at UMN when I, out of pure senioritis desperation asked the girls in the car on the way home from school, how do you know what you know? Maddy, 1st grade, couldn't really process the question. Emily, on the other hand, paused, thought and started writing.
"Em, what are you doing?"
"I'm writing how I know what I know, Mom. Duh!"
Fast forward a few days later and she'd actually written an entire paper that was well organized and thought-provoking. I contacted my professor and asked if I could turn in her paper with my own. He agreed to evaluate hers as well. Bless you, Dr. Michael Goh.
That morphed into asking my two fellow group members for permission to incorporate Emily's epistemology into our presentation on positivism the following week.
They agreed. Thank God, because I would have had one disappointed budding doctoral researcher and lecturer on my hands. Bless you Joe and Tina.
I took Emily out of school for the day, with her teacher's permission. It went something like this...
"Mrs. Behan, Emily has been invited to present her epistemological paper to my doctoral class at UMN. Is it ok if she misses class?"
"Um, sure. Say that again?"
You can't see in the video,
but there are about 29 doctoral students behind the camera.
Emily is our St. Bernard. Recall from Maddy's post the difference between that and the Terrier. Emily is sensitive, caring, smart and responsible. She's harder on herself than her parent's could ever be. She was an easy baby. Peacemaker, counselor, best friend, kind.
A picture says a thousand words, my friends.
She's our resident daredevil, but is the last one to talk to a stranger. Little sister will talk to anyone, but would never have done the eurobungy until she saw big sister doing it. Then it was on like Donkey Kong. Competition motivates our children.
I'm ok with this.
She loves sweets, perhaps because she is super sweet.
She loves to read, hence her plowing through the entire Harry Potter series - twice - this past summer.
Since she's sweet inside and out, we decided to make her a candy-gram for her 10th birthday. I think the poem is the best part. She disagreed while chewing a Snickers bar, happily licking her fingers.
Perhaps the most jarring realization I had about Emily this year was after this comment: "Mom, I'm a tween now!"
She's a biker chick like the rest of us, but prefers to ride on Mommy's bike. Then again, she may just be a pity rider because her sister "only rides on big bikes."
That new seat back I got from the hubs for my birthday looks like it's a perfect fit!
This weekend I captured her personality perfectly in a six-second video clip. We were driving to LaCrosse, listening to country music, as usual. The song by Eric Church, "The Outsiders", lit up the stereo.
Can I tell you that every song by Eric Church is road-worthy. Just sayin'.
So, Emily is in the back, reading as usual. She's also nodding along to the song:
We're the bad news
We're the young guns
We're the ones that they told you to run from
Yeah, the player's gonna play, and a haters gonna hate
And a regulators born to regulate
When it hits the fan, and it all goes down
And the gloves come off
You're gonna find out just
Who we are
We do our talking, walk that walk
Wide open rocking
That's how we roll
Our backs to the wall
A band of brothers
Together, alone, the outsiders
We're the riders, we're the ones burning rubber off our tires
Yeah, we're the fighters, the all-nighters
So fire 'em up and get a lil higher
- thank you elyrics.net
We're the outsiders, people. Emily and I. Bikers, riding against the wind, against the man. Fighters! (we've never been in a fight) All-nighters! (more like until 10pm-ers) The gloves are gonna come off! (well, I only ride with gloves because the grips make the skin on my palms sweat and that's just icky).
That's who we are. That's how we roll.