One of my genenral life principles is, “I do not get up before 6 a.m.” But occasionally…every once in a while… I do get up before 6:00. But only if it’s worth it. Last Friday was definitely worth it.

C.’s school participates in a “Speech Meet” every year. Every student is required to choose a reading to memorize (they can choose from a variety of genres: Bible memorization, poetry, fables & folklore, etc.). They work on their pieces for weeks — memorizing, adding inflection, learning to make eye contact and address a room full of people.

And then comes the big day: each grade puts on their own speech meet, complete with judges. Students get up in front of the class and present the pieces they’ve been working on. And then they’re done. Whew.

Every year, C. tells me his plan: “I want to do a good enough job so my teacher is happy, but I don’t want to do too well. Because if you do really well — if you do the best in your category — you have to go to the regional competition. And I would never want to do that.”

I could never quite figure out why he didn’t want to go to the regional Speech Meet. The best answer I could get out of him was that he didn’t want to make up the school work that he would have to miss if he went. Nevertheless, I didn’t push him. If he had his piece memorized and did a good job, that was good enough for me.

This year, however, was different.

C. came home one day last month with a huge smile on his face.

“Guess what? I’m going to the regional Speech Meet!!”

And he was very excited. I asked him what happened to his usual plan. “This year, I just decided to give it a try and see if I could make it.”

And he did.

So last Friday morning, I stumbled out of bed at 5:40 a.m. (a time at which I am neither functional nor pleasant nor able to form complete sentences) and got us ready to go to the Speech Meet.

C. dressed up in his finest attire and we were in the car by 6:20 a.m.

It was a long day, but a good one.  When the time came for C. to present his speech, he didn’t seem the least bit nervous.

Chad, sitting next to me, was nervous for him, while I sat there having flash-backs. I remembered having to do speeches or presentations in school, and I was always petrified that I would mess everything up. Draw a blank. Pass out. Throw up. Something like that.

But C. did none of those things. Instead, he calmly recited the fable of The Fox and The Crow to a room full of strangers and judges. He made eye contact, added inflection. And then sat down, relieved that it was over.

After a lunch with friends at McDonald’s, we headed back to attend the awards ceremony.

Now, C. was a little nervous. We watched the 1st-graders go. Then 2nd and 3rd grades. Finally, they announced the 4th Grade Fables & Folklore results.

“C. [last name]….Superior!”

C. had scored a blue ribbon and he was thrilled. If he’d been just a little lighter, I think he would have flown up on to the stage.

Dear C.,

I hope I didn’t embarrass you with this post, but I just wanted to let you know that I’m proud of you! You did a great job preparing for the Speech Meet, and handled the pressure like a pro. Good job! I love you!

Love, Mom

L. (2) is obsessed with letters. He likes alphabet puzzles, ABC books, and the CD: Here Come the ABCs. He is constantly asking me how things are spelled. And one of his very favorite activities is sitting at the computer “making letters.”

My friend, Jennifer, sent him an alphabet book recently. His response, as soon as he saw the book? “Oh Mommy, I LOVE this!”

The kid even sleeps with letters. He has a foam letter set (made for bathtub fun) that lives in his crib.

I’m telling you: it’s an obsession.

Being a book-and-word-lover myself, I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad obsession, but our trip to the grocery store this morning drove home just how much of an obsession it is.

I usually try to get to the grocery store by myself, when Chad is home to watch the kids. My reasons?

• Peace and quiet.
• L. tends to “help” put items on the conveyor belt. His “help” usually involves launching items at the cashier’s head.
• More room in the cart when there are no kids in the cart.
• No one asking for extra items.
• Did I mention the peace and quiet?

But today, I just needed to make a quick trip to pick up some essentials for our upcoming weekend, so L. and I decided to have a joint grocery store adventure.

Things started off calmly. L. was very excited that I offered to buy blueberries and he asked to hold the carton. He offered his advice on which fruit cups I should get.

But then came the frozen foods aisle.

“Mommy! Mommy!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “Look! A-B-C Snacks! A-B-C Snacks!”

Indeed. He had spied these:

Colorful letters, and tater-tots no less. What more could a kid ask for? And because I am a pushover the nicest mom ever, I told him we could get some, thinking that would surely scratch his alphabet itch for the day. Not surprisingly, he had to hold the packge, despite the risk of frostbite cold fingers. The blueberries were tossed into the main basket of the cart and we moved on.

Yet we’d barely gone another two aisles before we passed a gi-normous display of these:

“Mommy! Look! Alphabet crackers!”

Clearly, these companies are on to us. Perhaps when I think L. is just “making letters” on the computer, he’s actually writing to marketing excutives, assuring them that he can talk his mom into buying anything that has an alphabet tie-in. And those execs are responding by making ABC-themed everything.

Yes, that box came home with us too. But that’s it. I didn’t buy anything else featuring the alphabet. Honest.

Now, since neither of these items has a tremendous amount of nutritional value, I’ll have to help L. eat them slowly ration them out to him.

However, he still can’t deny that he definitely hit the grocery store jackpot today.

I hit the jackpot too, by the way. Though my personal treasure has nothing to do with the ABC’s. Well, I guess the letter C comes into play. As in chocolate. And B is there too.

But the most relevant letter: Mmmmmm.