Words Worth 1,000 Pictures

While reading LDS Living Magazine I read a cute story about a mother's creativity in journaling her child's words. I have read plenty of blogs where mothers post the cute or sometimes "interesting" words their kiddos have said. After reading this article I realized why it is sometimes fun to document the words of a child. :)

Written by Carolyn Leduc

Whenever he spat out a new word, I went scrambling for a pen. Each of his precious first utterances became immortalized as “Sterling’s Quote of the Day.”
As my son grew into a babbling toddler, the novelty wore off- but I couldn’t stop writing. It occurred to me that the words were telling a story- his story. They showed his developing character. They revealed his feelings, his values, his sense of humor. They were painting a picture for me of what the world looked like to him, capturing his essence in a way no photograph could.
“These are the feathers of your eyes,” he said, pointing to my eyelashes.
Often giggling to myself, I’d take half a minute while the spaghetti boiled to jot his remark on a post-it note. Or half a minute while paused in traffic to write it on a grocery tab. Then at the end of the day, or at the end of the week, I’d collect my son’s quotes and put them in a journal.
It cost me next to no time at all. It yielded me an invaluable treasure.
In time, my quote-collecting efforts waned. Sterling was joined, after all, by three siblings, each rattling a chorus of darling lines daily, the like of which I could never have documented of I still hoped to, say, get dinner on the table.
But every now and then, when a poignant or telling phrase spilled from Sterling’s lips, I took a mental note and slipped it into my journal later.
Now fifteen and every bit an adolescent, his quotes document a distinctly maturing mindset.
“Four hamburgers, son? Can you really finish four hamburgers?” “Mom, I could finish five.”Or, in another occasion with my husband: “Sterling, you sure spend a lot of time in the gym…” “Three words, Dad: Basketball, football and chicks.”
I used to tell myself he was the one I was writing for. After all, without my help he would recall next to nothing of his early years. I set out wanting him to know a little something about the experiences that shaped how he thought, whom he trusted, what he valued. My goal was to help him know himself. And to be sure, the day may come when, deeply delving into the nature of his psyche, he will thoughtfully peruse his quote history, rub his chin, and exclaim, “Ahh! I see…”
But at the present, he’s not that hip to introspection. And I have come to concede that in the end, this journal may be more for my benefit than his. So on a day like today, when he throws me a line like, “Mom, could you give me some more space? I just want to be alone for a while,” I can look back and remember when his quote of the day was slightly more solicitous: “Mommy, see that quarter in my hand? It’s all my money. I’ll give you this while quarter if you play with me all day. Deal?”