I love watching my youngest play when she’s by herself. I think how wonderful it must be to be her. She is full of productive creativity and imagination. She turns everyday objects into things of excitement and wonder. A Caprisun box becomes a ride-on car, a laundry basket into a doll house, and my shoe into a car for her dolls. She plays dress up with paper dresses, towels, and just about whatever else she can wrap around her waist. The characters she see’s on TV are real to her. They are her friends. She scolds Swiper, swings in the tree’s with Diego, walks along Sesame Street with Elmo, and waltz at the ball with Cinderella. She becomes a cat in an instant, crawling along the back of the sofa meowing or hissing if you over step the boundary. She lives in a world of creative bliss, where everything is as she wants it to be.
She just turned two in June and as her mother I think she is the most intelligent child I know besides my eldest. She can count to 14, she knows her alphabet, and can even recognize some letters in print, she’s familiar with her colors and shapes also. But her intelligence lies deep within her personality, imagination, creative nature, and her inquisitive mind. She’ll do great things as an adult. It doesn’t matter how many letters, numbers, languages, or subjects she masters. What is the use of knowing what others have already imagined if you can’t take that knowledge and implement it in new ways or elaborate on old ideas. Anyone can memorize and logically reproduce text-book information, the key is in the discovery its self. New idea’s come from the person that stepped out of the box and looked beyond. For her, her intelligence will come from her imagination, because intelligence is nothing without creativity.