Swim Baby, Swim!

We had a pool put in over the fall and Big D is feverishly beautifying its surroundings, which, when he's done, should turn out to resemble a lake in a 4 star resort. He rocks!

In preparation, Noodle has been taking swimming lessons since last Spring. Once a week, 1/2 hour sessions, costs a small fortune. He has never really been all that into it. A few weeks ago, I started to wonder why he hasn't been "tested" for the first level and been given the pleasure of acquiring his first ribbon. It has taken almost a year after all, and no sign of a test on the horizon. So, I ask his instructor, and we explain to him what he needs to do to for the test, ring the bell, and be the proud recipient of a shiny ribbon.

He was ready, he even appeared psyched for the test. "Mommy, I am gonna do it....I'm gonna ring dat bell"...."OK Noodle, great, Mommy will be so proud".

For me, the achievement had a lot of meaning. The initial reason for the lessons, was, of course safety, so that if Noodle ever fell in the pool, he could swim his way to the side and be OK. This achievement would also prove I wasn't throwing my money in the trash, which at times, I have seriously thought I was. Like all mothers, I mostly wanted security.

Last week he took his test. He swam the required three feet (well, two feet), jumped in and went under water, (with serious coaxing) and, was able to go under water and come back up without assistance. He rang the bell, got his ribbon, and there were high fives all over the place.

That night, he slept with his ribbon, he was so proud, you could see it in those baby blues. I was proud too, but I couldn't help but think, he really didn't earn it.

I am a hard ass for earning. I don't feel every child should get an trophy or certificate, just for participating. It wasn't like that when I grew up, and if you didn't get a trophy, well, you just needed to try harder.

But there he was, all snug in his bed with his favorite blankie and his ribbon wrapped around his tiny finger. He was proud of himself. I did it Mama, I did it, kept repeating in my head. But he didn't do it. He was pushed through. He was pushed through because his pushy mother wanted to see that her dollars paid off.

I let it go, and went on with life.

Last night he had his lesson again, and would not, could not swim three, or even two feet. He cried when his instructor asked him to jump in the pool, and, at times even clung to the instructor for dear life. It's as if it was his first lesson. It angered me, while at the same time, I felt terrible. That motherly instinct said go get him, hold him, cuddle him, tell him it's OK. To hell with these lessons!

But, NO, reality took over! What. if. he. ever. fell. in the pool?

Last night as he nodded off, in my bed, snuggled ever so close to me, with his sweet toddler breath in my face, he says, "Mommy, I no wanna go to svimmin' (that's how he says it) lessons no more".

He's not going anymore, he can wear swimmies in the pool and/or a lifejacket, and I will have to worry all summer until he gets it on his own. I hope by the end of the summer he can swim like a fish.

Peace.

Happy Birthday

Last week, at the karate school where I take kickboxing classes, I noticed that the women who runs the school was having a birthday this month. I wished her a happy and asked if I had missed it.

"No", she said, with that "I don't want to have another birthday" look on her face, "it's next Wednesday".

With curiosity, wondering why she would upset, I ask, "is it a BIG birthday this year"?

"No, I am gonna be 44", with a scowl, as if her life was over.

I say, "44 is a good age". Me who is going to be 39, looking 44 in the eye, thinking, I will be OK with that, I have so much now, in five years I will have even more.

Big D is turning 40 this summer, and it's all good. We will have a celebration, to which he will be surprised about. A celebration. A celebration of getting older, wiser, more mature and proud of who you are as a person. Schmoogie turns nine next month, oh my, now that's a totally different post!

In our family, birthdays are always celebrated, embraced and happy, no matter what the age. Kids are always exited about birthdays. My kids don't care if it's their birthday or someone elses, they smile. (certainly they prefer their own, for the presents!) They love to sing Happy Birthday, they love to blow out candles, they love cake. What's not to love about birthdays?

I looked at the almost 44 year old and said, "you ought to be happy about your birthday". Celebrate! Celebrate your accomplishments, look back and recognize those things you are most proud of and those you would never repeat".

She looked at me oddly and said, "hmmm, never thought of it that way. I may become even more sad if I have to look at my accomplishments, I sure wished for more for myself by now".

Accomplishments are not always measured monetarily. I reminded her of her loving husband, amazing son, and assumed she had a wonderful, warm and inviting home, where she felt comfortable and safe. Those are real accomplishments, those that should be celebrated.

At that point, she smiled and realized that her life's accomplishments are rich.

I need to make a phone call to wish her a very special and HAPPY birthday today.

As an aside, Sunday evening, while fiddling with something in my Dining Room, (the site of most family birthday celebration's) Noodle entered quietly, dimmed the lights and began to sing "Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you..." I joined in and we wished everyone who had a birthday that day a very happy one.

Peace

Mama's Getting a New Cell Phone!

I am not a techie type, not a gadget girl, at times, I think I may even be a tad technically challenged, however, I do like to keep up with the latest technology, albeit, it takes me a while to catch up.

I want to text. I really want to text. I love to write, and type, so I know I will love texting. I refuse, however, to text on the regular cell phone, as I have enough “old school” habits as it is. I need a “qwerty” keyboard.

Yesterday, I was on a quest to find the perfect new texting machine for me. I used one of my favorite pass times, Facebook, to network and find out which cell phone might be right for me. A couple of my Facebook friends suggested the Verizon Voyager, which has been referred to as the iPhone killer. Two co-workers have the Verizon Voyager and one loves it the other suggested the enV2, which I ended up getting for Big D.

At lunch I visited my local Verizon store and tried one on, I love, love, love it. It is sleek, smooth, fancy, classy, technical, practical, and most of all it’s got a QWERTY keyboard, with decent sized buttons for the beginner texter! A perfect monthly package that satisfies Big D as well as P, it’s a slam dunk!

All the way home, I am thrilled and excited, (I just love new stuff) I walk in the door, ‘lil bro who noticed that I had been obsessing about the new phone all day on Facebook, although he never offered any advise, laughed at me and said that the Voyager is a huge, awkward, phone that I wouldn’t like and I should have gotten the iPhone, which he has and things is the greatest phone ever. He yucked it up about the size and that it doesn’t fold and oh, it’s bigger than my home phone, blah, blah, he’s a real comedian.

My new fancy, schmancy texting machine shall arrive in the mail within the next few days, and I know, well, I think I will love it. I guess we will see if the new purchase is really a killer or not!

Peace

Beaming with Pride

I am beaming today.

Nothing can bring me down.

My Schmoogie has always made me proud, but today I am the most proud of him that I have ever been.

In a meeting yesterday with his teacher, who I adore, respect and love, and his counselor, yes, he has a counselor, I was given some of the most amazing news ever.

Schmoogie scored the highest score of all the third graders in his school, on a standardized math pre-test. He too has been offered an art scholarship to attend an Art Camp at East End Arts Council over the winter break next week. His behaviour has improved, and in the last year has excelled in baseball, football and basketball.

He is not only athletically inclined, he also excels academically, and now he has unearthed an art talent. I am so proud of him.

A well rounded, happy child, what more could you ask for!

Peace

Football Dad

The weather has been frightful here on the NoFo, until this Saturday, when it really began to warm up.

Schmoogie had a basketball game and a subsequent playdate with one of his bball buddies later that afternoon. Much to my surprise, and as I am about to leave for a haircut appointment, I notice that Big D not only brought home one bball buddy, but two. Big undertaking for Big D, who also will have the well rested, soon to be up from a nap, Noodle to deal with.

I cannot help but smile as I get into the car, say whew to myself and high tail it out of the driveway. He'll be fine.

Approximately one hour and fifteen (all to myself) minutes later, I return home to the same place I high tailed out of to find the same smile on my face. As I look at the wanting to be green, water saturated grass, I see four children, one toddler, and the best Daddy on the block playing a football game. Big D recruited yet a third boy for the playdate, a neighborhood child that I adore, so Big D could become official quarterback and the boys could enjoy a well balanced, fair and even teamed game of football.

The toddler child, Noodle, ran aimlessly after another football that Schmoogie and his friends feverishly threw anywhere on the grass and yelled "run Noodle, run, yeah, touchdown"!

It started getting colder and one of the boys asked for a sweatshirt, then another, another and another, until they were all sweatshirt-ed up and I ran into to turn on the tea kettle. Hot cocoa all around. I quickly made six cups of cocoa and set up a plate of cookies.

They started filing in, hungry, cold and thirsty. After a well needed round of gatorade, I direct them to the dining room.

Big D sat in the dining room with the five boys and I stood in the doorway watching them sip cocoa and snack on cookies, listening to the days best plays, the worst plays, those that were executed perfectly and those not, smiling as they all giggle, sip and chew. I listened to Big D compliment the boys, encourage them to practice in areas of need and answer questions they had about plays.

As I stood there, I couldn't help but think how lucky my children are to have been blessed with one of the best fathers in the world. Then it occurred to me, hey, I'm darn lucky too!

Peace.

My Baby is getting Big!

Noodle is wearing underwear to bed. Mom’s know the enormity of this event. Going from pull-ups at night to undies is a huge milestone leading right into big boyhood. I am happy and devastated all at the same time.

He’s my baby, and I don’t want him to get big.
Selfish? Sure. Do I care? Not really.
If you ask Noodle, he will tell you Mommy wants me to stay little and Daddy wants me to get big.

I wanted Schmoogie to achieve all of the milestones “early”, he was my first, and he was and still is, awesome. I corrected all of the things he said incorrectly; he needed to learn proper speech. I made sure he had every single, overpriced, learning toy on the market. Many of which he never even played with. I explained everything to him. Read all the books, magazine articles and websites I could. He did everything early, proper and perfect, so I thought!

Noodle, while in the same house, under the same guidance, has learned things a tad differently. I do not correct his speech, I no longer think it’s improper, but rather, cute. He has some learning toys, but they are not a necessity. I still read, but don’t take everything literally. And he is not perfect, nor is Schmoogie. I spend as much time, but don't fret if life takes over.

Second children are often raised differently. Experience, perhaps. For me, I knew he was my last baby. I guess a part of me doesn’t want to give my baby up, and having another is not an option. I love that he achieves, accomplishes and does all the things kids his age, do. He yearns to be big, he wants to do everything big brother does, and he is ever so proud of himself for his accomplishments. I am too, but it makes me sad at times. I know it’s selfish, maybe even silly to some, and I would never impede his growth, I love him too much.

I miss my baby.

He looks at me differently lately, he speaks differently, lately, he’s getting too heavy to hold and carry now, he just started wearing the next clothing size, size 4T, which is the last size with the “T” next to it. OMG, he’s not a baby, he’s almost not even a toddler. He is becoming a big boy, and I have mixed feelings. I am proud, I am happy, I adore him, I love him, and, who he is becoming, but, I truly miss my baby.

Peace.