Month 45 - Recap

My sweet boy,
Like Natalie, you had swimming lessons last month. And like Natalie, you improved a lot after that week of lessons. And like Natalie last summer, you had 0% desire to put your face under the water. You were convinced you could swim with your face above water. (Note: you were 0% successful). You did, however, jump into the pool (into your teacher's arms) on the third day. And a few hours after your last lesson, you discovered the wonder of getting dunked. I dunked you about 50 times that afternoon. This Mommy-dunks-Charlie or Daddy-dunks-Charlie game continued for a week or so until you realized that you could dunk yourself. It must be noted that Daddy and I repeatedly told you that you could dunk yourself, but as is so often the case with the SmithKids, you didn't believe us until you found out for yourself. My arm muscles are so thankful you did.

And you've started to swim. Well, not really. I mean, you're in the position to swim - face down, arms out, legs out - but there really isn't much forward progress made. You're doing a great job of Uncoordinated, Asynchronous Paddling. Despite not going forward very much, you're so. proud. of yourself.

You're starting preschool in a few weeks at a nearby church. You're so excited, and you ask no fewer than five times every day, "Do I go to pweschool today?" Telling you that you start in two weeks doesn't help. You have no concept of time; I could tell you that you start in two flibbertyjoobs and it would probably mean just as much.

I never know if you or Natalie will wake up first each morning. You two are consistently inconsistent. On the days you wake up first, you come into the living room and join me on the couch. You snuggle under my blanket and give a big, content, exaggerated sigh. It's so fun. Then you begin to tell me about the wildly fantastical dreams you had. Sometimes you're Batman (because, duh), sometimes you're a hot dog, sometimes you're flying, and sometimes you're cooking. You get louder and louder, more and more expressive, so that by the end, you're making big hand motions, your eyes are wide, and you're practically jumping out of your skin. If the Batman gig doesn't pan out, you should be a professional story-teller.

You're in a stage where you don't like to play by yourself. Like, ever. And I have to remind myself that something like Quiet Time probably makes zero sense to a three-year-old. Like, why would someone want to be quiet? Why would someone want to play by himself in his room? Why does Mommy need Mommy Time? (Answer: so she doesn't get any crazier). I'm sure it'll get easier. I remember Natalie acting like this when she was your age. She's finally gotten to the age where she craves quiet time (most days). But you think the whole notion gets a big ol' Thumbs Down. So I'll continue to explain how everybody needs a little down time each day. And those words will continue to go in one ear and fly out the other one. Until one day, you figure it out for yourself. And I'll get to watch an episode of Cutthroat Kitchen without any interruptions.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Headlines for August 9, 2015:

• Typhoon Soudelor Hits Taiwan and China
• Jennifer Aniston and Justin Theroux Are Married
• Families Calls off Private Search for Missing Teen Boaters, Perry Cohen and Austin Stephanos
• Man Gets a Year for Printing $100 Bills in Casino Hotel Room
• Donald Trump Booed at Republican Presidential Debate, Takes Shot at Rosie O'Donnell

July 2015 - Recap

My dearest peach,
You wrote a letter to our sweet sponsor girl this week. You often want my help for ideas when you write letters to people, but you didn't ask for any help with her letter. I admit, I was curious as to what you'd say. You're a fan of the Stream of Consciousness letters, where you jot down a random smattering of statements without context or any follow-up information. It never surprises me to see this kind of note from you:

Dear So-and-So,

Charlie put his head underwater all by himself! I want to be an illustrator when I grow up and Mommy makes me brush my teeth every night. Charlie doesn't like green beans. My friend got a stuffed cat for her birthday!

Love, Natalie

But this letter ... THIS letter. Never have you written something that instantly made me cry. Like, I didn't even finish reading it and I was already sobbing. Here's what it said:

(If you didn't feel at least a slight inkling of emotion, may I suggest getting your pulse checked. Because you may be dead.)

Daddy and I have decided to put Charlie into 3K preschool this year. Notice who I said decided it. Daddy and I. Daddy. And me. But clearly you ran into a Fairy Godmother who bestowed upon you the privilege of Preschool Decider, because you acted like it was all your decision. The three of us checked out several schools, and after leaving one, you looked at me and gave me an all-knowing head-bob and said "Oh Mommy, this is definitely the one for Charlie. It has his name written all over it. Let's go let them know we've decided." So I looked at you with an all-knowing Momma-thinks-you're-off-your-rocker look and politely informed you that the preschool selection will be a decision left to the two adults of Team Smith. This did not go over well with you. C'est la vie.

You rocked swim lessons (and thereby made up for the debacle that was Swim Lessons 2014). It was just five days, just you and Charlie, held at our friends' pool. On the first day, you cried at the mere suggestion of jumping into the deep end (into the arms of the teacher). Two hours after the end of the fourth day, you were jumping off the deep end into nobody's arms and swimming the entire length of the pool. By the end of the fifth day, you jumped into the deep end and treaded water.

The look on your face when you first swam all the way to the shallow end was one I treasure, and one I don't see nearly enough. You are very much like your dear momma in that if something is hard, instead of trying and failing (and potentially looking silly/foolish), you often give up. If something takes you longer than 20 seconds to figure out, you often assume you're dumb and will never be able to figure it out.

In all honesty, I was thrilled when swimming didn't come naturally to you. And giving up wasn't an option because 1) I'm not paying good money for you to give up on five days of swimming lessons, and 2) you must become drown-proof (in the most general sense). It was non-negotiable. So you struggled, you got tough-loved (by me; you were gently loved by the teacher), you cried, you stomped your feet, you turned into Debbie Downer. But you kept with it. I saw the tears in your eyes when you first jumped into the deep end (into your teacher's arms). I knew you were scared, I knew you were mad. I also knew you wanted to do it. And you did.

Good things are worth working hard for. Working hard doesn't always get you first place, the best grade, or best job. But nobody should ever regret working hard. So I'll continue to encourage you, to support you, to dry your tears until the fear of trying new things and working hard passes. I've cleared my schedule for the next 70 years.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Headlines from August 1, 2015:

• Undercover videos spark Planned Parenthood funding feud
• Seattle CEO who set firm's minimum wage to $70G says he has hit hard times
• GOP candidates jockey for position in final debate dash
• Baltimore killings soar to a level unseen in 43 years
• Bobbi Kristina Brown Mourned at a Funeral in Georgia