Kid Amnesiac

The adventure began today with his grandmother. Evie wrote out some three-letter word families (think “hat” “sat” “mat” “rat”) and helped Simon sound them out. He’s been able to sound out each letter for months now, maybe even close to a year, but he couldn’t blend the sounds to form words. Well, today he did. Then he did it again for me when I arrived to pick him up. Then he wrote some words for me to guess, too. Evie tells me that the whole thing began and remained a big game for him.

I doubt he’ll be sitting down and reading a book to himself any time soon, but today’s development still struck me as momentous.

According to all the literature, by the way, it’s not. I’ve known for some time that when a child begins reading doesn’t matter in the long run. So why does it seem so momentous? Here’s what I’ve come  up with:

1. It makes me less concerned about kindergarten. Since so much of each day is dedicated to reading and/or reading readiness, it’s good to know that 75% of Simon’s time won’t be spent in a struggle;
2. I’ve known he was close, and an irrational part of me was eager to see him focus and get started. Matt admits to similar irrational and possibly unhealthy feelings;
3. The biggie: Matt and I are both voracious readers and live in and by the written word. Sometimes I grow tired of hearing myself begin so many sentences with “I read in X that…” and wonder how many listening to me are ready to tape over my mouth or throw something at me. But I can’t help myself; I’m a huge reader, and I mostly read non-fiction. It excites me beyond words that Simon is on the way to having a world of words open to him.

The other thing Simon did today? Played a little Pickle-ball (tennis variation) with Evie. I saw some pretty serious forehands and the beginnings of a backhand. This is damning with faint praise indeed, but Simon at 5 is already better at tennis than I ever got after taking lessons three times. Pretty soon he’ll be a better swimmer, too.  I still have the edge on drawing and running, though, so it’s all good.

Seriously, though, if this is how five is going to be for the next nine months, it’s definitely going to be the best year ever.

In the last week, I’ve gotten to learn a bit about what happens when Simon’s extreme caution comes up against something he badly wants, and I like what I’ve seen.

Simon has been a Kicker (level 3) in his swim class for two months now. He quickly mastered most of the Kicker skills with one notable exception: He is not happy kicking on front (face down) without his teacher holding on to him. He doesn’t need the help; it’s all about the security of knowing where she is in case he suddenly sinks. I get it. As a bad/unformed swimmer myself, I’ve always been thrown by the sense of disorientation that comes with not being able to tell where I am in the water. I suspect you’ve got to get pretty good before that sense kicks in. Whatever the cause, Simon has been adamant that he wants the support of Julie’s presence.

He’s been equally adamant about wanting to advance to level 4, the Streamliners, forcing a confrontation between his cautious nature and his ambition. Last week, after asking me and my mom when he could be a Streamliner and discussing confidence with Matt, he decided he was ready to try. That’s how he phrased it to his teacher, Julie, too.

“Um, Ms. Julie,” he blurted out the second his lesson began, “I have to tell you something. I decided that today I want to streamline kick on front on my own.”

Then he screwed up his nerve, flipped over on his stomach, put his hands out in front of him as though he were diving, and kicked kicked kicked for a 15 yards or so in the pool. I didn’t bother telling him I was proud of him; he was so proud of himself that he was about to split, and that seemed much more important than third-party validation. I told him I was happy and excited for him. After his lesson, Julie told me that if Simon continued to repeat all the Kicker skills on his own that he’d move up to the next level within two weeks.

As Simon is obsessed with levels and timelines (you can count them!), I passed on the news to him before yesterday’s lesson. He started out all fired up, then suffered an ill-timed set-back when he dove beneath the water for toy retrieval—his first drill of the lesson—swallowed and inhaled a bunch of water, suffered an epic coughing fit, and belched loudly enough that the lifeguard at the opposite end of the pool heard and laughed. Simon was spooked, his throat hurt, and the incident put him off trying any face-down drills. On his first attempt at streamline kick on front, he pulled up short and complained of throat pain.

Julie and I tried to buoy him and suggested a do-over, but Simon remained unconvinced:

“I think I’m done for today.”

I understood. But man, I did not want him to have a full week to stew on the incident and blow it all out of proportion. I also had a sneaking suspicion I could get him back on that saddle by appealing to his ambition.

“That’s fine, Simon,” I said as soothingly as I could. “I understand that you got pool water down your wind pipe and that didn’t feel good. We can wait another week. It’s totally up to you, but I do want you to know that this is the only skill left before you become a streamliner. If you can streamline kick on front on your own right now, you’ll graduate from the Kickers today.”

I barely had the words out of my mouth before the sad eyes became determined, the slumped posture straightened, and his skinny little arms shot up into the air and assumed the streamline position. Five minutes later, Julie handed him the final Kicker skills sticker, a graduation ribbon, and the white Streamliner’s swim cap he’ll need next week.

The lesson here, for all of us I think, that while Simon remains cautious and needs to be given time and space to come to new things on his own, there comes a time when he can be encouraged to push past his timidity by appealing to his ever growing sense of ambition and determination. Best of all, this motivation comes from within; yesterday wasn’t about what I wanted or what Julie wanted for Simon, it was about what he wanted for himself.

The five-year check-up was kind of like the four year one, but more!

More Taller:

41” last year; 45 ½” this year. Up to the 80^th percentile from the 75^th. Mommy’s short genes definitely squashed.

More Skinnier:

37 lbs last year; 38.8 this year. Down to the 25^th percentile from the 46^th. As I suspected, that put his BMI at below the 3^rd percentile, making him clinically underweight. Technically, he’s below the 1^st percentile, taking him off the charts altogether. As the average child gains 3-4 pounds and grows 2-3 inches between ages 4 and 5 while Simon grew 4 ½ inches and gained just under 2 pounds, I was expecting this.

“We like lean,” explained Dr. Newstadt, “but this is taking it a bit far. Let’s talk about how we can bulk him up.”

That part did surprise me a little, as Dr. Newstadt himself has no perceptible body fat. So whereas Dr. Abrams wanted to discuss vegetable consumption last year, Dr. Newstadt was all about the yogurt smoothies, the ice-cream shakes, and the extra snacks. I’m OK with trying to put more weight on Simon, except that it’s hard to ignore thousands of pages of nutritional advice steering parents away from fatty foods and extra snacks, especially when there’s awful cholesterol on Matt’s side of the family. Thankfully, Newstadt took my concern seriously and checked Simon’s cholesterol so I know it’s really OK to add more lipid goodness to his diet.

My prediction, however, is that he’ll eat less food and/or be more active and/or continue to shoot straight up and stay super skinny. I know what Simon’s dad looked like at 17 (I think his jeans were 28X34); this is genetic destiny. But I’ll try. Since Simon is now off the size chart for even slim sizes, I’ll try hard.

More Smarter:

Moving right along, Dr. Newstadt also went over some developmental issues. Could Simon draw a square? Could he identify all his basic colors? After going through this series, Simon pointed to a tab on Dr. Newstadt’s chart and asked, “Is that indigo?” which pretty much answered the second question.

And the highlight of the check-up?

“Simon, can you count to 10 for me?”

Simon looked up at Dr. Newstadt, smiled impishly, and responded thusly:

“Oh, Dr. Newstadt, I can count to a googol!”

At this point, Dr. Newstadt laughed out loud.

“I have never had a child answer that question with that.”

This all segued into a chat about kindergarten. My top pick is also Dr. Newstadt’s among the public schools, but he’d really prefer to see my “exceptionally smart” child go to Collegiate, a well regarded private school in Louisville. At $17K a year, that isn’t going to happen unless or until the Newstadt fund for 5-year-olds who talk about googols is established.

Of course, two years ago our visit culminated in suggestions for books and child psychologists to help Simon with his anxiety. I’ll take this one over that any day of the week.

Remember four years ago, when I was having a lovely,  low-key birthday that ended with Simon projectile vomiting? And how it was unseasonably warm for January? You don’t? Well, I do.

AND IT’S HAPPENING AGAIN!

It hit 60 degrees today, I had a lovely, low-key birthday, and just after 10:00 p.m. Simon awoke shrieking in pain and then promptly threw up all over his bed, his stuffed animals, and the wall closest to his bed. Just like four years ago, Matt got Simon stripped down and in the tub while I set to cleaning just about every surface in his room.

Four years ago, I was next in line. I hope I’m not again, especially since I just got over a mild stomach bug. But mostly, I’m really bummed for Simon. Aside from the pain and nausea, it’s the disappointment that will come from canceling our fun weekend plans that’s getting me down. No visit to Grandma and Papaw’s for the UK basketball game. No hanging out his Bubbie’s. And the unkindest blow of all, no ice-skating lesson from his Uncle Steve.

Poor Simon. The only real consolation is that he lasted four years between stomach bugs. Well, that and that five-year-old boys can use buckets in a way that one-year-old babies cannot.  It’s not much, but it’s all we’ve got.