And I canceled Simon’s doctor’s appointment, which is ever better. The appointment was made because, as of Friday morning, the school report was that he was still a little low-energy and was still struggling with loud noises. So I called the doctor and arranged to come in today… and he had a great Friday! And then he played basketball with high energy Saturday morning in a very loud gym. In fact, after his game he got into a little scrimmage with some players on the other team and had a blast. Then we returned home in time for Matt’s band practice. He sat down and played audience for nearly two hours. THEN we hit a birthday party, and only once or twice did he seem upset about the noise. But you know, he was one of only two boys at a party with about 17 kids over-all, and when those girls shrieked it was loud and high-pitched. I gave him a pass on that one.

Sunday was  less busy day that drove Simon a bit batty. Matt wanted to watch Man U vs. Chelsea; Simon wanted to actually play. His color is better. His eyes look better. All signs point to better. So when I picked Simon up at school today and heard that he had a great day, I made my decision. Barring a relapse for the ages, whatever he had seems to be mostly gone. I see no good reason to take a blood sample from a child’s arm to find out what exactly is in the past tense.  And in the absence of poor color, eye bags, and other signs of fatigue, we’ll be treating noise sensitivity from here on out as a mental habit brought about by reduced coping skills during sickness.

So the car-door is still dented and my calves are still in agony, but fully half of our Monday-itis symptoms have been sent packing.

1. Car parked on street is hit about 10 minutes before start of Super Bowl and less than 48 hours after spending $400 for a brake job;
2. Calves are in screaming agony after treatment at running store. My long run yesterday was a total disaster (numb and tingling feet) resulting from inadequate stretching (my bad) and shoes that seemed OK when I bought them but in fact are no good for me (do not buy shoes online. Do not!). Ka-ching! New shoes. Ka-ching! New stretching device.
3. It looks like one of Matt’s credit cards got stolen/compromised AGAIN.
4. And finally, you know it’s Mondayitis when a casual mention of having to head back to the doctor for more bloodwork results in accidentally explaining to your five-year-old that they are going to have to take blood from his arm and, not surprisingly, the same five-year-old collapsing in tears.

It’s Tuesday in T-minus 11 hours, 17 minutes…

The next test comes at the end of the Kicker level. He was to be pushed in again, only this time the requirement was to roll over, float, find a pool edge, and swim to it. We sort of did this test. Ever the control freak, Simon decided he wanted to do the survival test, told Ms. Julie exactly where to stand in the pool, and then jumped in, floated, and monkey-airplane-rocketed (the beginnings of a back-stroke, with modified arms and no kicking) his way to the other side of the pool.

Without ever saying a word, Julie and I came to an implicit understanding: Surprise is a bad idea for Simon; this “survival test” would do. As we are pretty low-risk for a water emergency (no pool, no friends with pool, slightly neurotic mother), it was good enough for me.

Well, Wednesday we got the real deal, and the boy came through like a champ. Towards the end of the lesson, Julie had Simon streamline kick on front from wherever they were to a floating island in the pool. Simon got about half-way there, lost his focus, and began to sink and flail. Meanwhile, Julie’s attention had been diverted by another teacher, and the Lifeguard on duty had not yet realized what was taking place.

For a second or two, I stood panicked on the pool deck.  Was he going under? Should I scream for Julie, scream for the lifeguard, or dive in myself?

And then, just as I was about to open my mouth and yell for help, I watched Simon’s arms stretch over his head as he thrust himself partially out of the water, rolled over to his back, looked behind him to see where the wall was, and streamline kicked on back to it.

He didn’t even seem to realize that anything had happened. Once he got to the edge, he asked Julie what he could do next. He wasn’t fully clothed, but I think Simon truly earned that survival test sticker!

I DON’T KNOW HOW I’M GOING TO FILL THIS SUCKER OUT!!

Three months of touring. Talking to parents and staff at the JCPS Showcase of Schools last Saturday. Follow-up calls after tours. Stewing over stats and crunching numbers like a witch at her cauldron. And now I stare at the form I have been anticipating and am frozen with indecision.

It wasn’t always this way. Heck, it wasn’t this way yesterday before 9:30. As of 9:30 on Tuesday, January 31, I had it all figured out.

• First Magnet Choice and First Overall Choice: Brandeis (60% chance of admission)
• Second Magnet Choice and Second or Third Overall Choice (a bit of stewing left on this call): Coleridge Taylor (since second pick, % unclear, but probably around 50%-60%)
• First Neighborhood or Cluster Choice: Bloom (90+%)
• Second Neighborhood or Cluster Choice: St. Matthews (0% if second, probably 0% if first, too, but I have to list something).
• Third Neighborhood or Cluster Choice: Byck, with reservations about test scores and arts focus (90+% as third choice because it’s an A-cluster school and I live in a B-cluster area)
• Fourth Neighborhood or Cluster Choice: Engelhardt: Please no.

Then, at 9:30 a.m., I pulled into the parking lot at Lowe Elementary for what I thought was yet another pointless tour to mark down my second neighborhood choice, which I assumed I would never get given the way the system works.

And I loved it. As the (personal, hour-long) tour continued, I felt sicker and sicker to my stomach as each awesome aspect of the school was introduced to me. Enthusiastic teachers? Check. Warm vibe? Check. Enhanced Math and Science curriculum? Check. They use PTA funds to maintain a discontinued “Everyday Math” curriculum that the rest of the county as dropped. Playground? A cross between an amusement park and a soccer field. Student body: Economically and racially diverse with a super-active PTA. Technology Lab? State-of-the-art. Writing samples? Adorable.

If I sat down to envision my perfect elementary school, I think it would look like Lowe. It is, in my opinion, the magical rainbow unicorn of schools: the thing you don’t believe exists until you see it with your own two eyes. What gives it the edge over Brandeis for me is the better playground, the shorter drive-time, and the fact that they teach Spanish twice a week instead of Chinese once. No offense to Chinese instructors, but how much can you learn in one-day-a-week sessions? Test score wise, Lowe and Brandeis are both very high, with the edge going to Lowe.

And my odds of getting in if I list it first under neighborhood schools? Historically, about 50/50. This neighborhood school is an older neighborhood (so lower population density of the under 10 crowd) that includes many popular parochial schools (so many of the kids who do live there go elsewhere). Therefore, unlike every other B-cluster school I could visit, this one has limited space for non-resides kids.

Had the odds been 0%-40%, I’d never consider listing it. Had they been 75% or so, I’d never consider NOT listing it. But 50/50? Just good enough to inspire hope. Just bad enough to instill fear. Here’s how it would shake down:

• First Magnet: Brandeis: 60% Chance
• Second Magnet: Coleridge Taylor: 50%-60%
• First Cluster Choice: Lowe: 50%
• Second Cluster: Bloom: 0% if listed second
• Third Cluster: Byck: 90%
• Fourth Cluster: Engelhardt: Please no.

Now, if 50% three times equaled 100%, I’d be sitting pretty. But my own math skills, while not great, are better than that. So the question remains: Do I go for the high-risk, high-reward strategy that increases my odds of getting into a math-science centered school but also increases my odds for a struggling school? Or do I pursue the low-risk option that ensures placement at a good, beautiful, and nearby school if the math-science one doesn’t come through?

I have 28 days to stew on this and decide whether I should roll the die with my son’s education.

Two years ago that conversation was about anxiety. Last year it was to determine whether or not Simon had an ear infection. And this year we returned to Dr. Newstadt’s offices to discuss… Ennui? General malaise? I wasn’t sure, but Simon hasn’t been right since he fell ill on the 6^th, not really right anyway. We get flashes of right, like a super-animated swim lesson, an excited game of pickle-ball with his grandma, a string of board games with his Bubbie, or a happy trip to the ice cream parlor.

Unfortunately, these flashes punctuate a period of generalized off-ness. He’s tired a lot, he’s complaining of headaches, tired legs, and stomach aches, and he’s experienced a dramatic diminishment in coping skills. The report from school has been that Simon falls apart most days at around 11:30. If he makes it to lunch, he falls apart soon after. Feelings are getting hurt on the play-ground, and loud noises are once again bringing him to tears. He’s lost some of his sparkle. Last Saturday at basketball he seemed sluggish the entire game, never ran when possession changed, and actually asked the coach if he could come out and rest. Twice.

It’s hard to know what to do when the symptoms are vague and inconsistent. I have found myself see-sawing like mad. Maybe he’s just tired. Maybe he needs a nap. Maybe he didn’t eat enough breakfast. Maybe the class was unusually loud today. Maybe they were misbehaving and it was the poor behavior that was upsetting Simon. Maybe he’s a hypochondriac and we need to push him to buck up. Oh look! Now he’s fine. Now he’s having fun. There are those dimples! Maybe it’s all over with.

Maybe. Maybe not. I can’t tell. That’s when, if you are lucky, the village comes in and makes up your mind for you. This Thursday, Simon’s teachers and the school director each pulled me aside for a chat. Ms. Diana suggested a trip to the doctor to investigate an ailment like mono. “Have them do the special blood-work,” she suggested in her Russian-German accented English. “You know, just to see if there’s something wrong. And if it’s something about school, please tell me. I want to help him.” Diana is not the touchy-feely type, so her palpable concern was both deeply touching (she really cares!) and deeply worrying (something must be really wrong).

That was at morning drop-off. At pick-up, I was met at the door by Ms. Andrea. I knew I was about to get a bad report even before she opened her mouth. I could tell by the sympathetic look on her face and the tilt of her head.

“Rough day, Mama. He had a hard time at circle time with the noise, he cried during science when it was loud, and he said he couldn’t eat lunch because the room was too noisy for him. He’s still listening and learning, but something is wrong. I think it’s time to see a doctor.”

As she delivered the news, Simon stood staring at me with a wan complexion and dull eyes. He looked pathetic.

I went home, booked the appointment for Friday, and cursed myself for canceling the appointment I had previously made for that day after a particularly good stretch of hours. Then I got out my old books on sensitive kids, difficult kids, and anxious kids and wondered if two years of progress and transformation was evaporating before my eyes. Then I looked at the evaluation form I am due to have Ms. Andrea fill out for Simon next week and, I am ashamed to admit, worried how Simon’s “off-ness” might affect his recommendation.

As you can see, Simon’s not the only one back-sliding over here.

If it was hard to book an appointment when the primary symptom was “not quite right,” being told to do so by three educators made it a heck of a lot easier. As it happens, we have the beginnings of an answer. Upon examination, Dr. Newstadt found a low-grade fever, swollen tonsils, and enlarged lymph nodes in the neck. Preliminary blood-work for strep and mono was negative, but we’re doing a culture to verify the lack of the former and will do more involved blood-work next week for the latter if he still seems off.

To be honest, the diagnosis hardly matters at this point. If Simon has viral tonsillitis, the Rx is rest, fluids, food, and time. For mono or something similar, it’s the same. Only bacterial strep would lead to a hasty recovery after being medicated. The main thing is, we understand why Simon has been dragging and not coping well. And I am once again reminded of the priceless value of having a group of professionals to nudge you along the correct parenting course when you are unsure of the way.

Sign 1: Not-So Casual Observation

Side A ["side" = team in the lingo] makes what looks like a great goal to me. Simon chimes in:

“Why didn’t they say he was offsides?” ["offsides" = rule violation relating to position of players on the pitch]

You know what? It just might have been. I still can’t always tell.

[After Simon asked, I rewatched that play and it did look like Thierry Henry was offside.  Later I found considerable Internet discussion as to whether or not he actually was.  Turns out he had just emerged from an "offside trap". -mgw.]

Sign 2: Mixed Metaphors

Simon is pretending to be Baby Kitten in the car, then lets a huge belch rip.

“Uh Oh!” he says, sounding more proud than contrite, “‘That’s a yellow card for Baby Kitten!” [yellow card = caution or disciplinary measure; two and you are out of a game]

Sign 3: Rogue’s Gallery

Simon walks in while Matt is watching Manchester City v. Liverpool.  “Where’s Balotelli?” [Mario Balotelli = star striker for Manchester City, Matt's favorite team]

Matt sighs.  “He’s out on a four-game suspension.” [Balotelli can be an idiot.]

Simon looks confused.  “I thought that was Kompany?”  [Vincent Kompany = Man City's skipper {"skipper" = "captain"}, who is also serving a four-game suspension. Kompany is not an idiot, but he made a stupid move the other day.  City is having a rough January.]

Sign 4: A Bedtime Chat

I’m in Simon’s bed giving him his night-time back-rub. Matt is in the room with us, and we all hear the sounds of heavy rain on our tin roof.

“Wow,” says Matt, “it’s really coming down out there.”

To which Simon replies, “You know where else I bet it’s raining? In Manchester.”

True that. Just about every game he’s watched, and there have clearly been many, has played out amid cold, gusty rain. It looks frankly miserable.

Sign 5: Goals

And the final sign your child has been watching too much English Premier League? When he states his life goals thusly:

“I think I’m going to be a professional [soccer player]…soon, I hope!”

I think we need to watch more NOVA from here on out.

“I sure wish our house were like theirs [the Kwais'] and we had a baby and a 27-year-old Mommy. But our family already has its baby, and it’s me, and I’m a five-year-old big boy now of course. Man! It took me a long time to get to five years old.”

My silent rebuttal:

1. She’s 28 now.
2. I (kind of) wish you had a 27-year-old Mommy too, although I wouldn’t have been a very good Mommy at 27 or 28.
3. Speak for yourself; I think the last five years have flown by.

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.

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.

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.