Well let me tell you, if you thought Dolphie getting an IEP for speech therapy was nuts, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. Because as it turns out, that was just the beginning of the madness. Over the course of the past six months or so, Dolphie has been joined by three siblings. They are: Sharkie, a stuffed (what else?) shark; Rae, a stuffed sting-ray Jim and Evie brought back from Florida; and Mandy, a stuffed manatee, also from Florida, ferried by Aunt Bobbie.

With this crew, Simon has managed to create an entire make-believe family, imagine what it must be like to have siblings, and take a stab at parenting a family of four. Each girl—and yes, they are all girls—has a distinctive personality by now. Rae, the oldest, is smart and fast, but she also sometimes stings people. You have to keep an eye on Sharkie for obvious reasons. Dolphie is the original sea sibling, the second-oldest, the ring-leader of the group, and is a good girl even if she’s slightly hyper at times. Mandy is the youngest of the group, and she struggles to keep up with her siblings because age and girth keep her from being able to do some of the same things they do.

How’s that for crazy?

What is perhaps less crazy is that all of this role-playing is providing a mirror into my own parenting and Simon’s instincts to nurture others. For example, Rae, like all the aquatic sisters, says “hee” a lot. Three nights ago I was informed of the following:

“Mama, Fairy Rays* only say ‘hee’ until they are 10. So I only have four short years left before Rae never ‘hees’ again!” [Insert sad, sighing sound here.]

Thus it would appear that Simon has learned to mourn the too-swift passage of time from me. I thought I was getting better about vocalizing my concern at how fast Simon is growing up, but this has certainly put me on notice. Then again, it’s nice to know that Simon is enjoying surrogate parenting.

On a more positive note, Simon is always, always asking me questions related to favoritism among the girls. As with all questions in this line, whether they are about the preschoolers I teach, family members, or his friends, I decline to answer the way he wants me to and refuse to rank people. Two nights ago, in response to something or other Simon said or did regarding Mandy, I turned the tables on him:

“Simon, is Mandy your favorite?”

“No, Mama, I don’t have favorites. Mandy just gets the most attention now because she’s a baby. Once she’s older, it won’t be like this.”

You can’t make this stuff up. Although, it would appear, Simon can make up lots of stuff about stuffed animals!

* Rae is a “Fairy Ray” for the same reason the other girls are also fairy version of their species; he had to come up with a reason for the girls to have fur and live on land, and making them fairies allowed him to dispense with normal laws of biology and physics.

Then there’s Shakespeare Camp, which may sound like a needle scratch on the album of Simon’s life. And yet, I see signs that this camp, which covers acting, costuming, and stage-craft, could be great.* One sign is that while Simon cannot draw particularly well (he’s not progressed past primitive stick-figures), he does enjoy art when it’s presented to him in a non-threatening way. Painting abstract images with his friend Ruby years ago was always fun for him. And this year’s school art teacher found ways to get science-y kids to explore to their creative sides. (Thanks Ms. Martin!) Whether it was computer-generated art, pointillism, or paper mache insects, Simon was engaged in art in a way he usually isn’t.

Another sign is Simon’s interest in costuming. He was very engaged in his Hong Kong Phooey costume two years ago and Marvin the Martian this past year, and we’re already trying to figure out what might be fun for Halloween 2015. Plus, whenever he’s had reader theater at school—whether parents were invited to come watch or not—he has been eager to put together a costume. The kids likes to commit to his roles.

But the biggest sign to me that theater camp might be great is his willingness and ability to ham it up with me and Matt. And believe me, he’s figured out ways to enhance any given performance in service of manipulation. Just a few weeks ago he was fake upset about not getting to do something or other when I detected tears in the car. Even from the driver’s seat I could tell that the tears were real, yet manufactured if that makes sense. He wasn’t fake crying exactly, but his affect was slightly off from the real deal.

“Simon,” I asked. “Are you crying?”

“Yes,” he sniffled.

“Hm. I can tell, but it sounds a little off. I’m not totally convinced. Did you somehow make yourself cry?”

“Yeah, I figured out how to do it. I just give myself the forever thought**, and then I start crying.”

Yeah–that’s a kid who’s ready for drama camp I’d say.

I also think this camp could be good for Simon, who is a very well spoken introvert. He’s not shy, but crowds and new people can unnerve him. Despite this, I know he’s often the spokesperson for his grade-level on school tours. In other words, Simon doesn’t like making chit-chat with strangers, but he’s good when called upon to inform others.

I am not upset that Simon is an introvert, and I do not consider introversion to be a failing. Far from it, introverts can be great observers and listeners. But in an extroverted society like ours, being able to selectively socialize, speak in public, and generally project yourself when necessary, are valuable tools to have at your disposal. And since I think Simon is ready to start adding them, drama camp struck me as a great place to start.

*If you were wondering why I chose such an out-of-left field camp, it’s because I thought his best friend Caroline was going and I had a chance to snag it for 1/3 the list price at a school benefit auction. Turns out Caroline is at a different acting camp this summer, but we recruited a school friend Rayna to go. As long as he has a buddy, it should be OK. Plus, my niece Maddie will be there with the older kids and can send give him a passing high-five when needed.

** The “forever thought” is Simon’s own terminology for fretting about the permanence of death. Alongside the fact that the Earth will one day be consumed by the sun, it is Simon’s number one source of existential fear and dread. That he’s now harnessing this dread to wrangle Panera and ice cream out of me is simultaneously alarming and reassuring.

My First Turniment Goal

By Simon Whitworth

Last weekend I went to a soccer tournament. (Or thee months ago. Same diff.) The soccer tournament was a 2 hour drive to Cincinnati with my mom and dad.

The game was really early. The game started at 8:00. Then the game finally started. After the first half it was 5 to 1. (against his team, making me question how “happy” this event could have been.)

Then after 5 minutes the 2nd half started. One second it was a goal punt, a kid named Sciles (Silas) past (passed) it to me. It was just me and the goalie . . . (The kid loves ellipses almost as much as I love parentheses. Credit to him for deploying them correctly here.)

I gave it a toe poke and the ball rolled across the line. I can’t believe I made it.

It was the happiest moment in my life. The End.

(And that’s a wrap. Birthdays, a running trophy, a soccer trophy, holidays, you name it. None of them can compare with the joy of scoring his first goal in a tournament, even if his team went on to lose three games straight in a land-slide. I’m especially confused because this same child went upstairs last night in tears because I beat him at a game of . . . . Twister. Finally, I suspect the day is coming soon when Ms. Ray instructs Simon that he simply must write a personal narrative about something/anything other than soccer.)

Along those lines, and in line with last year, I have a compendium of some of the funnier or odder things Simon said throughout last year that somehow didn’t make it into a post. Hit it!

January

In which he demonstrates self knowledge:

“My New Year’s resolutions are to keep playing soccer and tennis, finish learning to ride my bike and swim, and eat vegetables.”

***

In which he demonstrates superior math skills:

Me: “Ulysses S. Grant was born in 1822. It says here that if he were still alive he’d be 188 years old!”

Simon: “That can’t be right, Mommy. They got the math wrong.”

He was right, and he noticed it when I didn’t. The online resource we were reading had not been updated. This was the beginning of Simon’s consistently doing math in his head faster than I do.

***

In which he demonstrates an overly literal mind:

“Mommy, today in PE Mrs. Ragsdale said that a 5K was three miles. I think she doesn’t know about the .1 part. Should I tell her?”

***

In which he reveals limits to his soccer devotion:

Me:”Simon, what do you like more, soccer or tennis?”

Simon: “Soccer.”

Me: “Soccer or swimming?”

Simon: “Soccer.”

Me: “Soccer or school?”

Simon: “Soccer.”

Me: “Soccer or candy?”

Simon: “Soccer.”

Me: “Soccer or Caroline?”

Simon: “Caroline. But I don’t want to hurt soccer’s feelings, so don’t say anything.”

I file this one under funny, sweet, and quite possibly true. Which, if you have read this blog over the past year or checked out my Facebook page, you know is saying A LOT.

February

In which he reveals that small-talk is still a work in progress:

“Hey, Mom, I just realized something cool. Nine plus nine and nine times nine have the same numbers in them, just in a different order. The digits are the same, but the place value is different.”

March

In which he demonstrates a desire to incorporate new, scientific information into casual speech:

“Don’t move a Planck space!”

***

In which he demonstrates that we have neglected his Kentucky-specific education:

“Are five fouls like a red card? …. Man, I think that guy is man of the match.”

April

In which he demonstrates that everything related to soccer, even Foosball, must be analyzed:

“So I’ve got a trick with my two front players. They’ve formed a strike partnership.”

***

In which he demonstrates the entwined instinct to make boyish fart jokes and also be super polite:

“Oh! That toot was terrible. Curse you, butt! No, wait, butt isn’t a very nice word. Curse you, tushie!”

***

In which he demonstrates that he has got his father’s number:

“Don’t leave my Easter candy out where Daddy can get it. Papa has a relationship with chocolate.”

May

In which he demonstrates a habit that won’t make him new friends in high school:

“Today Ms. Thomas asked us what we saw in the night sky. I said I saw a waxing gibbous. She had to give the class a little lecture about that.”

June

In which the current Dolphie fixation gets started:

Me: “Where’s Dolphie?”

Simon: “Oops, I left him downstairs. I must be the worst parent in the world.”

***

In which my dear, sweet boy threatens his own mother:

“Simon, sometimes I think we should just get rid of TV.”

“That’s not a good idea unless you want to buy a new dining room table after, like, three days.”

***

In which he demonstrates that he knows on which side his bread is buttered:

“Ask Mama. Mama knows everything. Mama is in charge of this house.”

July

In which self-interest wins out over doing things the right way and cheering the underdog:

“I’ve changed my mind. I’m not going to play for Southampton; I’m going to Atletico Madrid. I want a shot at Champions League.”

August

In which he is obnoxiously self-aware and just plain obnoxious on the tennis court:

“I think it’s time for me to haul out my spins. It’s pretty hard to beat me at the net. Now I’m just being obnoxious.”

***

In which he does not make a new friend at school:

“J— is disgusting even for a boy.”

***

In which he hilariously insults his own pet:

Me: “Wow, that Sammy (relative’s cat we are taking care of) is a one-in-a-million cat.”

Simon: “What’s Cambria? About a one-in-ten cat?”

September

In which he further explores figurative language:

“Mama, I’m really hungry. My stomach feels like an empty river.”

***

In which he demonstrates that that word does not mean what he thinks it means:

“Today we had to write down on a little piece of paper whether we liked our name or not. I wrote ‘no’. I wish my name were more exciting—something like ‘Jacob’.”

***

In which he continues a family trend of overly investing emotionally with food:

“Graeter’s has never disappointed me. Their shakes have never disappointed me, their ice cream has never disappointed me . . .”

***

In which an attempt at figurative language gets disturbing:

“For a while today when I was playing tennis I couldn’t feel my feet. It was like I was sleeping . . . in heaven.”

October

In which he discovers the limits of gender-typing:

Me: “What do you think Simon? When you are a grown-up do you want a son, a daughter, or both?”

Simon: “I think boys are easier. With girls, the shopping is harder. You’ve got the clothes, the make-up, the hair stuff, the Barbies, the girl-of-the-year dolls. Boys are simpler; they just like Legos. Well, most boys anyway . . . ”

***

In which he demonstrates athletic drive foreign to both his parents:

“My legs kind of hurt at the 2.5 mile mark, but I wanted a trophy and pushed through.”

***

In which he again demonstrates an overly literal mind:

“Tomorrow I’m going to be 7 and 364 365ths.”

***

In which he demonstrates a deep truth that will serve him well as an adult:

Simon: “How do you do this!” [He’s struggling to put on tights that are part of his Halloween costume.]

Me: “When putting on tights, you have to roll them up just a few inches at a time. It takes a while.”

Simon: “Wow, it’s hard being a girl.”

November

In which he reveals the stuff that little kid fantasies are made of:

Matt: “So Simon, how did it feel out there [at the soccer tournament] playing on a lighted pitch?”

Simon: “Honestly, it made me feel like a hot-shot.”

December

In which he reveals a resistance to parental insistence that he will go to college and prepare for a long-standing career:

“After I retire from being a professional soccer player, you know, when I have a few million dollars, do I have to find another job or can I just hang out?”

***

In which he reveals the sometimes odd juxtaposition of being (partly) Jewish in a mostly gentile country:

“I want to wear my Rosh Hashanah outfit to The Nutcracker—only without the kippah.”

That’s all folks! Now I’m ready to start afresh with whatever 2015 brings our little family.

Here’s what the Hunger Walk sounded like back then:

“Mama, I think I need to take a short break. Did you bring the honeysuckles? [honeystingers energy chews]”

“Come on buddy, we’re almost there. You can do this!”

“Let’s try to pick it up just a little bit, OK?”

And here’s what it looked like:

We finished in 43 minutes, and he was pooped. But he was only six and he made it 3.1 miles! I was so proud of him I could have burst.

This year we only got out to run once or twice. He wasn’t that into it, and he was busy with soccer,  tennis, and swimming. I signed him up for the Hunger Walk again this September because I wanted the company and the fundraising support. I also persuaded his soccer coach to do the run with us.

Here’s what the Hunger Walk sounded like last month:

“Simon! Simon! Slow down buddy. You’re going out too fast and are going to bonk.”

“I got this Mama.”

“No Simon, trust me. If you go out too fast you feel really bad after a mile or two. You need to let yourself warm up.”

“I’ll be OK, Mama.”

[me to water station volunteer]”Hi, Excuse me? Have you seen a young boy, not quite 8, pretty skinny in a blue shirt run by here?”

“You mean number 109? He flew by!”

“OK, great. That’s my son, and I lost track of him.”

“Well, his legs are younger than yours. It’s OK.”

And here’s what it looked like:

We’re on the far right. I’m in the blue top and grey and white skirt, and Simon is in front of me to my right. Soon he would be further in front of me. By mile 1 he would turn the corner ahead of me, and I would next see him at the finish line.

Yes, that’s right. Within the space of a single year I went from slowing down to run with Simon to not being able to keep up with him. He ended up finishing in 28:18, and that includes time wasted slowing down (briefly) at my insistence and looking over his shoulder to see where I was. In his own words, it was kind of freaky crossing the finish line because he didn’t see anyone he knew there.

His time put him in 3rd place among children under 10 in the race, and it lit a fire under him. He wanted to run another 5K as soon as possible, and this time he wanted to win something. So we signed up for the Highlands Cup 5K, a much hillier course that runs through my neighborhood and the park adjacent to it. As 5Ks go, it’s a challenging race.

I told him all of that, explained that many of the youth runners will have had cross-country experience, coaching on running form, more practice, etc., but he was having none of what I was selling. He wanted to run fast and get a medal, and nothing I could say would change that.

Here’s what his 5K sounded like this past Saturday:

“My legs started to hurt at about mile 2.5, but I wanted a medal so I pushed through.”

“This grown-up told me to follow him for pace, but I wanted to run faster than he did so I said no thanks and ran past him.”

And here’s what it looked like:

That’s Simon charging up a hill to the finish line. It also looked like this:

That’s Simon holding his 3rd place trophy. He finished in 24:54 and placed 3rd in the Men’s Division age 9 and under category. He also won a gift certificate to the local running store in the raffle at the after-race pancake breakfast. By 9:30 a.m. he was already sure that this was the best day of his entire life.

By dinner he could hardly move, as dropping three contiguous 8-minute miles with no training, coaching, or proper stretching tends to leave one stiff and sore. Today he had to skip part of soccer and we rescheduled tennis for Tuesday.

The pain has done little to diminish his enthusiasm. He’s got plans. He wants to run more races this fall. He wants to run the Hunger Walk in 23 minutes next year. And in two years he wants to win one of these suckers.

I’m not about to tell him he can’t!

But which sport is his true calling? Until two days ago, I would have said tennis. He doesn’t talk about it the same way as soccer, but I chalked that up to how much time kids spend learning the game before they can play for points or compete in tournaments. Tennis has a longer lead time than soccer.

In the back of my mind I was also thinking that there might be less competition in tennis (everyone plays soccer), that Simon might be naturally slightly better at tennis, and that, as a lefty, he possesses a potent weapon for the game. Tennis seemed a better bet for making the team in high school and beyond.

Matt has been rooting for soccer. He loves watching tennis, watching Simon play tennis, and playing tennis with Simon. But he also sees how tennis, as an individual sport, can become psychologically intense and isolating in a way soccer, as a team sport, does not. Or, as he puts it, “Tennis makes you psychotic. I hope he ends up choosing soccer.”

Of those with opinions, it has been split. My mom votes for soccer. My father-in-law votes for tennis. My brother Steve votes for hockey. (Not going to happen, Steve!) My brother Perry votes for engineering. (Actual quote: “If I have to watch a sport—and I think they are all boring—I’d rather watch soccer than football. At least in soccer they are running around trying to do something, whereas in football they spend most of the time standing around scratching themselves.” Those, my friends, are the words of a non-fan of the highest order.)

But what does Simon say? I mean, he says soccer, I know that. He plays it whenever he can, thinks about it when he’s not playing, and even dreams about it at night. But why? What makes him like or think he likes the one sport more than the other?

As it turns out, it turns on the simplest thing in the world. Behold our conversation from last week:

“Simon, do you think you’ll ever love tennis more than you love soccer?”

“No way!”

“But why not? You love tennis and always give it your all when you play. What’s the difference?”

“Mama, don’t be silly. You can’t kick anything when you play tennis.”

“What?”

“Kicking, mama. Kicking is awesome.”

“But in tennis you get to whack stuff. Isn’t whacking also awesome?”

“I guess a little, but not as much as kicking. Kicking is the best.”

And there you have it. The difference isn’t about the schedule, scoring, or general culture of the games. It isn’t about any of the criteria I would have thought went into developing a preference. No, according to Simon at least, it all boils down to the obvious, essential truth that kicking is better than hitting.

Words to live by!

On my longest run I ran 3.5 miles & saw a mama deer and a baby deer.Before my run I went to fleet feet to get new shoes. On my next run I want to run 4 miles & I am faster than my mom.

Meanwhile, there was a another boy, Griffen, who was an excellent match for Simon. A fact that, ironically, it took the end of preschool for Simon to fully appreciate. I spent years trying to push him in Griffen’s direction, only for the friendship to fully blossom after they went to separate schools for kindergarten. Better late than never I suppose.

Last year, too, Simon needed some help on the friends front when he encountered a friend who wasn’t always very nice to him. He also struggled to find boys who wanted to play the same way he did, with many of his peers wanting to run, chase, and tackle, and Simon wanting to play in a more organized fashion. At the end of kindergarten, Simon had one true best friend and a bunch of friendly acquaintances.

This year, the peer relations are much easier. Simon has identified a core group of nearly perfectly behaved, academically achieving, quiet kids, and he is sticking with them. These are the kids whose behavior color charts are only on the positive side, who compete with each other on online reading and math games, who are always nice to each other, and who are almost certainly destined to end up at the district’s most competitive high school.

Even better, Simon has met two lovely Brandeis children at soccer and tennis. Mia is a smart, sporty, and sweet third grader who plays on Simon’s soccer team; and Salil is a smart, sporty, silly (in a good way), and sweet third grader who plays tennis with Simon. These two are such great role models that I find myself grateful to them for being willing to hang out with a younger child.

And of course, Simon’s best friend remains Caroline, with whom I don’t think he’s ever had a cross word. That friendship is now five years old and continues to amaze me. In fact, the other day when I was teasing Simon about how much he loves soccer, the only thing he’d admit to liking more than soccer—including his father and I!—was Caroline. “But, sssshhh,” he told me. “Don’t say anything. I don’t want to hurt soccer’s feelings.”

So this should be the year that I do nothing where peer relations are concerned, the year I sit back and enjoy stress-free socializing.

If only it were that easy. One of his friends from last year, a smart and energetic kid I’m genuinely fond of, is starting to become an issue. Specifically, he’s threatening to tell on Simon for things he hasn’t done, was asking for and/or taking his lemonade at lunch, and was doing some other things that bothered or frightened Simon. At the same time, this child was also sending Simon notes about getting together for play dates, making him a huge custom card for Valentine’s day, and generally trying to advance the friendship.

Simon feels stuck. On the one hand, he doesn’t like how X is treating him. On the other hand, he’s afraid of hurting X’s feelings and wants to be friends. And on the third hand (Third hand? I guess this is where the metaphor falls apart!), he’s genuinely afraid of getting in trouble for something he didn’t do.

The third part is easy. I’ve mostly convinced Simon that if a child with a reputation for telling tales accuses him of doing something he’s never done and that is out of character for him, that the teacher is not going to punish him. He’s still anxious about this but almost believes me. I’ve also mostly convinced him that if X says or does something against class rules, he needs to say “no” and then ask for help from a grown-up if X doesn’t listen.That part is a little trickier.

The middle part is trickiest of all. I am nearly certain that Simon wants to be friends with X. I am absolutely certain that X wants to be friends with Simon, quite possibly more than anyone else in the class. The only way I see out of this is for Simon to coach X and learn to say things like “I don’t like it when you do/say that”, or “friends don’t do/say that to each other”, or even “if you want to be friends with me, you can’t do/say that.”

It’s a tall order for anyone, especially a 7-year-old. But if he can pull it off, I think it might be a win-win for everyone involved. That’s one mighty big if, though.

Herewith are, with just two weeks left, some of the funnier things Simon has said this year, presented mostly without context because these gems stand alone:

*****

On eating and weight: “Simon, you eat more than I do some days!”

“I know. That’s why I’m growing east-west instead of north-south now.”

*****

On genteel habits: “Simon, did you remember to go to the bathroom before bed last night?”

“No, I think I forgot. I was holding my junk all night.”

*****

On life goals: “Do you think it would be exciting to score a goal with a bicycle kick?”

“Oh, Mommy, that’s my life’s dream.”

*****

On the danger of caloric excess: “Simon, why didn’t you eat your extra snack today?”

“Because I had enough energy from lunch. And I thought if I ate my snack and got even more energy, I might go crazy.”

*****

From kindergarten writing journal; on modesty and soccer: “I am rilly good at soccer because i have rilly good control and also i can take shots from very far away and score and i pass rilly well and i am rilly fast and I am rilly good at golly.”

*****

On bad parenting [Matt’s, not mine]: “Guess what mom? Today at sharing time, I shared about that day last week when you and Daddy were both out of the house and I was alone for 10 minutes. I bet I’m the only 6-year-old in the universe that’s been alone in their house! Mr. Sowder was kind of freaked out.” [So was mama; it won’t happen again.]

*****

“Do we know anyone from Greece?”

“My grad-school friend, Despina!”

“And Prometheus!”

*****

“Oh boy, there’s Jayla the love monster!” [I’d offer context, but does it really need any?]

*****

On Louisville’s unequal housing: “Man, a lot of houses in West Ham are messed up.” [This was said about some houses near Simon’s school, which is located in a poor part of Louisville’s West End. West Ham, on the other hand, is a London-based English soccer team. Given how much English soccer he watches, the confusion makes sense.]

*****

On patience: “But it’s already been, like, two milliseconds!”

*****

On being very tired: “Just so you know, Mommy, I’m already asleep.”

*****

On why boys are more fun than girls: [at Grandparents’ house, spoken to me and Evie] Simon: “Why won’t the boys come out?”

Evie: “Because they are silly and don’t want to get wet.”

Simon: “I wish they would. When it’s girls, it turns into talking ball.”

*****

On gender equity and work-life balance: “Yeah, Caroline will drive and change the baby’s diaper. We talked about it and decided she would do it. I might be a computer programmer and work from home. But I don’t want to. I’d rather be a professional soccer player. Then I’ll have to live in New York. But whatever.”

*****

From 1st grade journal, an essay on the invigorating experience of reading: “Reading makes me feel better because it is qwyit (quiet). Reading makes me feel better because I can fall asleep after it. Reading makes me feel better because I can lay doun (down) doing it. Reading makes me feel better because it is relacksing (relaxing).” (August or September 2013)

*****

On neologisms: “Oooo, that tastes like the future. That means it tastes good. I made it up.” (September 2013)

*****

Relating to our car accident, on the nature of aging and friendship: “Menelik said the same thing happened to his dad. They were in their car when a white car driven by some old person–you know, he was like 50 or something, but whatever–some old person hit them and they had to buy a new car. So he understands how we’re feeling. He empathizes with us.” (October 2013)

*****

On Asian geography: Simon: “What are some countries in Asia that don’t crack a million? There’s Cyprus and Bhutan, but what else?”

Me: “Maybe East Timor?”

Simon: “No, no. East Timor has like 1 or 2 million I think.” (it’s 1.5 million when I looked it up. Mama is so outclassed. October 2013.)

*****

Upon receiving a sports stats book for his birthday: “If you add sports and numbers together, you get double awesome.” (October)

*****

Upon requesting more time with a computer reading program: “Please, please, can I have some stoppage time?” (November)

*****

On a new friend from school: “Katie likes dolls and stuff like Caroline. Yeah, she’s like a version of Caroline except she chases me.” (November)

*****

On combining twin loves of math and geography: “The difference between Vietnam and Germany is Lebanon.” [Population of Vietnam is 86 m. Population of Germany is 82 m. Population of Lebanon is 4 m. 86-82=4.]

*****

An illustration of how out-classed I am math-wise: “Okay, Mommy. This will be my masterpiece. What is the US + Turkey?”

Me: “Okay. The US is about 350 million, and Turkey is around 78 mill—“

Simon: “No, Mommy. Turkey is 76 million. Wait. I got this one. The answer is . . . thinking . . . thinking . . . thinking . . . 426 million!”

Can’t wait to see what he comes up with next. Now I’m off to memorize my world populations so I don’t embarrass him!

Matt and I feel confident we can fix that. All every house and school in the United States has to do is purchase a series of games. They are: Ten Days in Europe, Ten Days in Asia, Ten Days in Africa, and Ten Days in the Americas. All are available at a reasonable price from Out of the Box Publishing. These are all games where the goal is to connect 10 countries in a row. They may touch, or you can get from one to the other via a color coded plane (the plane and the countries it connects must all be the same color), an ocean (both countries much touch the same ocean),  a train (Asia), or a safari vehicle (Africa). In each turn, players may draw from a stack of cards, draw from a discard stack, or swap two cards in their rack. The first person to string together all 10 slots wins.

We started in Europe. Then my mom got him the Asia game. When he wanted to take it home, she bought the Africa version to keep at her house. They are without a doubt his favorite games, and he’s learned a mind-blowing amount from them. Just yesterday in the car, we had this conversation.

“Wow, Mama, Asia sure has a lot of big countries in it. Like India and China with 1.1 billion and 1.3 billion people in them.”

“You’re right. Asia is the biggest continent and has the most people in it.”

“But some countries in Asia don’t crack a million. Like Bhutan. Or Cyprus. Hmm  . . .  I wonder if any other countries in Asia don’t have a million people in them?”

“Maybe East Timor?” [It’s tiny and new–that was a good guess, right?]

“No, East Timor has like 1 to 2 million I think.” [Yup, just over 1 million. How the heck did he know that?]

And so it goes. Then on the way home from school today he began free associating about his upcoming (7th!) birthday.

“I sure hope I like what I get for my birthday.”

“I told everyone you wanted Barbie Legos, isn’t that right?”

“Nooooooooooo. I really want golf clubs. And a clear sheet of paper that you draw a map of Asia on. Then I can write in all the countries and their cities. And some of their populations. I’ll write everything. Oh yeah, I would love that!”

I knew he would. I was not sure if he could. Then curiosity got the better of me. I found a blank map of Asia online, printed it out, and handed it to Simon. That’s when this happened:

Some of the countries were too small to fit writing into. So I numbered them and waited to see how much he could do. That’s when this happened:

I helped him when he wanted it on his spelling. There’s no way at almost seven he could spell “Kyrgyzstan” without help. I did not help where he didn’t want it, thus “Omon” and “Gorjia”.  But I never once told him what country fit into a space or even offered a clue. He just knew! It’s not such a big deal to know India, China, or Japan. But sorting out Cambodia, Myanmar, Laos, Thailand, Vietnam, and Malaysia is a bigger deal. Getting upset because Bahrain isn’t on the map is a bigger deal still. And not mixing up any of the “stans” as I like to call them is better than I can do and I’m good at geography!

So listen up American educators. Get these games, play them in class, and reverse the American geography curse. Next up, with Simon’s help, I’m going to finally sort out all those tiny West African nations and figure out once and for all which is Guinea, which is Guinea Bissau, and which is Equatorial Guinea. I can do this! And if I can’t, well, at least my first-grader can.