Kid Amnesiac

Sleepover

Jan 7th, 2013 by Jessica

I have now learned that the only thing more devastating than a failed sleepover is a successful one. Let me explain.

A few weeks ago, Simon got the idea that a sleepover sounded like great fun. He’s spent the night with grandparents aplenty, especially the first week of winter break when Matt and I both had the flu, but he’s never slept over at a friend’s house or had a friend sleep over here.

Then his friend Rhyse’s dad called. He and Rhyse’s mom had out-of-town plans for New Year’s Eve and day, and Rhyse’s older sisters had friends’ houses to go to. Could we take Rhyse? To be honest, the boys didn’t know each other that well. They played soccer together last spring and fall and both go to Brandeis, but they haven’t spent much time together since the fall season ended, and they are in different kindergarten classes.

Still, Bill needed the favor, and Matt and I live a short mile away. We agreed, then got the boys together to play in advance of the big day. They got on fabulously, and after a few short hours both were excited about the sleepover. Then the phone call came: Rhyse had a fever, a trip to the emergency care center indicated it was strep, and the sleepover was called off. Simon wailed.

But we had just left his friend Caroline’s house, and they live even closer to us. So I called her parents, and an alternative New Year’s Eve sleepover was arranged. At dinner time on the 31st, Caroline arrived with a sparkly suit-case and plans to stay up until midnight. The two built a play hut, hunkered down in it, and stayed up hours past their respective bedtimes. I set up our guest bedroom for the two, as the room has a twin daybed and a matching trundle. I finally hauled them upstairs at 11:00, got teeth brushed and pajamas on, read a very long bedtime story about surfing mermaids with hard-to-pronounce names, set up the nightlight, and tried to tuck both into bed.

At which point Caroline insisted she never gets below covers, climbed all over both beds, and then matter-of-factly declared at 11:30 p.m. that she needed her Mommy. This edict was issued with devastating clarity; there was to be no further discussion or negotiation. So her dad came over to collect her while Simon lay in the daybed and sobbed from exhaustion (Caroline is a night owl, but he’s not) and disappointment. As a poor consolation, I offered to sleep in the trundle next to him so that he’d have something like a sleepover experience. It beat a blank, but only just.

Because I felt bad for him and am a glutton for punishment, I called Rhyse’s family the next day to reschedule the original sleepover for the weekend. Friday the boys went roller-skating together, went back to Rhyse’s house to play, and then arrived at our place in time for dinner. Rhyse came with a change of clothes, a pillow, a robe and slippers, and an entire flock of stuffed angry birds. He clearly meant business.

At 9:00 p.m., with a lump in my throat, I hauled the boys upstairs. The trundle was made up with the same sheets from four nights prior, and the entire scene had a discomfiting similarity to it. Pajamas were put on, teeth brushed, and bedtime stories read, though thankfully no epic tales of surfing mermaids. In fact, Simon read one of the bedtime stories himself. I set up the nightlight, gave the same reassuring speech about where to find us if he needed help, and waited for Rhyse to blink once I turned out the light.

It didn’t happen. Instead, we heard about five minutes of chit-chat, then silence from Rhyse and some sniffling and snoring from Simon. Someone awoke at six, thankfully fell back to sleep, and at just after eight both boys came into Matt’s and my room to get the morning started.

Success! Maybe even too much. For when Rhyse’s dad arrived at nearly 11:00 to pick him up, despite or perhaps owing to 24 hours of togetherness, Simon was devastated. Seeing that there was no more play-date to be had, he sat in his little play fort and wept.

Despite or perhaps because of his devastation, I actually felt great. I was sorry he was sad, but delighted that he’s making new friends from school and is hitting these social milestones. A year or so ago, Simon and a friend would have run out of things to do before such a long get-together ended. Now he’s happy to run off with a friend for hours on end and never runs out of things to do. I’ll happily wipe away the tears that result from such progress.

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Mr. Suave

Jan 4th, 2013 by Jessica

Watching Simon’s social life unfold is getting pretty amusing. More specifically, I’m watching two trends speed towards a head-on collision.

Trend One: Simon’s best friends from preschool are girls. In part, this is because Matt and I have stayed close to the parents of Caroline and Ruby, and in part it’s because he has known them a very long time and has a deep and genuine fondness for both. He’s making nice friends at Brandeis, but as he himself told me, “you don’t just make a friend like X right away. It takes time.” Plus, two of our best family friends are the parents of girls.

Trend Two: His interests are getting more stereotypically boyish all the time. Basically, Simon’s three favorite things in the entire world are soccer, cats, and math. Typically, his girlfriends are only interested in one of these. Which is great, one is better than none and all, but it still has its limits. And watching Simon try to entice the girls into games of foosball, soccer scrimages, or–perhaps worst of all–watching soccer games, is simultaneously painful and hilarious.

Painful because they have no interest. Hilarious because you can see them debating internally between pretending to be interested and outright admitting to lack of interest. You can see the same look among women pretending to enjoy a football game.*

Then there are his conversational gambits. Here’s a sampling:

“One time, XYZ had an own goal in a game against Villa. He was totally the goat! Do you like Man City?”

This is typically met with a blank stare.**

But the best-worst absolute funniest and most misguided attempt at conversation I have seen in a very long time came at our friends Dave and Lisa’s Hanukkah party. Simon, Leah, and Sophie had their own kids’ table, and I was positioned within great hearing range of it. At one point, Simon was trying to hold forth by quizzing the girls in math.

“What’s 13 plus 12? What’s 10 times 10? Oh, I know, here’s the hardest math problem ever. What’s…”

And again, I hate to speak in gross gender stereotypes, but by and large the way to engage a girl in a conversation usually does not involve the confluence of “math” and “problem”. To be fair, this won’t work with most boys, either, but since Simon is at a math-science magnet, he’s more likely to get away with such in-your-face geekiness. In fact, part of me feels like we have twin strategies to pursue where Simon is concerned: If we keep him at the right schools, the nerdiness might be normal or even socially advantageous. If he gets and stays good enough at soccer, his athleticism might cancel out the social liability of extreme math love.

And, of course, if the math skills are really aces and he ends up at Carnegie Mellon or the like, he can have the last laugh by geeking his way to a great and interesting science or engineering job.

*Yes, some women in fact love watching football. I know several such women. Others make no bones about having no interest in football. I am one of those. But we all know or have known women who will hang around the guys during a game and pretend to be interested when, in fact, they would be equally interested (or not!) in watching paint dry. The younger the woman, the more likely you are to witness this phenomenon.

**I want to tell Simon, nicely, to get used to the blank stare. Matt and I are well familiar with it ourselves stare after years of pursuing interests no one else finds much interesting ourselves. With Matt, it’s talk of computer networking or (sorry honey) guitar effects pedals that is most likely to put the listener in a stupor. With me, it’s more likely to be something related to my old field of Near Eastern Studies, anything related to my 20+ year obsession with the arctic, or something political, especially if the statisticians have started talking about it. And if you want to test your own powers of concentration, give my brother Perry a beer or four and start asking him about electricity. But don’t say I didn’t warn you first.

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PSA

Dec 30th, 2012 by Jessica

Tonight I am pleased to post Kid Amnesiac’s first ever public service announcement:

Get a flu shot.

Too busy? Get it anyway. Not sure how effective it is? Get it anyway. Don’t like needles. Get it anyway. Really, the only reason you should NOT be getting a flu shot is if you are too ill to get one.

Then there’s me and Matt. We won’t be getting flu shots this winter, either. We earned our anti-flu antibodies the hard way: BY GETTING THE FLU.

My pre-Christmas fever? Flu. How do I know? Because the day after Christmas Matt fell ill. Unlike me, he made it to the doctor within 48 hours where he was tested for the flu, game up positive, and also unlike me was put on Tamiflu to help reduce the severity and duration of symptoms. By the time I made it to the doctor, it was too late for testing or medical treatment.

As it happens, my envy was short-lived, because I was (barely) vertical by day 3 of my flu without any pharmaceutical assistance, whereas it took Matt a full five to beat his down with. So either I have the immune system of an oxe, or Tamiflu is kind of useless, or both. I’m thinking both.

Then there’s Simon. He had just been scheduled for his flu mist when we both fell ill. It was a miracle we didn’t infect him the first four days we were sick or contagious, but we didn’t. And once we knew what we were dealing with, we did the only sane thing imaginable: we shipped him off to his grandparents’ house. Simon spent two days with Jim & Evie, two days with my mom, and four nights at my mom’s too. He displaced her from her own bed, at her cupboard bare, and nearly drove her mad with repeat viewings of Word Girl.

In the midst of all this sickness, my dad turned 75. We had a nice family dinner planned to celebrate, too, but it had to be canceled. We had the flu, my brother Perry had a cold, my dad had a cold, and my step-mom had a kidney infection. Only my brother Steve was unaffected by winter illness; a fact made all the more plain when he laughed and called us dumb-asses for not getting flu shots. (He’s right, but still…)

Even Simon’s play-dates have taken a hit. He was supposed to have a school friend over tomorrow to spend the day and then sleep-over, but the poor fellow fell ill earlier today with a repeat of strep.

We’ve got 7 more days of winter break to go, and I’m hoping that they will be filled by something other than trips to the doctor, trips to the pharmacy, and time spent hosing down our house with Lysol.

But enough about us. Now you go get your flu shot.

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101

Dec 24th, 2012 by Jessica

That was my temperature this morning. Which means that after a crazy busy week in which we attended Simon’s winter program, took him to the last soccer practice and game of the current session, and in which I helped out at holiday parties at KIP and Brandeis, the very time I was supposed to finish up last-minute Christmas shopping and get my house in order for Christmas Eve dinner, I was instead popping Tylenol and sleeping badly.

So Christmas Eve dinner didn’t happen. And I might not make it Jim and Evie’s tomorrow, either. And my presents are wrapped pretty badly and in two cases are not complete. I’m bummed.

I would also like to note that is a terrible, awful time to be sick when it comes to screen-time diversions. All my news-sites and online magazines are publishing on a holiday schedule, and half the tv channels are showing a single show or movie in a continuous loop. Much of the time, I’ve been too sick to care. But during those times that the fever is reduced and the head not pounding, I could do with a bit of mindless entertainment.

Yesterday I was reduced to watching The Real Housewives of Miami and The Shahs of Sunset, to which I have the following reactions:

Not that mindless, please.
Oh, the humanity!

And on that note, I am feeling a certain chill in the air, which means it’s time to pop more pills, crawl back under the duvet, and hope that tomorrow will be different.

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Cooler Heads Not Prevailing

Dec 19th, 2012 by Jessica

We all have this image we carry around about ourselves of how we look, sound, and react in stressful circumstances. I know I at least like to think that I can hold my own in a verbal battle, make my case without resorting to ad hominem attacks, and generally comport myself with class and dignity. I like to think of myself as professional bordering on professorial.

Then I go and scream at someone whose name I don’t even know, call him an ass to his face (really), and realize that my entire mental image is a sham. Give me a few hours—or better yet days—and a pen or keyboard and I can preserve my desired self-image. But put me in the heat of the moment, and my composure just might crack.

What set me off today was politics. More specifically, the politics of a single person on a community relations board I’ve joined. Yet more specifically, the superior, condescending tones deployed by this person to attack my position. Most specifically of all, that these superior, condescending tones were being deployed by an older man as if speaking to a misguided, ill-informed child. That’s a combination that pushes just about every button I have.

The discussion was over gun control. I’m sure I don’t have to explain the reason. The question before the board was whether to pass a resolution supporting Senator Feinstein’s proposed legislation to reinstate the assault-rifle ban that timed out in 2004. At my mere mention of Senator Feinstein, this person interrupted me to say “Are you aware that she supports concealed carry? Do you know what she really stands for?” At which point I should have said, “Why do you ask? We’re not talking about concealed carry right now.” Instead, I got defensive and responded “Dianne Feinstein was my senator for eight years when I lived in San Francisco. So yes, I am aware of her positions on things and don’t need you to explain them to me.”

These words were the first we ever exchanged. We were clearly not off to a good start. Shortly after the meeting adjourned, he said something that deeply offended me. He stated plainly that Jews who really care about Israel vote Republican, and that you can’t care about Israel if you voted for Obama. Now, about 69% of Jews (the percentage that voted for Obama in 2012) would disagree with him on that call. As would many of the Israelis who do not support Netanyahu’s policies, including notable political commentators Gershom Gorenberg and Haim Watzman.

But the real point here is not the policy position: It’s not that one side is saying “I disagree” or even “You are wrong”, which is fair game, but rather that one side is saying, “You do not care about what you say you care about” and/or “You are a self-hating Jew”, which infuriates me. I told him that his statements were deeply offensive, that hurling accusations like this damaged political discourse, and that his bullying was damaging to the democratic process. He continued with his inflammatory statements. He kept interrupting me. And before I knew it, I found myself yelling in a high-pitched voice that I hate. Finally, I told him that since he insisted on cutting me off, I was finished with our conversation. Actually, what I said was “I’m done with you, you ass.”

So clearly I did not cloak myself in glory on this one.

I have since learned that my nemesis is well known in local politics and has a reputation for bullying. (What my mother called him cannot be printed in a family blog.) Not only am I not in trouble for calling him an ass, I’ve earned some support and sympathy for doing so. And I’m honestly pleased with myself for not backing down; there was a time that I would have worried about being disrespectful and displeasing my elders, whereas now I feel free to dish it right back to them.

I just wish I had dished it back better. Taken the high road and all that. Destroyed him with erudition and backed him into a corner using his own poor logic. I wish I could have lived up to my best-case self image. Maybe next time. At least now I know what and who I’m dealing with and can be prepared for the next time. And given who this character is, there is sure to be a next time.

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Hanukkah Lessons

Dec 16th, 2012 by Jessica

Last night we lit the eighth candle of Hanukkah, and for such a little holiday, it sure kept us busy! It also left me with some Hanukkah life lessons, one for each night:

1: Work Smarter Not Harder

The next time I say, “I have a great idea!”, I hope someone stops me. This year my ” great idea” was to have the kids at Brandeis (I was invited to go to two classes and present on Hanukkah) tell the story of Hanukkah themselves with shadow puppets. “How hard could that be?” I thought. Answer: Harder than I could have imagined. What I wasn’t considering before I got in too deep to back out is that the only way to differentiate between a Seleucid and a Maccabee in profile is through choice of weapon and hair style. Which left me with cuttings so intricate that it required an exacto knife. Or that cutting out a temple menorah (7 candles) and a Hanukkiah (9 candles) would also require intricate cutting. Or that since my templates were line drawings, I was going to have to cut out each image twice—the original on white card-stock and then a traced duplicate in black construction paper—to make the thing work. Eee gads! On the plus side, the profile of Zeus with his thunderbolt was so awesome that all the kids started making lightening sounds before I could even tell them what they were looking at.

2: Use the Buddy System

In my case, that would be friend and cantor Sharon. Her daughter is in first grade at Brandeis, and we were each invited to go to our respective kid’s class. Sharon is currently nine months pregnant and understandably tired. She wasn’t up for corralling the kids and putting on a play. BUT, she has a beautiful, effortless voice, and everyone loves music. So we teamed up. I did the presenting and demonstrating, she did the singing, and we made an awesome team if I do say so myself.

3: Double-Dipping is Good

One of the songs Sharon chose to sing was “Ocho Candelikas,” a song written in Ladino that I had never head of. (Ladino is a Spanish-Hebrew hybrid spoken by Jews in Spain before they were kicked out.) It was reasonably easy to learn, and I had been wracking my brain for what to do in Spanish class at KIP during the week of Hanukkah. A mostly Spanish song about the holiday fit the bill nicely. I got to practice with a pro at Brandeis, and then go solo at KIP.

4: The World Is More Interconnected Than You Can Imagine

While looking for other Spanish-related activities for Hanukkah at the preschool, I ran across a Mexican game called toma todo, which looks a lot like and has very similar game-play to dreidel. It took a while to track down the most likely history of the game, but it looks like dreidel is based on an ancient European game that was then taken to Mexico by waves of European settlers, including Jews fleeing the inquisition. Who knew?

5: Hanukkah Let-Down Is Very Real

It’s hard for any holiday to live up to the hype, even a small one like Hanukkah. It isn’t helped when several of the presents arrive damaged. On the first night of Hanukkah, Simon got a folding foosball table from me and Matt that looked great until the paint started chipping off and never played well due to multiple design flaws. Then my mom picked out a cute fuzzy hoodie for Simon, just like one of mine he loves. Only his came with a hole in it. Then there was the small toy a few nights later that worked well for about five minutes. We ended up throwing it out. Returns, exchanges, and disposals are not the stuff that Hanukkah dreams are made of.

6: Six-Year-Olds Don’t Consider Books Real Presents

Then there were the presents Simon didn’t like in the first place. It’s hard to shop for the kid who doesn’t much like toys: Simon loves sports and games, but he’s not a big toy fan. We don’t have a video game system in the house, he never really took to his Leapster, he’s not into action figures, puzzles, or building toys. That means (a) winters suck for him; and (b) shopping for holidays can be rough. So after using up my few decent ideas, I got and told others to get books. Simon got books and toys at the family Hanukkah party and was OK with that. At a friends’ party the next night, he got an atlas from us and looked less than delighted. On the third candle of Hanukkah, he took one look at the solid, thin, rectangular package and said, “Tell me that’s not another book!” It was totally another book. He was not at all pleased.

7: It’s Never Too Early to Teach Gratitude

While I understood Simon’s disappointment, I didn’t let him get away with poor behavior. The night he opened the unwanted book, I made him thank me for it anyway. And the night he opened the kid’s itty bitty book-light, didn’t understand what it was, tossed it aside, and said, “I’m not happy about that” we had a long chat about presents and the spirit of giving and receiving. He’s only six, but I didn’t drop the subject until I was satisfied he understood what I was telling him and offered an apology for sounding like an ungrateful brat. One day, he’ll be grateful to have learned this lesson.

8: Hanukkah Miracles Do Happen

After a series of disappointments, all ended up surprisingly well by the eighth night. His replacement foosball table arrived during the holiday and was assembled on the last night of Hanukkah. The magnetic dart-board I got him for the last night was a hit. His new fuzzy hoodie was perfect for a cold and rainy day. And someone at school brought in Webkinz stuffed animals for the class store, where kids who stay on green get to shop every Friday. One of those Webkinz was a tiger cub, Simon’s favorite animal and one that adorns his school travel folder and a bookmark he previously bought at the class store. Mr. Sowder let Simon pick first last Friday, and the tiger cub was in the pile. I have to believe this was a set-up, and Simon loves his new Tigee so much that he’s brought it bed with him both nights he’s had it.

9: Bonus (Shamash?) Lesson

Sometimes more isn’t better. When I grew up, it was not our family’s custom to get a present every night. Nor have I ever tried this with Simon before. Somehow, being asked about this by non-Jewish parents this year and knowing that most of my friends give a present each night got to me. But Simon is hard to shop for! I had two books I never intended to give as presents that ended up being wrapped as such. I picked up a few cheap toys. And I found two really great toys, the foosball table and dart-board, that were sure to please. And where did that get me? With two presents he really liked, books he would have been delighted to get had they not been presented as Hanukkah gifts, and cheap stuff that broke right away. Next year, we’re not doing a present each night. Not even close. Fewer things, fewer disappointments and less greed.

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The Proof is in the Pudding

Dec 11th, 2012 by Jessica

Or science notebook. As you may recall, science note-booking is where it went from bad to worse school-wise for Simon about a month ago. This is where he got confused on a particularly rough day, didn’t understand the assignment, didn’t raise his hand for help, messed up, cried, and lost his first dollar. Today marks two weeks to the day since I chatted with Mr. Sowder, he promised Simon he wouldn’t take dollars away for crying any more, and Simon began to rebound.

Today is also the day Simon’s most recent science notebook came home. The unit they just finished was on properties, and Simon scored a NI for “Needs Improvement” on his first assignment. This is the first NI he’s gotten all year, and I’m sure he knows about it and is mightily unhappy about it. Or should I say I’m sure he knew about it and broke down in part because of it.

After this come 12 more assignments. Simon scored a O for Outstanding in 7 of those and a S for Satisfactory in 5. Most of those “S”s came in assignments that required drawing, a skill Simon is woefully lacking in. (Matt would like to add here that he was/is just as bad when it comes to drawing.) He performed above grade level–the “O” score–on all the more conceptual tasks.

Not coincidentally, Simon told me the day after his chat with Mr. Sowder that he was back to liking science. Yesterday he told me that science note-booking was getting easier. Which brings me to my most recent theory, theories actually:

1. I’m willing to bet that at least some of Simon’s freak-out was the direct result of his seeing that “NI” grade.

2. I’m further willing to bet that some of his mental improvement was the direct result of the “O” he earned the next time out.

3. Finally, the day will come when math and science require no drawing–or at least no drawing that can’t be computer assisted. That day is going to make Simon one very happy and very successful student!

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Quotable December

Dec 7th, 2012 by Jessica

We’ve had a few gems of late. Some require explanation, the first does not:

“I wish I could be two Simons, so I could be two places at one time.”

Get used to that feeling, buddy!

“Oooh, mommy, it’s cold. I need long-sleeve pants.”

Ah, six. Old enough to do cool stuff; young enough to get things adorably wrong.

And now, a little dialog from a car-ride. I’ve just told Simon that I went to kindergarten at his old school, KIP. He doesn’t quite believe me, so I offer to get out an old picture.

“Where are you sitting in your kindergarten picture? On the side, or in the middle?”

“I don’t remember, Simon.”

“You mean you don’t remember where you sat in a picture 36 years ago?”

I’m silent.

“It was 36 years ago, right? You were six then, you are 42 now, so it would have been 36 years ago. Right?”

Oh that math brain. He has no idea how lucky he is to have that math brain.

Walking with friends at a recent outdoor holiday bazaar, Simon gets a balloon, refuses to tie balloon to hand, and to no one’s surprise lets go of balloon by accident and loses it. Here’s the exchange with a friend of ours:

“Well Simon, do you think that balloon flew all the way up to the moon?”

“No, once it gets to the stratosphere it will pop.”

True that. So much for trying to cheer Simon up.

The irony was lost on Simon one night when he was too tired to read, but not on his parents:

“Daddy, I want to read ‘I Can Read About Dinosaurs’ tonight. Will you read it to me?”

And here’s one for all you EPL readers out there!*

“Oh boy! I bet Sir Alex is getting into the gum.”

You’ll have to trust me that that one was hilarious. Or you can read the explanation at the bottom.

And finally, two holiday related sentiments. The first from Simon, said after admiring the Christmas lights of neighbors and sighing heavily:

“Everyone is getting ready for Christmas except for us.”

Translation: We don’t have a tree (yet), and we don’t have outdoor lights (at all).

Final honors go to Matt. Here’s an exchange the two of us had with Simon just last night, with Matt speaking last:

“How many presents do I get for Chanukah, Mommy?”

“Three or four.”

“Why not seven since Chanukah is seven days long.”

Me: “You mean eight. Chanukah is eight days long.”

“Then why only three or four and not eight?”

Matt: “Because you are only half-Jewish.”

Ba-da-BOOM! Not totally helpful, but sometimes a ridiculous question deserves an equally ridiculous answer.

*OK. Matt and I have noticed that English Premier League football (soccer) managers (coaches) have a tendency to chew gum. A lot. British or European, it does not matter. And the more tense a game—the worse their side (team) is performing—the more likely is the manager to get out some gum and chomp away the stress. So two weeks ago, Man U (top of the league) got down a goal early to Norwich. This is like Miami being down 20 at the half to Golden State or some other perpetually terrible NBA team. Simon saw the goal on Goals on Sunday (one of this three favorite TV shows, the other two being Fox Soccer News and Word Girl), and immediately offered that bit of color commentary.

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The Soundtrack of My Life

Dec 3rd, 2012 by Jessica

Is quite percussive. Tap, tap, tap, tap. Boom! Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. Thwack! Rattle, rattle, rattle. Clang!

The clamor has two sources: drumming and soccer. Between the two, you’d think it was the drumming that was overloading my sensory circuits. Yet it’s not. The drumming is loud, but only happens a couple of times per week in any way that makes real noise. No, it’s the soccer that’s driving me mad due to its maddening constancy.

I’m sure I’m not alone in this, but none of my cohort are reporting the same issue. A few months ago, Simon started kicking the ball around the house, specifically the living room. I’d fuss and he’d stop for a while, but somehow his foot always found the ball again after a respectful pause, and he’d continue dribbling around the room.

Now he’s given up the pause and decided that dribbling is for amateurs. The in-house footwork is nearly constant, and Simon has managed to transform our couch into a rebounder, a gizmo that looks like a goal that sends or rebounds a ball back to you at game speed. It is used to practice striking, passing, trapping, and heading, and is without doubt a useful training tool.

I just wish that tool weren’t sitting in my living room! Simon will kick the ball into the couch and try to catch it on his knee, on the inside of a leg, or with his foot at a variety of angles. He practices flicking the ball from one foot to the top of the other so he can kick from mid-air, which then allows him to rebound it with an ever growing list of body parts and angles.

Here are some times that Simon likes to conduct this exercise:

while waiting for dinner
while getting ready for school in the morning
while getting ready for bed at night
while watching soccer on TV
while “watching” anything else on TV
any time he doesn’t have a play-date over at the house
anytime during the weekend unless we are at drum practice, with friends, at a soccer game, or at Seneca Park practicing—what else?—soccer as a family.

Yesterday we celebrated Matt’s brother Dan’s birthday, and the party featured outdoor soccer, dinner, and Simon attempting to flick the ball around in Jim and Evie’s living room. We shut down that last bit.

I probably should shut it down in our house as well. But with the weather turning cold and dark and with our not having a functional play room (attic not finished; basement filled with musical equipment), it seems heartless, to say nothing of futile. Simon’s constant soccer dribbling and kicking seems to have bypassed hobby or habit and moved directly into compulsion territory.

Having said that, once spring rolls around I’m buying one of those fancy TEKK trainers, regardless of how pricey they are, and will shoo Simon off into the back yard when he feels the need to kick before “the beautiful game” totally wrecks my house.

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The Great Kindergarten Freakout That Was

Nov 28th, 2012 by Jessica

We have some resolution to Simon’s recent bout of perfectionism and in-school collapse.

Last week I wrote his teacher, told him about the anxiety I was seeing at home, and asked if we could stop taking away dollars for falling apart in class and instead offer stickers for holding it together. His immediate response was that he could move to a reward system if I wanted, but that he worried such a switch was a short-term fix for a long-term issue. He then explained what he was doing in class to help Simon learn to ask for help and told me and Matt to take the holiday and decide if we wanted to completely switch the discipline system for Simon. He also pulled Simon aside for a chat, during which Mr. Sowder told Simon that he wanted him to be happy at school, that since he was smart and a good student he should be happy at school, and that if he promised to work hard at asking for help, Mr. Sowder would never again take away a dollar for crying. They even hugged on it.

Two days later, for the first time in two to three weeks, Simon awoke on his own earlier than he needs to for school. The bags under his eyes were gone, there was more spring in his step, and he just seemed more like his old self. Which isn’t to say we didn’t see any anxious perfectionism (he’s bitterly unhappy when he makes a bad move in chess), but is to say what we did see was back in the normal range.

By this Monday, Simon was waking on his own, woofing down breakfast, and running to the bus with a smile on his face. Tuesday, he was jabbering away in the car about having Mr. Sowder help him with something in science. And today, Wednesday, he told me that science is once again his favorite subject and that he’s reached a new level on the reading computer program they use at school.

He’s back. And I really wish you could do a double-blind controlled study in situations like this, because I’m honestly not sure why he’s back. What I do know is that this most recent hiccup coincided with five things:

The days getting shorter
His first academic hurdle (the science notebook) and first ever in-class discipline
Daylight savings time
Switching his allergy medicine from Zyrtec to Allegra

Whereas his improvement coincided with these items:

Taking a one-week break from science to cover and celebrate Thanksgiving
Being told he would not lose a dollar for crying
Putting him to bed earlier and watching his sleep-wake cycle finally make the shift
Going off Allegra*

I’m not trying to discount the psychology here. Simon is a perfectionist and he does run on the anxious side. Managing this and teaching coping strategies will be a long-term project. But it’s been a long time since he’s been a basket-case at school. The last time he had a spell like this was back in January when he had a mono-like virus for a month. Before that, you’d have to go back to the Twos. Also, during his first two years, Simon’s mood and behavior correlated directly with how regularly and well he kept to his eating and sleep schedule. If the schedule slipped, Simon’s mood and coping circled the drain.

So I have to wonder: Can this most recent episode be reduced to biology? And if so, was it the time change messing with his circadian cycles or the Allegra what done him in? I don’t know, which I find maddening. But my gut tells me that a large part of Simon’s emotional collapse earlier this month is directly attributable to physical stress.

*Allegra isn’t supposed to cause drowsiness. But it knocks me on my tush, as does Sudafed and several other medicines that shouldn’t. It seems possible that my son would suffer from the same “paradoxical effect” I do.

Coda: Today was Simon’s second report card, covering the period in which his break-down occurred. Of course it had to be mentioned. Here’s what his teacher wrote: “Sometimes Simon’s strong drive to do well causes him to break down and cry or become visibly distraught when things don’t go the way he feels they should. We are working to help him understand what’s important and what’s not and how to handle his emotions as they arise.” This is very kind, and could have described me at the same age. Or 20 years hence.