...in 47 days he starts kindergarten. Whenever we have had an activity planned this summer, I'll say to him, "Charlie guess what we are doing tomorrow?" And his answer is always a question. "Kindergarten?"
He started Lego Camp yesterday and came home with pockets full of contraband Legos, which were promptly returned today. I picked him up when a bunch of other kids were getting picked up today and as he ran into my arms, "Bye, Charlie," rang out in chorus from the other kids. And then my heart burst into 18 million pieces.
Tomorrow he starts occupational therapy to work on improving his strength (low tone) and motor processing. He's pretty cool with visiting a new friend who has a swing in her house.
It seems like he is learning new things every day, saying new things every day. "Oh my gosh," is probably our current favorite. Or, "But I love it," when referring to something he can't have (candy, contraband Legos, etc.) I still hear every word as a present to us.
He is starting to read sight words. Which, in a word, is thrilling.
He can play with Legos for hours, and makes these incredible little creations and stories about spaceships or monsters or superheroes to go with them. He dreams of Legoland and talks about going there with a longing in his voice that's similar to when I talk about how I used to sleep until noon on Saturdays.
He is gradually learning to swim, getting more confident every time he's in the pool. He prefers the noodle though and his demeanor often reminds me of a 90 year-old Ethel or Dolores in her aqua aerobics class.
He has finally learned to pump. And isn't a bit proud of himself.
...The one that you look at on your phone after walking back into your office and it makes your heart skip a beat, takes your breath away, really.
I caught her. I finally caught her. The her that runs toward me when she sees me at any point during the school day. The her that runs ankles touching butt. The her that has enough hair for a Pantene commercial. The her that smiles with her whole face, her whole body really.
We were together. I forget the rest. -Walt Whitman
Charlie is spending the week at Ammy and Poppy's. (And let me tell you, we could all use a week at Ammy and Poppy's...trips to the beach...pizza...ice cream...the Lego Movie delivered to your bedside at 6 a.m. the morning it came out).
Clara and I don't get a lot of one-on-one time. And dear lord, is one child so much easier than two. It's like a vacation all on its own.
We started our day by sending mail to our favorite camper.
After a latte, we were back to our traditional hiding-from-the-ENT-ness.
Then it was on to Trader Joe's. Ahhh, one child, no fighting over who gets to push the miniature shopping cart (or calf weapon, in my children's case).
She purchased Jojos, squeeze fruits, and pasta. That covers all the food groups.
Pit stop for some tomato soup.
Then home for a tea party, shower, pedicure, and some Sophia watching.
Then it was Clara's turn. She grabbed one of our old point and shoot cameras and went to town.
She captured an afternoon FaceTime session with Charlie.
Gracie's crazy eyes.
...and mommy and daddy.
Then there was a little catalog-shopping for her big-girl bed.
Wrapped up the night with some fajita-eating and then off to bed.
She is delightfully chaotic; a beautiful mess. Loving her is a splendid adventure. - Steve Maraboli
...I know some people say there's nothing better than a baby's laughter. Charlie's Zyrtec video is proof of that. But I've found something even better. A brother and a sister, laughing together, hysterically.
They had just finished a beautiful rendition of I've Been Working on the Railroad. The cackle belongs to Clara. The messy house belongs to me.
...My birthday gift to Ken (back in February) was tickets to the Orioles versus Indians game last weekend (Ken grew up in Cleveland, and since we are all gluttons for punishment, we've all become Ohio sports fans. They never fail to amaze disappoint us).
The kids were remarkably into it, considering it was about 120 degrees in the sun. At least the Orioles fans behaved themselves and no one threw a hot dog at us. Charlie particularly enjoyed all the clapping. Clara particularly enjoyed all the food.
At the bottom of the sixth, we were all done (including the Indians).
In all honesty, the train ride to and from the game was probably the highlight of both kiddos days.
...I decided to take the kids to see the Blue Angels demonstration today at the Naval Academy. I made the eight-mile march uphill pushing my ghetto double stroller (a single BOB that Charlie sits on the front of) to the best vantage point (and the VIP tent we were invited to, but my kids do not appreciate VIP-ness). They happily snacked along the water.
...we took photos in the photo booth (Charlie is wearing a lacrosse helmet):
...And then the skies fell (or, more accurately, the demonstration started). I knew it was going to be loud, I've been before, and I showed the kids videos on YouTube last night of how loud it was. But yeah, nothing prepares you for it, really.
I literally couldn't walk my ghetto double stroller back down that fifteen-mile hill fast enough.
(That's Clara cowered in the back, scrunched into the corner with her lovey covering her ear). When we finally got to the end of the twenty-mile walk to the car, she jumped out of that stroller and as luck would have it, four of the angels went screeching overhead at that very moment. I swear she almost went back into the womb.
The funny thing is, for the rest of the day the two of them couldn't stop talking about it. They want to go again, but bring the headphones they wear on the riding mower. Go figure. Maybe I didn't permanently damage them after all.
...Charlie (and Clara, who was not interested) started swimming lessons this afternoon. When we first arrived, the instructor had the kids all sit in a circle and she wanted them to answer three questions: their name, their age, and their favorite flavor of ice cream.
I'm sure I did a sharp inhale from the bleachers. These situations always make me nervous. It's happened before when I've seen a teacher in a group setting struggle to understand him, to feel embarrassed that they don't understand him. Then it came to Charlie's turn. "Charlie. Five. Chocolate," he said. They moved on to the next child. "They understood him" I whispered to my friend Erin. They understood him.
We have a little more than a week to raise $500 for Team Mustache. I hope you'll consider helping.