...It is common for kids with language issues to also struggle with reading. Charlie has a communication book that comes home with him every night with notes from his teachers and if there's ever any struggle, it's in reading ("distracted," "had trouble with task").
I take this harder than I ever expected.
As Ken said, I shouldn't expect every day to be sunshine and rainbows and unicorns. But that doesn't keep me from wanting every day to be sunshine and rainbows and unicorns.
He might struggle to learn to read (it's still early, I realize that), but I know he already loves to read.
Science, however? He's already smarter than me. (And Ken realized there was a more, uh, correct answer to the second part of the first question).
Today you are three. Which is just crazy because I can still remember laying in bed the day you were born pretty distinctly, the pain of your heel in my side, realizing it was one of the last few moments I would feel you from the inside.
You have just become potty-trained and have no shame. Yesterday at the pool, you screamed to me, “Mommy, I peed in the pool,” and then swished your hand around in the water. Keep it classy, Clara.
You love to eat. You will eat almost anything. And if you are the tiniest bit skeptical, I just add some sour cream or barbeque sauce and you are good to go. You dipped your flounder in A1 the other day. You have a massive sweet tooth. It’s genetic.
You are constantly moving. Dancing, running, jumping, wiggling. You are tall and look like you are going to inherit mommy’s long legs and clumsiness with the bruises that often line your shins. You are starting to sing along to songs in the car (your repertoire ranges from, “Fancy” to the “Doc McStuffins” theme song. Your genres vary).
You talk. A lot. I didn’t know what it was like to have a toddler who communicated with words. You are confident when no one is watching, but hide quickly behind mommy’s knees when noticed.
You have the biggest, brightest blue eyes that often garner comments from complete strangers. On many occasions, we have been out and I hear someone whisper to someone, “Did you see that little girl with the blue eyes and curls?” The ultimate compliment is one a stranger doesn’t know you can hear.
You love the beach and the pool, your dog. Your most favorite thing to play, in the whole wide world, is office. You will jam file folders and “found” (stolen) paperwork into every bag you own (or have stolen). Tonight, I heard you ask no one in particular, “Did you have a good day at work?” You will come over and ask me to sign pieces of your paperwork. I just hope you aren’t already signing yourself up for credit cards.
You love your brother. Your relationship has truly exploded over the last six months and I hope it is always this way. He loves you, Clara Kayyouarezee. We all do.
...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.