L came home yesterday with a special buddy. He decided he wanted to do a little sewing (again, I question if we are biologically connected as needle/thread aren’t part of my skill set or my vocabulary).
Directions for making “Pocket Penguin” (as told to me by L):
“First, you take a piece of black felt and you fold it in half
And cut out a shape that looks like an egg and
stitch around the sides but leave a little hole at the bottom
For stuffing him only you may not find real stuffing, so you can use
whatever is lying around that’s pretty soft and then
sew him shut and cut out the rest of the pieces and sew them on
And make sure you make his flippers big enough
Because otherwise they’ll come off, and you’ll spend a lot of time
Trying to find them, like I did, and then you’ll give up,
And need to start over, but that’s okay, because sometimes
It’s best to just start over, but keep going, don’t give up,
and sew on some buttons for eyes and then put him
In your pocket and he’s a forever buddy.”
I’ve been filling out the insanely detailed liability/permission forms for L’s summer camps.
(Seriously, folks, this isn’t a college application. He’s in SECOND GRADE. It’s SUMMER CAMP.)
There are questions about likes, dislikes, personality traits, is he an all-in kid, toe-first… I’m to answer these questions, then he’s to answer these questions, then I guess we should seek an impartial party to answer the questions, as well.
We’re nearing the finish line and there’s a section where the camp asks him to “draw or write about some of his favorite activities, hobbies, friends.” I keep checking to make sure this isn’t a dating site (“sunsets, long walks, coffee in bed”).
I sit him down and say, “okay, let’s get her done. Will you draw an activity that you like?”
Mister Sly comes up with this: (It’s L drawing L drawing… Heh heh heh.)
Walking L to school. He’s holding my hand (swoon) and recounting every detail of his week, from his new “secret move” at tennis to how he can pound the ball in Four Square like a high five…
L: “Mom, I really like walking to school with you. It’s great, just catchin’ up.”
Or, riding in the car with me.
After reading several reports on the state of education and feeling dismayed, I thought, I’ll go straight to the source: L.
(Okay, so I don’t think L really wants to talk about education at the end of a long school day. Then again, he’s buckled into the back seat. He’s all mine.)
M: How was school?
L: “It was good. Overall, a good day.”
M: Did anything stand out for you?
L: “I got to read with my kindergarten reading buddy. That was awesome.”
(I have a specific question in mind. I’m gonna cut to the chase.)
M: How do you know you’re doing well in school?
L: “Because I know the answers.”
M: (ACK) If you have to choose between knowing the answer, or how you got the answer, which one?
L: How. Definitely how. Because then I can figure out other stuff.
The state (of education) rests.
Preface: I’m biased. I think L is the bees’ knees. That his eyes are dreamy pools of love. That his lips look like a rose. That his nose is perfection. That he should SHOW THAT LOVELY MUG AND NOT HIDE INSIDE A HOODIE all day long.
Picked him up yesterday from school. It’s boiling hot, stifling, uncomfortable. Like me, L does not do heat well. In fact, we’re straight up heat averse. We fall apart when the mercury goes above 80 (70 for me, but who’s counting?).
L is wearing his hoodie. With hood up (must be down during the school day). He’s fussy and says, “I’m stressed.” I look at his heated cheeks and say, “if you take off your jacket, I’m pretty sure you’ll be much less stressed.”
L: “Mom, my hoodie is part of my identity. It’s who I am.”
M: (Here we go again.)