Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Lesson 222: 2 + 2 + 2 = SIX!

Happy Birthday, Sam!
He is 6 today!

My boy is six years old today and we have a day off of school.  He could not be happier.  Sam is downstairs playing with the wrestlers he wanted so desperately, so I have a few minutes to blog about my third born, my surprise child, my loudest laughter, and my snarl of frustration.  My Sam.

Bless this woman.  This is Mrs. P, his Kindergarten teacher at Clark School.  Although he is enjoying his day off today, Sam really does love school.  It's been the single best thing for him, being in a structured setting with constant challenge and learning.  School is a good thing.

Sam can read like nobody's business and is learning lots.  My boy has taught me a thing or two as well.  For starters, I learned to buy three pairs of every style of jeans that fit because within a month they have holes in the knees.  Then I learned just to purchase two because he grows so fast.

Sam is a big boy.  Weighing in at 73 pounds, he's a hefty Kindergartner.  He stands a full head taller than most of his peers.  

He loves sports.  Football and wrestling are the most appealing to him at the moment.  And for some idiotic reason, I decided to buy him these.  Momentary mental lapse.  

Recently when we were getting his hair cut at the Barber Shop in Lawrence Park (he won't have a thing to do with Beauty Shops--says they smell like girls), the barber commented on his size.  "You are a big boy, Sam," said Tom.  "What's your best sport?"  I sat nearby, leafing through a boring Fish & Game magazine, waiting to hear "wrestling" come out of my son's mouth.  Sam, in keeping with his annoying habit of making one guess everything, replied to the barber, "Guess."

Tom listed a million sports from football to Nascar, even mentioning wrestling directly to which Sam shook his head.  I put down the intriguing article on Crappy Crappie, and waited, myself puzzled as well.  When Tom hit pairs figure skating, Sam realized he was skating on thin ice as to the barber's thoughts of him.  Sam gave in and whispered "boxing!" to Tom, holding his hand to one side of his mouth to block the knowledge from reaching me.  Too bad Sam held his hand to the wrong side of his mouth.

I don't think this will end soon---this innate calling that attracts Sam to things that are loud, fast, rough, dangerous, gross, and well--kind of ugly (look at that mask!).  All things that can give a Momma a nightmare.   My boy is a tiger by nature and that is hard to tame, but I'm trying.  At the end of some long days I feel more like a circus trainer than a mother.

But after every long day of furniture jumping, joke telling, and learning to say "Excuse me," comes a new morning.  Like today.  Sam was greeted with a pile of gifts to recognize the day of his birth.

The first person he ran to after checking out his brightly wrapped loot was Ellen, his Other Mother.  He kissed her forehead and asked how she was feeling.  The tiger showed his softer, gentler side.

Ellen's down AGAIN with another illness.  This time tonsillitis and a sinus infection.  She slept on the living room floor last night because she didn't want to keep Sam up all night with her coughing.  She wanted to make sure Sam was rested and ready for his big day.

I reminded Ellen how sick she was the day Sam came home from the hospital after his birth.  That very day Ellen got the chicken pox AND strep throat.  She was so sick and could not hold the little brother she had been anxiously waiting for.  That was six years ago, and when I look down from my perch here in the Lamp Post, I can still see where Sam's baby cradle sat plain as day.  Blink.  Now he's wrestling a couch pillow in the same spot.  Back to reality.

My boy is a tiger, but he got his stripes from me.  I know what makes him tick better than anyone.  No one loves him more than I do.  That is why I chose Eye of the Tiger for his birthday blog song.  None fits him better.  

Maybe someday I will relent and he'll get his chance to box in the ring.  I asked him just now what he wants to be when he grows up and he said, "a policeman."  I'd be happy with that.  We'd be the safest town in the nation.  Whatever he chooses, I will be right behind him, watching him, even if he doesn't see me.  He's born of my stripes.  He's my tiger.  

Enjoy some funny snapshots of bowling with Kindergartners, as well as some old baby photos of Sam.

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