There's No "I" in Micromanage

Okay, so there's one, which is the same number of seconds it took Ben to begin helicoptering over Roman's first-ever homework assignment.

The task: write his name with only the first letter capitalized (challenging!), then learn to write - first by tracing, then by freehand - what I thought was a series of capital "I"s. Half way through, Roman started adding top and bottom horizontal lines (are you with me? It was complicated stuff), which is when we learned two things:

1. What he was tracing was a series of lowercase "L"s.
2. There's both an "I" and "L" in remedial, which is the kind of handwriting lesson I plan to start myself on immediately.

Trophies

Look who earned a trophy! Officially in the role of "Most Improved," but unofficially for "Best Poolside Entertainment," Roman brought this home from last night's swim team award ceremony.

His improvements, a tremendous testimony to the coaching at Genesis Swim, include cutting his 25 meter freestyle time in half and backstroking in a somewhat straight line versus a circle.

And, thanks to his brother and dear friend Daniel, he also learned to impress his teammates with armpit fart noises.

Ah, my little trophy boys.

Regardless, we're so proud of them for their swim season; and as you can see, Roman hasn't let the trophy leave his side in the past 20 hours.

In other recent accomplishments, Ben finished baseball...

...and went from belly flop to dive.

Then he yanked out his first top tooth, but thankfully the Tooth Fairy is holding on to that particular trophy.

Summer Uniforms

This outfit actually makes sense if you've ever been to Wichita in the summertime:

 

And it's a good thing, because the swim trunk/rain boot combo has become Roman's default daywear.

Yep, we're dorks for summer and, by the looks of our hot weather uniforms, pretty dorky in summer as well.

Our other summer looks include the boys' hilarious swimteam jammers, built for speed in the pool, even if my kids are not. Also, pretty funny since they're baggy on the boys' twig legs: 

(Yes, speed is a work in progress. Sweet Roman, excited as he is, backstrokes in an incredibly slow - but perfect! - circle.)

Most nights, we have their charming T-ball and baseball uniforms, which appear to only come in XXL.

And Roman randomly dons goggles for no reason whatsoever, like Kenny Fisher in Can't Hardly Wait.

As for me, I'm usually blurring the lines between swimsuit cover-up and day wear (hey, add a necklace and it's evening wear!), or modeling what I'll call "T-ball chic." But most days, you'll find me in some version of this uniform, built for protection against further sun damage. Not great, though, for keeping an eye on the swimming kids.

Zebras & Dinos & Guinea Pigs...Oh My

I'm pretty sure that every good closet clean-out should include the following:

• Honest friends
• This question: "Did you used to be an elderly Hispanic woman?"
• This statement: "Yes, absolutely keep this for your next Partridge Family bus tour." 
• This game of hide-and-seek, in which I try on my dear friend's zebra pants (very chic for her clubbing days a dozen years ago) and camouflage myself on her husband's African rug/carcass:

And so begins our summer of ridiculousness and roaring laughter. And (some) extinct animals.

Just this week, we met the dinos at Exploration Place, which I highly recommend...

...had children transformed into ferocious puppies...

...and took on foster care of Flip Flop, Roman's pre-school Guinea Pig, who is (surprisingly) a total pleasure and will be with us for a chunk of the summer.

 

What's crazy is that Flip Flop is is doing the fostering...the boys have a mutual love for this over-sized furry potato, which has translated into sudden brotherly affection. It's also sparked a flurry of questions from Roman, including:

• "Can we cut his hair?" (No)
• "Is that poop on the floor?" (Yes)
• "Will you clip his nails?" (Maybe)
• "Does Flip Flop's penis mean he doesn't have a buh-china?" (That's vagina, and yes, we suspect he has the former.)

Click click

"Um...I don't think this thing takes pictures," Ben said. Well, right, honey...it's a calculator. 

 

See, in Mrs. Smith's 1st grade class, a week of (mostly) good behavior earns a trip to the class store; this week, Ben picked out and proudly brought home what he calls a key pad.

And, while he's now a little disappointed in its capabilities, someday he'll discover what 58,008 reads when you turn it upside down. And that silly calculator will be worth its weight in...well, BOOBS.

(Un)Happy Meals

We're home and Roman's back to his happy shenanigans after his weekend in the hospital. (Here, he makes quiet time a little less quiet.)

And while we never quite learned what caused Roman's...ahem...bowels to block, we did collect a few lessons during his stay:

1. "Poop" has endless synonyms and I'm tired of them all.
It was a TMI sort of weekend; Roman's intestines were the top topic, but I was privy to the digestive habits of every nurse, doctor, passer-by and all of their kids. If there's a euphemism for poop, both the noun and the verb, I've now heard it, and probably used it.

2. Spinning a kid in a wheelchair is short-term fun, followed by long-term barfing.

(I'll bet he really appreciated my 'round the clock picture taking. I was bored too, man!)

3. Hospitals should offer wine. Like I need an explanation. What, I'm supposed to watch MadMen empty handed?

4. We moms need to pack our own over-night wear. Yesterday, I asked Anthony to grab me something to wear to bed, just in case Roman and I ended up spending another night. Thank goodness for an early dismissal; otherwise I'd be impressing the residents in this turtle costume, a (sheer!) green cami and brown velour pants. My nightwear won't win any beauty contests, but I assure you, Anthony's never seen me in this combo.

5. Kids should either eat McDonald's every day or never-ever. 
My boys have it maybe once every six months. That's rarely enough, I've decided, that their bodies aren't used to it. It's Scognamillo poison. And in Roman's case, it's colonic concrete. I'm not blaming Roman's troubles entirely on his Friday in-a-pinch dinner, but I'm sure it didn't aid in his digestion. Look at this face...did I think it would end well?

For the record, I'll go with never-ever. That was one expensive, painful effing happy meal.

Seven

We suspected he'd be smart, we knew he'd be silly, but we really never considered that someday (today!) Ben would be seven.
 

But he woke up this morning and asked, "Do I look seven?"

Clearly I'm the wrong one to ask, for two reasons. First, Ben will always look like a baby to me. But also, I remember seven. I was naughty. I gossiped. I had crushes on the boys. (Hello, Jeff Knepp and Michael Jimenez. Damn, you were cute.)

But perhaps not all sevens look alike. At least, I'm hopeful. Case in point:

Yesterday, Ben was doing some sort of strut (a separate issue) to my car after school. As he runway-walked, his classmate Eugenie shouted, "Ben, you're sexy!"

He stopped cold. I gasped.

She said it again: "Ben, you're SEXY!" 

Then he said: "No Eugenie, I'm seven!"

Phew. I have more time.