He sits at the table with his arms crossed, "Why did you have to sign me up with a teacher, Mama?"
I try to explain that he is almost 4 now; the Mommy and Me lessons only go to the age of 3.
He throws his napkin on the floor in response and picks up a blueberry, aiming it at me. I pull the snack plate away, "Okay, all done!" I tell him. I know this routine.
This child, this almost-four-year-old of mine, is a spittin' image of his Mama in so many ways: the tight blonde ringlets, the blue eyes, the desire for things to be put away and clean. Oh, and the manifestation of all emotions into anger.
That one, especially.
You'd think it would be easy, but the truth is I'm still figuring him out. I'm still learning to hold my tongue and dig to the root of the problem, the real emotion, when his anger comes out.
We move into the bedroom, looking for swimming trunks when he bursts into tears and wraps his arms as tight as he can around my neck.
"What if I can't see you?"
"What if Keaton's not there?"
"I'll be in the bleachers," I assure him. "You can look up and see me; and Keaton will be by your side."
We get everything packed and head to the door under the agreement that he doesn't have to do the lesson if he doesn't want to, but Keaton does so we have to at least go watch him.
About a block from the YMCA I hear from the backseat, "Are you going to swimming lessons, Hutt?"
"Ellie, Keaton, Hutton."
The instructor calls her pupils to the pool and without a hint of hesitation he takes off his shoes and socks and joins his brother on the edge.
He looks back at Nolan and me a couple of times throughout the lesson, but only to smile.
Forty-five minutes later he bounds out of the shallow area after the end-of-session-free-time and wraps himself into the towel I'm holding out for him, "That was so fun, Mom!"
Collin is having oral surgery this morning at 9 am - any good thoughts and prayers you can spare for an easy surgery and a speedy recovery would be much appreciated. Thanks, friends!