Sooo....yeah. Hip Hop class....

Hey folks, sorry! I promised some of you this entry last week and I didn't realize it didn't post when I scheduled it to.  Oooops. 

Also? There may or may not be a video of Ethan's intro to hip-hop.  I tried to upload it to blogger several times and failed, I think, each time.  So either, I'm sorry, or please enjoy the video 4-5x in a row. 

I may have mentioned that we joined a pool and that we've been lounging poolside for massive chunks of time this summer.  Its blissful.  Ethan's a good enough swimmer that I can sit in a chair by the shallow end and play words with friends watch him frolic until I'm ready to get in and frolic to a much lesser degree (insert jaded youth's wasted on the young and all that comments here).  We go back and forth between the big pool and the hot tub and during adult swim times, Ethan sneaks into the kiddie pool for 15 minutes.  Technically he's not supposed to be in it because its for the 5 and under set, but given his size, he always managed to elude the age-assessing gaze of the lifeguard. Shhhhh, don't tell. 

Oh Vitamin D, we love you so. 

What I didn't realize about this health & pool club until we'd joined is that they offer a full range of parent and child exercise classes.  Things like Family Zumba and Kids Yoga.  And Family Hip Hop.  Oh yes.  Hip Hop.  Which is right up my kid's alley, as he fancies himself a "break dancer."  Really he's more of"throw himself to the floor and wiggle around a little bit on his hands and feet" dancer.  But I'm not going to be the one to tell him that.   I did however, tell him about the hip hop class.  And on Wednesday we took it together.   

Oh, the humanity. 

First of all, let me start by saying I didn't realize it was going to be a legit aerobic work out class. So I didn't really pack my apres-swim clothing bag appropriately. See those flip flops I'm wearing in that last picture?  Yeah, I went ahead and wore those to the class.  Because we went to the class right after 3 hours of pool frolicking and general sunny merriment.   And I also didn't bother with a sports bra.  Because I don't wear a sports bra when I go dancing.  Right?  

Sweet Jesus, what a hot mess I was.  Ethan, Mr Rhythm and "break dancer extraordinaire" fit in perfectly, even though he was wearing croc flip flops, followed along to all the moves presented by the full-on perky aerobics instructor and held his own for the 45 minute class, even managing to sing along to the words to Call Me, Maybe and the FloRida song (clearly we value high quality musical entertainment in our home).  

I was less successful, what with my feet slipping out of the Target flip flops and sadly, my inadequately controlled chestal region allowing gravity to work its horrible injustice to all women magic. What is it about breasts that make them travel at a slower rate than the rest of your body?  I'm right and they're still left.  I go left, they're still right.  The all-glass exercise room is the work of the devil, I tell you.

I also happened to be wearing a pair of linen pants (what? You don't attend exercise classes in linen pants? What's wrong with you? They're incredibly comfortable) and they happen to be about a size and a half too big because in general I loathe feeling any kind of waist band around my waist.  So not only were my feet slipping out of my wildly inappropriate footwear and my my breasts were doing a dance routine all their own, my pants were also falling down.

Not all the way to the ground, but enough that while everyone else was waving their hands up in the air like they just didn't care, I was holding on to my linen "work out" pants to keep from flashing my underwear in front of a class of 5-10 year olds.

For the love.

Not my finest hour.   Or rather, not my finest 45 minutes.

As we were leaving, I complimented Ethan on his fantastic hipping and hopping and asked him if he had a good time.  He replied, "Yeah, it was really really fun."  And after a pause, asked, "Can I do it again next week? But alone."

So there it is, folks.  The age at which I officially started embarrassing my child = 6.  I thought that wouldn't happen until he hit the 'tween years.  But apparently I am just truly that embarrassing.

Also? I've Never Won The Lottery...

So, I post about Ethan's securely fixed teeth and two days later?

LOOSE TOOTH!!!!

A bonafide, even-I-can-feel-it-wiggling-around-in-its-little-tooth-socket loose tooth.  There's got to be some kind of magic in this here blog...say it isn't so and it will become so...hence, the lottery title.  Come onnnnn, MegaMillions! Mama needs new shoes!

Yesterday while we were at the beach, Ethan took a couple bites of his turkey sandwich and then decided he was done.  He was quiet and mopey for awhile, refusing to dig in the sand, frolic in the waves or otherwise be a six year old on the beach.  Given that he is like a 14 year old girl a little moody lately, I just went about my business of slathering on the SPF and having the mandatory mom panic attack about the balance between cancer protection from the sun and cancer risk from the sunscreen (and did you know that California is discussing banning the use of flame retardant chemicals on furniture because of the cancer risks associate with said chemicals?! I had no idea I was sitting on fucking cancer chemicals every time I sat on the damn couch.  Jesus).

I digress (as usual).

My friend and I went to dip our toes in the icy Pacific and that's when Ethan decided he was ready to share his big news.  "Mommy, you know why I didn't want to eat so much of lunch? I really really definitely have a loose tooth!!" And when he opened his mouth, I didn't even need him to tell me which one it was--I could see his lower left front tooth was bleeding just a teeny little bit and that it wasn't in its normal position.  When I poked it, it moved way more easily than I thought a just barely loose tooth should, but there it was.  Wiggly tooth.

mmmm, turkey & sand sandwich.  Now with 100% more sand!

Trying to show me his loose tooth...

Just being too cute. 

Once he got past the initial THAAAAAA-RILLLLLLL of being the first kid to ever have a loose tooth (what? he's not?  Oh.  I should let him know), he decided to put on the bathing suit and jump in the waves.  With a big toothy grin. 

The vastness of the ocean and the masses of seaweed wrapping themselves around his ankles and making him scream in equal parts fascination and horror took his mind off of his tooth and its eminent departure from his mouth for a bit.  But as soon as we got home, there was much angst over what he thought he could and couldn't eat.  Apparently until this tooth falls out, he is on a strict self-imposed diet of scrambled eggs and Jamba Juice. And then there was a lot of "mommy, it huuuuuuuuurts" and wide eyed looks of panic and squeamishness. A fantastic case of "be careful what you wish for."

In the past 24 hours, I've heard such sweepingly contrasting statements as "I can't wait too loose ALL my teeth!!!!" to "I never want to lose a tooth, Mommy," and a whole lot of in betweens including questions of exactly how much this whole tooth losing business is supposed to hurt.  "Its going to BLEEEEED?!!!!" he has repeatedly asked, I am guessing reliving his ripped open chin and the deluge of blood that accompanied it.  I've assured him that its all relatively painless and bloodless, but that yes, it will be a little sore and it will bleed a little and will certainly feel super weird as it gets looser and then when it falls out and that space is empty.


But I guess all my reassurances are to no avail because this is how I found him this morning....

Lying on the couch with a paper towel jammed in his mouth.  Once I got over the panic and stopped looking for whatever intruder it was that had bound and gagged my child with a full-sized sheet of Bounty while I was in the rest room, I asked him what in the Sam Hill he was doing.  "Its in case it bleeds!" he informed me.  In case it bleeds.  The little tiny tooth that is wiggly, but not in any immediate danger of falling out of his head.  Requires an entire paper towel.  Shoved into his mouth.

Last night, Ethan needed to call my mom and dad to tell them about the loose tooth.  He was so excited to share his very excitinghappyscarythrilling news with them.  My father, in turn, was very excited to share with him the information that he's heard the tooth fairy's going rate is now $10 per tooth.  Nice.

But I guess, when I win the MegaMillions lottery, I can afford to get in good with a very generous tooth fairy.

The Tragedy of the Not Yet Even a Little Bit Loose Tooth...

My poor kid.  He was gummy-mouthed a lot longer than some of his peers. When I go back through his baby pictures (someone please find me a better hobby...) I have to get to the 11 month pictures before I even see a hint of a tooth.  

Here he is at ten months, apparently floating contentedly out in the vacuum of space (or in front of the Sears photographer's backdrop), without so much as a nubbin of a tooth sticking out yet.

Because of his late blooming chompers (probably a result of the fact that when he was 10 months, he was really only 8.5 months because he insisted on vacating his first place of residence a month and a half early), we were told that he'd likely hold on to his baby teeth longer than a lot of other kids who started teething more age-appropriately.  It never occurred to me that this would be an issue.

Until everyone else and their brother started losing teeth this year.  Ethan's friends and classmates seem to be losing teeth by the handful and my kid is standing in front of the mirror like a 14 year old girl; but instead of obsessing over his complexion, he's poking all his teeth, one at a time, trying to Vulcan mind meld one of them into wiggling.  Poor kid.  Some days he tosses out the little white lie, "Mommy! I feel a wiggly tooth!!!" and he'll jam half his hand into his mouth to point at a back molar that is no way, no how about to come out, "Itttthhh thithttthhh one," he'll say, trying to show me exactly which one, but most of his fingers are blocking my view.  "That's great, honey! Maybe soon!" I say to him. But nope.  Not soon.  The molar isn't remotely loose, and neither are any of his other teeth.  Poor kid.

"When will I lose a toooooooth?" he whines when he gets in the car after a long day of counting the gaps in the mouths of his peers.  He doesn't seem at all consoled by any of my explanations or reassurances that indeed, one day his baby teeth will fall out of his head and we'll stuff them into the "tooth pouch" he made in kindergarten (hello, insult to injury; how many of his classmates have used that pouch while Ethan's just sits in his underwear drawer collecting dust instead of cold hard cash in exchange for his baby teeth?), and the tooth fairy will bring him whatever the going rate is for little kid tusks these days (parents of any kid lucky enough to have their teeth falling out, what is the going rate? I need to let the tooth fairy know....for someday).

He's got a dentist appointment in July and he has already informed me that he's going to ask the dentist about this whole tooth thing.  Apparently one his friends had to have a couple of baby teeth pulled to make room for the grown up teeth that were already coming in, so now Ethan is primed to inquire about having his own baby teeth pulled by the dentist in order to make room for the grown up teeth that he's certain are just dying to pop out any day now.  "Okay, honey, you can ask her," is really all I can say.  And then I leave the room and laugh for a minute or two.

I get what a big deal it is; I totally remember standing on the porch of our summer cottage and fidgeting with a loose tooth so much that it popped right out of my mouth and down through the slats of the porch's floor boards, never to be seen again.  I don't know if it was my first tooth (and its the only one I remember losing), but I know I was devastated by the idea that the tooth fairy wouldn't know I'd lost a tooth and I wouldn't get credit for it (because once you first feel it wiggle, you work that sucker for days to get it to pop out) and I didn't even get a chance to look at it before it was gone.  I remember exactly how it was equally fascinating and utterly gag-inducing to feel the tooth twisting in its socket when it was really lose. ::shudder::  Ethan is going to LOVE that.  Someday.

But for now, we wait.  And that's okay.  Anyway, they're pretty cute little baby teeth.

Summertime!

Holy cats, people, it is hot here. Of course, its California, its supposed to be hot.  But June here is generally pretty mild, not tipping the mercury at 105.  And yet.

Fortunately I've devised a way to keep us cool all summer long.  We joined a pool.  

Someone's pretty happy about that....

I'm not quite as thrilled.  When you're hefting an extra grumble-mumble pounds around, the idea of sitting in a bathing suit, poolside, all summer long, is not all that appealing.  BUT, the idea of drowning in a puddle of my own sweat this summer was, if you can imagine, even less appealing.  Fortunately, I've seen the pool patrons enough to know that I fall somewhere in the mid-range of body types, and sadly, as long as there's someone there who's heavier than me at all times, I'm fine (um, hi, neurotic body image issues!)  So while Ethan was at swim lessons on Wednesday, I popped into the club and handed them my credit card and said, "Make it so."  "Do you want to tour the facility? See the kid's club?  Check out the gym equipment?"  "No.  Pool.  Here's my credit card. Do it."

And then we belonged to a pool.  Take that, searingly hot scalding sun! Beat down all you want, this lady's going to be neck deep in the chlorinated oasis. Slathered with SPF 100 and with a big floppy hat on.  Ahhhh, being middle aged.  What fun.

After swim lessons on Wednesday, Ethan insisted on going straight from the indoor swim lesson pool to the outdoor pool (just to keep this straight--we're paying to use two different pools this year. at the same club. they're freaking geniuses), so I sat on the edge and enjoyed the sheer bliss coming off of him in waves

He is seriously so happy to belong to a pool that if we're not there, or packing up our bags to get there, he is asking me "are we going to the pool?" "When are we going to the pool?" "Can we go to the poooooooool?"

So we've spent a lot of time at the pool.  We've been staying until about dinner time, and I try to coax him out of the club during the 5:45 pm adult swim (last 15 minutes of every hour is kid-free in the pool and hottub).  Each time, he whines and complains about how we neeeeeeeed to stay longer (even though the pool is entirely in shade by that time, his lips are blue, and he is all but engaged in a full-body convulsion he's so cold.  I have found that the simplest "if you can't pull it together, we're not coming back tomorrow," has done the trick thus far.  Honestly, nothing has ever stopped the whining so instantaneously before, ever.  I love you, pool.

When I'm not at the pool, sitting next to obese old ladies who are reading "Fifty Shades of Grey," (ummm....awwwkwwaard.  I'm down with sexuality and empowerment and all that, but does anyone want to be sitting in public next to a stranger who is clearly and unabashedly reading lady porn?!), I'm probably in the back yard, setting up the Spiderman slip 'n slide for a play date....

Hi, dead lawn.  My, you're prickly. Please don't pop the slip n' slide. 

It was more of a run n' squeal than a slip 'n slide, I guess....

In the end, they decided just to fill their buckets with water from the little waterfalls and dump the buckets over their heads....okay.  

Or walking to the ice cream shop....

mmmmm---mint chocolate chip!

or playing in the sticky wild oat pods--if you pull of a bunch of those pods and throw them at each other, they stick to your clothes.  (also, note the attractive high tension electrical tower in the background.  I expect our third eyes and random excess limbs to start sprouting any day now....)

Today Ethan is at an afternoon camp and when I pick him up, we'll head straight back to the pool, where I'm hoping Fifty Shades of Grey Grandma picks a seat far, far away from me.

Its All Sunrise-y-Sunset-y Up In Here....

Well, its here; summer vacation.  And not just any summer vacation--the summer vacation between Kindergarten and 1st grade.  That means that we had to get all weepy and wistful on the last day of school earlier this week.  Its that last major transition between "not-really-school" school and "REALLY school" school.  This kid?

Is so totally a FIRST grader now.

Mind. Blown.

It was a fantastic day, complete with such a flurry of activity at the "flying up" to 1st grade ceremony that the best pictures I managed to get were merely blurred blobs of frenetic 5-6  year olds rushing here and there on their way out of the kindergarten classroom.  At first I was a bit disappointed by that, but then I realized it was sort of symbolic of their enthusiasm and energy and then I probably got a little weepy over their absolute love of life and their carefree existences, and realizing that from here on in there's homework and tests and only taking vacations during actual school vacations and before I knew it we were driving Ethan to college and coming home to an empty house and zOMG, where did all the time gooooooo?!!!!

So the teachers had made each kid an adorable set of "wings."  Now I know why the teacher requested that each parent send their child into class last week with one wire hanger.  Sadly, I could not comply because I, and from what I found in all the stores I tried to locate them, the rest of the world, took Joan Crawford in "Mommie Dearest" to heart when she beat her child whilst & screaming "NO WIRE  HANGERSSSSS!!" (also? the sight of anyone in cold cream makes me break out into an anxious sweat--that movie messed me up).

What was I saying?  oh yeah.  Wings.  Fortunately, the teacher had plenty of extra wire hangers (has she not seen the movie???!!), so Ethan was able to get his very own wings, which he decorated with pink and yellow puffy glitter paint.  Oh, kindergarten, I'll miss you.

The teacher read them a book about the last day of kindergarten, the kids sang a song about kindergarten to the tune of the Addams Family which ended with them chanting "ba-da-ba-dum FIRST GRADE! ba-da-ba-dum FIRST GRADE!" while snapping their fingers.  I came >this< close to dying of The Cute.  Then the kids jumped up, grabbed their pail and shovel full of summer goodies and "flew" out the door to the first grade classroom.

And thus ended the adventure of kindergarten.  Le Sigh.

Kindergarten  has been ever so dreamy....

NO WIRE HANGERS!!!! Unless you're going to make super cute little wings out of them...

Fly away little Kindergarteners!!! Fly away!!!

blur

Then we partied for the next three hours.  I love that we managed to turn the school yard into someone's backyard with slip n' slides and old school kiddie pools. 

and cupcakes. Pirate cupcakes.

foosball?!!! 

The academic pirate swashbuckling a....pencil?  Okay. 

Too cool for school.  

The next day we went out and joined the pool, so be prepared for every photo for the rest of the summer to be of some sort of watery tomfoolery.  HAPPY SUMMER!!!!