Security Measures

It takes David a long time to warm up to new people.

It takes David an even longer time to accept new kids.

And even after David has decided that maybe, just maybe he can tolerate having a new friend around, the fact that David may lock the door to the house as his friend is walking up the sidewalk, or that he isn't too excited about sharing anything—even space in the same room—or that may refuse to speak or make eye contact could be misconstrued to mean that David would really rather just play by himself.

We had company last weekend—cousins who unfortunately we only get to see about once a year.  They have a son just a little bit older than David.  He was not staying with us, but we spent a great deal of time together over the course of four days.  It took a while, but finally David started to acknowledge his presence.  They played some rudimentary football.  They played a chasing game.  David even allowed him a few minutes playing one of his beloved PlayStation games while jumping on David's trampoline.  Let me tell you that this is a big step.

And then, the visit was over and they went home—just when David was beginning to make progress.  I need to have David's "friends" over more often, but it is somewhat difficult to issue the invitation and then explain to the other Mom that it will probably take around six play dates before David will pay any attention to her child.

Plus there is an added issue.  That cord, which disappears into the storage ottoman, is attached to the PlayStation controller which, since our new friend's visit, gets securely stowed away each time David leaves the house.

David seems to have realized that he let his guard down and has instituted some additional security measures.

Gaga for Goggles

On Tuesday, we went to the “pool with a beach” and before you quickly scroll down, looking for the pictures of sandy white beaches, puffy clouds and gleaming sun—hold on.

We use the term “beach” pretty liberally.  In our part of the country, beaches are non-existent, but the health club that we belong to has both an indoor and an outdoor pool.  David uses the term “pool with a beach” to make the distinction, the outdoor pool.

David loves swimming, but is not so enamored with getting the chlorinated water in his eyes.  Consequently, although his swimming is progressing, his strokes are hampered by the fact that he frequently stops to rub his eyes.

To this point, all attempts to get David to wear goggles have been unsuccessful.  Until Tuesday.

On Tuesday, for whatever reason, David let me slip a pair of goggles over his eyes.  He dunked his head into the water, but ripped the goggles back over his head before he had even realized.  He then immediately asked me to put them back on.

I could tell by the smile on his face that he finally understood.  And when his eyes met mine, I could tell by his expression that he was acknowledging that I had been right.

Periodically with David, I know we make a connection that goes beyond words, because for worse or sometimes for better, David does not always rely on words the same way the rest of us do.  And Tuesday was one of those moments.  We were in sync, without uttering a single word.  He knew it.  And I knew it.

David spent the rest of the swim, face down in the water, eyes open, paddling away.

I am sorry to tell you that I do not have a picture from that day of David with hair dripping, SpongeBob swimsuit and bright blue goggles framing his even brighter blue eyes.

I could make the excuse that David is somewhat camera shy (true enough), or that he realizes that goggles can make people look goofy (maybe), but the real reason is that David had already raced off with my phone to take his own pictures of his favorite feature at the beach.

You see, much to David’s delight, our “beach” comes equipped with an elevator.

Fashion by SpongeBob

Yesterday, I took David to Target.

For those of you who may not have a child who feels compelled to open every single door in the frozen food aisle, or who must wait in the airlock between the two sets of automatic doors until both are closed for at least five seconds before proceeding into the store, or who may very occasionally attempt to shoplift a garden cart, you probably do not understand the weight that simple sentence carries.

I took David to Target and I lived to tell the tale.

During the break between summer school and the start of first grade, we have been trying to take David places out of his comfort zone and Target certainly fits into that category.  Plus, I had quite a bit of shopping to do—a two column list which, in my compulsive list making code means both non-food and food items.  This time I had classified my list—things I absolutely had to buy now and things that could wait if David needed to leave before we were finished.

David usually tries to sprint through the store at warp speed, while I run along behind, red-faced and out of breath, grabbing things off the shelves and flinging them into the cart.  So, I decided to buy him some popcorn to slow him down a tad—oh, and a mocha for me to speed me up.

But, this time David decided he was going to push the cart and I was not allowed to have my hands anywhere near it.  And he made the announcement early. "I pushing cart SLOOOWLY."

I am happy to report that we made it through the entire list, even though it may have been at a snail's pace.  David did see through my subterfuge, however, when I coaxed him into the school supply aisle under the guise of looking at some notebooks for Andrew.  He got a little nervous when he saw me pick up a SpongeBob backpack that closely resembles last year's SpongeBob backpack.

The old

The new.  SpongeBob is older, wiser and apparently in need of bifocals.

David does not want a new backpack, even though his old one is dirty from a year of being thrown on the floor of the school bus.  And when I paused to pick up a matching SpongeBob lunch bag, David decided he'd had enough and announced loudly, "I backing it up!"  He proceeded to back the cart out of the aisle while imitating the noise a truck makes in reverse, "BEEP...BEEP...BEEP."

I threw the new backpack and lunch bag into the cart, insisting that Andrew probably wants them for seventh grade.

They have been sitting in the corner of my family room ever since and, in a daring moment of commitment, I have removed the tags.  In two weeks, someone will be sporting new SpongeBob gear.

Do you think that backpack might be big enough to hold my laptap?

The Making of an Olympian

We have Olympics fever at our house.  Well, not really.  While I have enjoyed watching some of the events, I actually am more entertained by watching David as he watches the events.

I assumed that David would enjoy the swimming coverage, but I have been surprised by some of the other sports that have taken his fancy like water polo, for instance.  I guess I should not be too surprised because there is a fair amount of swimming, combined with a countdown clock—one of David's absolutely favorite things.

The sport that David has found the most fascinating, however, is a sport that I didn't even know existed, synchronized diving.

And, joining countless children around the world who are watching the coverage, apparently David is dreaming of someday making his own Olympic ambitions come true.

I'll admit it is somewhat hard on the furniture, but I still give this dive a 10.