CFBP Day Camp

Second only to the excitement I felt when I heard that Clyde First Baptist Preschool had places for Jones and Freddie this fall is the ELATION that overcame me when the Preschool Director told me that they also host a "day camp" all summer for kids enrolled in school.

If I'd known that, I may have ... nevermind.

Jeremy and I have decided to send the boys a couple of weeks this summer to help them get used to CFBP, so that the learning curve isn't quite so steep come September 1 - when they'll go for one day before leaving to spend the next five at Disney World.

This past week was the first of our "trial runs."

This makes me so jealous that they
weren't in school for Mother's Day.

Unless the teachers are lying to me, both boys did GREAT. Jones had one tiny moment when he got sort of stubborn after I first left on the first day (the whole "Freddie's-not-in-your-class" thing hit as hard as I expected it would). Besides that, both boys settled in VERY well, and they absolutely LOVED going, which completely affirmed our decision to put them into preschool this fall.

They loved coming home, bearing gifts of their own creation (including a popsicle picture that said, "Dad, you're the coolest" for Father's Day). They loved eating "lunch" at school. They loved the new water bottles I bought them for the occasion. They absolutely loved the whole experience.

I, of course, loved the time off. I didn't accomplish NEARLY as much as I'd planned or hoped, but still. Peace and quiet from the moment Jeremy left to drop the boys off (a task he ADORABLY relished; seriously, he wouldn't HEAR of having me drop the boys off. That was HIS job) was well worth the cost of their admission.

My favorite story from the whole week is this: Freddie didn't know his teacher's name (Jones had Mrs. Dorris). He called her "Choc-what Girl," because of her long, brown hair. "Freddie, what's your teacher's name?" "Choc-what Girl."

Or Mrs. Candace. Whichever, Son.

The Post I Do-but-I-Don't Want to Write

Back when I wrote for a newspaper in Atlanta, a book came out. This book was of particular interest to those of us in the Atlanta area, because it featured the "Girlhood Writings of Margaret Mitchell." Before Scarlett it was called, and in preparation for my Gwinnett Daily Post article about the book, I both visited the Margaret Mitchell House in Midtown and read the fascinating trove I was sent by the publisher, all of it like treasures left behind by an Atlanta native whose seminal novel (Gone with the Wind) is, for better or worse, synonymous with both the city and the South.

My thoughts on the experience of reading Gone with the Wind could fill a million blogs; because this isn't a blog about the books I've read, I'll express my opinion more succinctly: Scarlet O'Hara was a despicable, opportunistic narcissist, whose sins in the book are FAR more egregious than even those that made it into the movie. Why in this WORLD the South decided to adopt her as its quintessential heroine is beyond me, for there is NOTHING - read my lips - NOTHING heroic about her. The South, instead, would do well to read more of Flannery O'Connor and Eudora Welty if it's in such desperate need of finding a female to carry the Confederate cloak with all of the grace and charm Dixie darlings are known for.

But I digress.

As usual.

Anyway, for as much as I HATED Gone with the Wind - oh, and Margaret Mitchell could EASILY have cut about 500 pages from her epic tome had her editor been worth a darn (Gone with the Wind, like the musical Rent, always elicits a more passionate response from me than I intend it to) - I LOVED "Before Scarlett." I was COMPLETELY astounded by Mitchell's literary propensity, which was evident at such a very early age. It was clear to anyone who read her sweet little stories or the scripts she penned for those in her Piedmont Park neighborhood plays that she was something special.

I remember that feeling very vividly.

"Wow. Maybe she IS born with it."

I think about that feeling a lot when I see Jones. I'm not saying he's going to grow up and write a book that I'll hate about a pathologically despicable woman (he'd BETTER not), but I DO feel like, maybe, he's got some sort of innate theatrical talent.

I know; I know. Bias and all that. But I've taught a lot of kids a lot of theatre, and I can't really remember seeing one that could come up with the sort of stuff that Jones does. Who knows? In fact, I hesitate to even write this, because I don't want it to come across as bragging or as pigeon-holing him into something that he may not want anything to do with.

But I often wonder what sort of Dionysian gene he may have floating around in that lanky little frame of his.

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe he's just a weirdo. Maybe he's just more animated than most in demonstrating that bent towards mimesis that Aristotle rightly claims is among the first impulses of all children.

Or maybe they'll someday be a documentary made subtitled "The Childhood Performances of Jones Pressley."

I've thought about this for a LONG time - like since he started coming up with dialogue between his action figures when he was two and could barely string together three distinguishable words. Or every time he watches his shadow as he performs certain movements. But yesterday, I was sitting in my office - on one of my "blog binges" - and heard him reciting entire scenes from "Toy Story," playing every part with perfect timing and inflection.

Like I said, maybe he does or maybe he doesn't, and maybe he will or maybe he won't ever do anything with whatever talent he may or may not have, but in case he does do the big things I think he may be capable of, his Theatre Historian mama promises to be prepared for the documentarian.

There's a Hole in the Bucket.

No, seriously.

There's a hole in the $8 plastic bucket Jeremy, on one of my whims, brought home from Wal-Mart last Spring. It's our first time to try it out this year, and I barely had it filled up before I noticed the water was flowing out through a two-and-a-half inch gash on the bucket's blue bottom.

That didn't stop Jones and Freddie from getting a little more of the "good" out of it before they said "goodbye." When they did, they had just as much fun as they'd had with it last summer - sliding and splashing and laughing at each other.

Water-play days are among my favorites. The boys get grotesque and dirty, but I think they're never more themselves than when they're covered in the mud of their native North Carolina.

I told them about the hole in the bucket, but it didn't bother them a bit. I told them I'd buy a new bucket - a BIGGER bucket - while they're at Day Camp tomorrow.

And that's what I "wholly" intend to do.

Lake Chatuge 2017: Trip Two

We went to the lake this weekend.

Again.

It's very, very hard for me to EVER find a reason to say NO when Jeremy asks if I want to go - not even when I CAN'T FIND MY CAMERA.

You read that right:

I CAN'T FIND MY CAMERA.

It's actually okay, though, because I'm always aware that I take WAY too many pictures - and I'd lately been thinking how I didn't even need to take pictures at the lake this weekend, because why do I need ANOTHER shot of Freddie driving the boat and all that?

So I guess you could say that I didn't take any pictures, because I'd DECIDED not to take any pictures, but the fact of the matter is that I COULDN'T take pictures - at least not hi-resolution ones.

What I have instead are iPhone snaps that I decided to string together in one obscenely long InstaStory (I've mentioned how much I love those, right?).



There are a couple of things I want to be sure to remember from the trip.

Most notably, of course, is probably the fact that the boys learned how to pee outside. If you'd have asked me earlier even in that very day, I'd have told you that, while I was surprised Freddie hadn't done it already (five nites into potty training), there was NO WAY my uptight, almost-always-anxious four year old would EVER relax enough to drop trou and relieve himself under cover of moonlight and underbrush.

But that's exactly what happened. Here's how:

Jeremy brought it up. As we were making s'mores, he said to Freddie, "Don't stand so close to the fire that you could pee on it." That prompted Jones to respond, "Daddy, we DO peepee on fire to make it go out. We just spray it, because we have water."

Oh, do ya' now? By the way, Son: WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN WATCHING?!

Anyway, a few minutes later, Freddie said he had to go potty. JOKINGLY, I said, "Well, just go over there in those woods." And, y'all. HE DID. To my surprise, HE was having trouble relaxing enough to relieve himself, so JONES WENT OVER TO SHOW HIM HOW. I'll say that again, in case you're as surprised as I was: JONES WENT OVER TO SHOW HIM HOW.

"See? It's easy!" he said, as he stood, bare-butted, beside his baby brother. "Just squeeze it out."

So Freddie did. Once they both pulled their shorts back up, they sat back down and resumed their s'mores'ing. Freddie said he had to pee again - and so he did, and then he looked at me very excitedly and asked through a giant smile, "Can I go stinky???"

No, Son. We're gonna go ahead and sequester THAT little bodily function to the confines of a fully operational INDOOR facility, but it's good to see you're getting the drift of things.

The next day, we went to our lake church. Jones and Freddie were moved from the nursery to children's church, and when we picked them up, the teacher told us that they'd had a lesson on the Widow's Mite. When the teacher asked the boys if they gave, Jones said, "To the BANK!"

Oh, Lawdy. Looks like we have work to do ... not the least of which is FINDING MY CAMERA.

Insta-Stupendous

I love InstaStories.

No, really.

I LOVE them.

Here's one from today.

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.

The title of this post is somewhat melodramatic. I take that back: it's VERY melodramatic, but it does pretty accurately capture the yin and yang of living with a pair of preschoolers - more specifically, a very handsome and precious preschooler named Thomas Frederick Pressley.

In "Best of Times" news, Freddie has (finally) potty trained this week! I've known I needed to do it - for one thing, the child is nearly 3.5 years old. For another thing, he can't start preschool until he ditches the diapers.

But, with as much as we're on the road, diapers are just so CONVENIENT. I love that he can do his business, and I don't really have anything to do with it - until the time comes to do away with it.

But all good things must come to an end, right?

To be honest, what finally made me do what needed to be done was the fact that I've got a great opportunity to speak at a theatre in Charlotte on the 20th (thank You, Lord, for opening this door for me!), and because I want the relationship with the Blumenthal Performing Arts Center to continue (and grow), I really need to do a home-run kind of presentation, and there's no way I can prep for a home-run kind of presentation when constantly interrupted by pleas to press play (again) on "Day of the Diesels" or by one brother banging the other brother's head against the wall.

The answer was obvious: Clyde First Baptist, the boys' preschool, offers a super affordable summer day camp for kids who are enrolled for the fall. The catch? Potty-training is a pre-requisite.

So at some point late last week, I made the decision that, because I need a kid-free week to prep for the next week, Monday would be the day - the beginning of the end of our family's almost five year long reliance on diapers.

When it comes to potty training, I am a "cold turkey" kind of person. This works primarily because I've waited so late to train my boys that they are basically capable of teaching themselves. I wouldn't have it any other way. Those with toilet-using two year olds may have gotten there first, but I guarantee you I got there more easily, so, in my book, I win.

But this isn't about the "how" of potty training. It's about the "now" of potty training. It's done now, and after an incredibly easy week with so few accidents I can count them on one hand, Freddie is qualified for preschool, for super-affordable-summer-day-camp-at-preschool, and for using the pools on a Disney Cruise, if I can ever talk Jeremy in to taking one.

Cue my Pharrell William's "Happy" dance.

And now, for the "Worst of Times."

After starting out really strongly in swimming lessons, Freddie has gotten to the point where he absolutely will not - like, can not, even under threat of corporal punishment - jump into the pool, even with his life jacket on. He's suddenly terrified.

He's been like this for a few weeks, so after he and Jones finished their six weeks of swimming readiness lessons with Sarah Grace, I asked her opinion on whether or not they're ready to move on to actual swim lessons. Jones definitely is, she said (Woohoo!). Until Freddie's ready to jump in and to get his face and hair wet, he's not, so we've decided Jones will continue seeing Sarah Grace every Thursday, and Freddie will wait another year or so until he's ready.

It's not a big deal. 3.5 is really young for lessons, anyway. I'm just slightly surprised that Jones is ready for something before Freddie is, because we all know that doesn't happen often.

So, see? I told you it wasn't as bad as all that. "Worst of times"? Hardly. But with the potty training thing behind us, I can only imagine that the "best of times" are ahead.

Wild-ly entertaining

Tonite, the boys and I went to the Wilds to visit the kids, who are all at camp there.

Not only did I want to see the kids, but I also wanted Jones and Freddie to start learning the lay of the land up there, as it's likely where THEY'LL attend camp, too.

I can't even get over how well they did. There were a couple of complicating factors that could've made for a REALLY miserable nite - we didn't get home until after 10 p.m. (it's probably the latest my boys have ever stayed up IN THEIR LIVES). Plus, with Freddie potty-training ...

But they were TROOPERS. I was oh, so very proud and oh, so very glad that we are reaching the stage where late nites now and then aren't the end of the world they way they have been for the last few years.

As soon as we got to camp, we got to see Lila. Then, we waited a LONNNNNGGGG time for the big kids to get out of their service. While we waited, the boys played on the wide open fields, which they loved, but they probably had the best time playing with the water cannons. They got each other, but they most enjoyed getting their Uncle David.

We had snacks with the kids and then headed up. Jones had NO FITS; Freddie had NO ACCIDENTS, and I had NO IDEA how much fun life is when little boys act bigger than they actually are.