Stitch is Growing Up

"So, mom," says Stitch over dinner. "Ms. Music Teacher says we can get one recorder for seven dollars, or two recorders for ten dollars. I think we should buy two."
"That does make them cheaper overall, but why do you need two recorders?"
"Well, in case I leave one in my locker, I can still have one here," he's using appropriate hand gestures, "and I can still practice."
"Ah. That does make sense. When is the money due?"
"We haven't gotten the slips yet," he sounds disappointed. "I can't use my other thing," he's referring to a wooden recorder he bought from the Peruvian people at a summer festival. He played it so much he wore out the glue and it doesn't work anymore.
"Well, when you get the slip, bring it to me and we'll see what we can do."

I intend to buy two. Music is sparking his interest, and with a professional musician in the family, this can be a win. But I anticipate the challenge of learning to read music to be much akin to the torture of backwards wiggles.

"I can't do it!"
"Yes, you can. Keep trying."
"I will never skate backwards!"
"Of course you will. Don't be silly."
"THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE!"
"The only one saying that is you."

And of course last week I watched him fly around, his hair flipping up as he skated faster and faster into a pretty good salchow. Backwards.

What also pleased me about this conversation was that he's starting to acknowledge the concept of "practice." We'll see how far this flies in reality, but I think this is the first time he's said the word without a whine in his tone.

Monday night I realized that I'd forgotten to turn in Stitch's Ice Show form. I ran home to grab the boys and a measuring tape, and ushered them to hurry out the door. "We have to swing by the rink, get this form in since it's the last day!"
Dad looks confused. "Stitch, you said you didn't want to be in the show."
"I changed my mind!" Stitch says happily.
Typical, I think.
"What made you change your mind?" Dad is still confused.
"Mr D, my teacher and the class. I want them to see me skate." Ah, the School Matinee. It also gets him out of class for the morning. The thought crosses my mind that next year he'll likely be eligible for a solo. For the moment, I'm happy he's starting to take pride in his skills.

Stitch also presented me with the permission slip for School Choir. Last year he had thought about it, but determined himself too shy and not good enough. This year, he was going the Nike way and "just doing it."

Last night I put Stitch to bed. "Don't forget, skating lessons tomorrow. I'll lay out your skating clothes, so have them on when I get home."
"Ugh, I hate lessons," Stitch rolls his eyes.
"You always say that," I feign confusion. "Yet when you're in lessons, you look like you're having a blast, and when you get done with lessons, you say you had a lot of fun and you don't want to leave the rink. And then when you skate on your own, you skate the things you learned in lessons. You've got to stop with these mixed messages, kid," I tickle him.
"It's just what I do," he says. "It's how I roll."

Yes, that is indeed how you roll. Funny how the impossible slowly happens.