Yesterday, he couldn’t ride his bike. In fact, he had a meltdown when Papa tried to teach him.

Today he can.

Do you remember the day you learned to ride your bike? I do. I had a Strawberry Shortcake bike, with pink banana seat and red and white streamers. I remember my dad pushing me off, me begging him not to let go and when he did, as all dads do, that feeling of freedom, knowing I was doing it all on my own.

I hope my son felt that today.

I told him he would never forget this day. We marked it with ice cream, as is necessary for any landmark moment.

It’s going by too fast…

When did we stop believing? I remember when I filled my bed with stuffed animals and had conversations with them until I fell asleep. When I fully believed the tooth fairy left me a dollar for the hollow bloody tooth I left under my pillow. When the world was full of possibilities, and magic was around every corner?

What happened? I believed as a child I’d still believe in magic when I grew up. At one point did I/you/we stop believing in it all?

I remember the day I learned about Santa. My friend (if you can call her that) Courtney just blurted it out in first grade. First grade! Far too young to discover that the world had been stripped of magic. I felt dismayed and disappointed. I wished the magic would last a little longer.

I knew a girl who believed in Santa til 6th grade (or so she said). For Max, I want something between these two scenarios. I want the possibility of magic to live on for him as long as possible. I want him to believe.

Still, I felt better at soccer practice. Day 1 there was a 6-year-old sobbing like someone was beating him because he did not want to play soccer. I watched his mom coax, cajole and threaten him out of the corner of my eye and I wanted to hug her. Because I understood. Max has done the same thing. (That kid is now the best player on the team a few weeks later).

At their first game, the son of a couple I’ve befriended started crying on the field. He wanted his mommy. She might have been embarrassed, but I knew how she felt. They eventually pulled him and took him home.

He’s not the only one.

When you have one child, you don’t have much to compare to. You can look at other kids but it’s the behind-the-scenes stuff you can’t measure. Is it normal? Are you handling it right? Know what I mean?

By the way, Max is ROCKING at soccer! He’s not the fastest, but he’s dedicated. Sigh of relief.

Yes I know this isn't at school but I'm rad enough to have forgotten my camera Day 1.

He’s doing well. He loves school and is making friends (when there’s time; sounds like they don’t have much time to socialize). His bestest friend is Isaac, proven by the 5 stars Isaac gave him when he gave everyone else just 1. Clearly it’s meant to be.

He has Art, Music, Spanish and PE, so I ask every day what he’s learning. Usually I get, “I don’t remember.”

My tax dollars at work.

He’s still pretty tired after school, so while we’d started to forego the nap it is back in effect until Mr. WhinyPantsAttitudeMan can learn to cope with a 7 hour school day again.

But Max has been in day care or preschool (2 years) since 8 weeks old. Being apart from him is how I love him more. So I didn’t cry when we left him, although he did. I knew he’d make friends and learn things and that our time apart would only make us closer.

Sniff.

He did come home excited to share his day. Or more specifically, the Happy Meal toy he got from the treasure chest. My son, always the eager student.

And me. Such a diligent mother. I managed to not bring my camera to mark this historic event. Thank goodness for non-iPhone cell phone cameras that take crappy photos of your kid as he rushes in to his new school:

The school, by the way, is awesome. All the elementary schools in our district are magnets, and this is the International Baccalaureate school. They teach Spanish and have a really rigorous program. I’m really excited for him to be there (if we have to be here).

What??

He showed me the picture of the little acorn who, once he was old enough, had to let go of his mother, the tree and fall to the earth. We talked about how he would go to college and move away from me. His biggest concern was that he wouldn’t know the way to our house.

It was a very sweet and emotional conversation to have with a nearly-5-year-old.

Then we came to Hot Springs, where there is a pool at my mom’s condo. We swim every day.

Max can swim.

It’s like seeing your child finally become potty trained after forever coaxing and cajoling him. I’m so proud.

First he started by swimming in the shallow end. Then he tried my goggles and liked them, so he decided it would be okay to put his face in the water. Now he tries swimming with his face under water.

Every day is a brave new adventure for my little swimmyfish. I couldn’t be prouder. While I’m going through my own turbulent times, it gives me courage to see such a shy and sensitive kid, one who hesitates before taking a step, embrace swimming with such vigor.

It gives me hope that I can tackle the unknown, the dark and winding path I have ahead of me. If he can put aside his fears, can’t I?

A Little History

I, like so many kids, detested P.E. I was the kid who got hit in the face with the kickball, and got her glasses broken. I was the last one picked, and dodgeball was enough to make me break out in hives. I preferred (and still do) reading and drawing.

My husband (who I just found out was exactly like Max at his age) was athletic. He played soccer in high school, and always had the average male teenager’s ability to pick up a sport and put it down at leisure. He now has a strict regimen of running, swimming, and working out (and yes, I’m proud to say, he’s training for a triathlon). Worst yet, he even seems to enjoy this torture!

So where does Max fall? We suspect he’ll lean toward my interests, and that’s fine. I just want to expose him to as many sports as possible so he doesn’t end up the last one picked and the dodgeball target.

When we were at the shuttle launch with my friend Rachel, there was a little boy the same age as Max. He was very chatty and started talking to Max across the way. Max did his usual shy-hide thing but I pushed him over to the boy. And I pushed him again. And again. Eventually he sauntered over to him. Five minutes later this was them:

Best of friends. So, Max, I told you so. I told you you could make friends all by yourself.