Last week Alex started swimming lessons.

I know. It’s a little late in the summer. I have no excuse. I hang my head in shame.

The first day of lessons passed without incident. Alex seemed to love his teacher right away – she was oh-so-sweet, and the little man couldn’t wait to go back the next day.

On the second day of lessons, D. wanted to take the boy to the pool so he could check out A.’s mad swimming skillz, and aside from A. having a bit of resistance to a move they call “the spider,” everything went well.

We were understandably pleased.

On Wednesday I was delighted to take Alex to his lesson since, as we all know, I can’t get enough of SITTING OUTSIDE IN THE STIFLING HEAT. But when we got to the pool, the sweet teacher from the previous two days was nowhere to be found. Another teacher, Miss Emily, was there instead, and Alex, in his typically shy fashion, walked up to her and said, “Hey. My name is Alex.” After a few pleasantries, they hopped in the pool and got started with some kicking.

I was only halfway paying attention to what they were doing because I was making a to-do list in an effort to distract myself from the realization that THE HEAT, IT JUST MIGHT KILL ME, but you can imagine my surprise when, a few minutes later, I distinctly heard Miss Emily say, “Okay, Howard. Let’s work with the kickboard.”

Howard??

I sort of shrugged internally and decided that it had to be a one-time slip-up – after all, there’s no telling how many kids cross her path in a day. Plus, she had such a huge smile on her face that it was hard to fault her.

But then:

“Great job with the kickboard, Howard!”

Which led me to an all-but-certain conclusion:

My child’s swimming instructor believed that his name was Howard.

I mean, it’s a perfectly lovely name, but, you know, NOT HIS.

Being the good Southern girl that I am, I offered correction via the semi-passive-aggressive route: by offering a little parental encouragement from my lounge chair. I said, “Way to go, ALEX” as loud as I dared, but I didn’t want to go overboard, lest the other mamas get the impression that I am a woman who attends her child’s Mother’s Day Out programs and mouths the words to the Thanksgiving songs while simultaneously offering cues for the next round of hand motions. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course.

And since the next few laps were uneventful, I thought maybe the issue had resolved itself.

Until Miss Emily asked Howard if he wanted to swim to the deep end of the pool.

Clearly we had a misunderstanding.

At the end of the lesson, I really wanted to set the record straight. The only problem is that as a result of All The Southernness I have a very difficult time being assertive, because what if it makes the other person uncomfortable? What if the other person thinks I’m rude?

I know, internets. I KNOW.

So I walked up to the little man and his teacher and said, “ALEX, have you thanked Miss Emily for the lesson?”

“Oh yes ma’am, Mama,” he replied.

“Well, ALEX – let’s tell Miss Emily good-bye!”

The very picture of Southern parental subtlety, I was.

The next day D. took swimming lesson duty again so that I could take care of some bloggy business, and when he came home he gave me a re-cap of the lesson over lunch. He was almost finished with his chicken tenders dinner (oh, we eat fancy around here. REAL fancy.) when he said, “Hey – here’s something sort of strange. Do you know what I think I heard Alex’s swim teacher call him during his lesson?”

“Oh, no. HOWARD?”

“Yes!” he answered. “Where in the world did ‘Howard’ come from?”

At that point I told him the whole story with which I have already bored you.

Alex didn’t have a lesson on Friday, but several times over the weekend D. and I told him that if his teacher calls him ‘Howard’ when they’re in the pool and we’re not nearby to correct her, it is perfectly fine for him to say, “My name is not Howard. My name is Alex.”

When I gave Alex these instructions for the forty seventh time, he looked at me and said, “But Mama! My teacher calls me Howard ALL DAY LONG!”

So yesterday morning, D. took Alex to swimming so that I could try to get some writing done. When they got to the pool, the little man marched right up to his teacher and said, “My name is NOT HOWARD. My name is ALEX.”

Only he said it to the first teacher. The oh-so-sweet one. The one who has never had a second’s trouble remembering his name.

And praise the Lord, she was back at the pool today.

But tomorrow? If Miss Emily is his teacher again? I’m going to make Alex a big ole “NOT HOWARD” sign. Or maybe I’ll just draw a name tag on his chest with a Sharpie:

“HELLO, MY NAME IS NOT HOWARD.”

And in little tiny letters underneath:

“My mama is sitting over there in a lounge chair. And she’s hot. So I bet she’d really appreciate it if you called me ‘Alex.’ Because IT’S MY NAME.”

And then:

“Thanks a whole bunch, sweet thing. You have a super great day.”

– “Mama? I want a SUPER BIG HUG!”

– “Mama, I love you all much.”

– “I DID IT! Because I CAN DO! ALL THINGS! THROUGH CHRIST! WHO STRENGTHUMS ME!”

– “Oh, I MISSED YOU when you went to the store and before you came back and I’m SO glad you’re home.”

– “Let’s dance.”

– “I love movies, Mama. They’re my favorite.”

– “I love bananas, Mama. They’re my favorite.”

– “I love quesadillas, Mama. They’re my favorite.”

– “I love milk, Mama. It’s my favorite.”

– “YES MA’AM, Your Highness!” (I promise I didn’t teach him the “your highness” thing. Promise.)

– “Well, we certainly CAN have a snack when we get home. That will be fun!”

– “Dear God. Thank you for Boo and BooAlex and Alex. Thank you for Mama and BooMama and S. Thank you for Daddy and BooDaddy and D.”

– “Mama? You’re my favorite girl in the WHOLE WIDE WORLD.”

And you know what? He’s my favorite boy.

Feel free to share your favorite young’un one-liners in the comments.

And then go give said young’un lots of sweet sugar. And a SUPER BIG HUG.