Spring Soccer

I am officially a soccer mom.  Ally had her first two soccer games this weekend, and I can't help but ask "Is this how spring soccer really looks?"

When I first signed Ally up for soccer, she pouted, resisted, and finally cried because "In soccer, I will have to run and that makes my legs tired!"  I couldn't hold it against her because the reality is that half of her genes come from me, and everyone knows my athletic ability is...laughable.  If I can walk across the parking lot without tripping, it is considered a success.  The week before her first game was actually hot.  Hot enough that sleeping was uncomfortable without A/C (which was  not turned on because I found that ludicrous at this time of year).  But as Ally's luck would have it, her first game was on a day with high winds and snow.

The kids were bundled up so much, they more closely resembled football players, but they still could not get warm.  This picture was taken right before the snow and ice came blowing in.  The kids could barely see, but they made all of us incredibly proud with their effort.  And in defiance of her genetic composition, Ally scored a goal to help her team win!  No, they do not keep score at this level.  Yes, the parents did, and yes, we really did win.

The next day was not as cold or windy, but it certainly was not balmy.  On this day, the girls were seasoned, prepared.  Or so we thought.  Turns out they were more prepared for halftime when they would get snacks.  It was all any of us heard.  "Can I have my snack now?  When is halftime?  Can I sit in this chair until I get my snack?  Where is my snack?!!!"  But on this day, they were matched against a pro-team.  One of the girls on the other team could not possibly have been 5 or 6 years old.  I wanted them to provide ID, because that "child" was bigger and faster than any one of our kids.  If that child truly is 5 or 6, her parents should seriously consider having her pituitary checked because I am telling you, she could rise to the top in the WWF.  And look, lady luck showed her face again because my Ally was expected to go up against her. 

Ally truly has the sweetest disposition of any child I have ever met.  So we were genuinely concerned for her well-being when we saw this troll come up to our daughter.  Our girls were getting creamed.  Destroyed.  They couldn't even spend more than 30 seconds near their goal before one of the giants came around and flattened our girls.  Finally, during one of her breaks, I assured her "It's okay to be aggressive and take the ball away from the other team.  I don't want you to hit anyone, but if your foot or elbow comes out, I'm okay with that, too.  But remember, that is ONLY okay to do in soccer!"  She gave me a funny look, asked me about snacks again, and went back in. 

This next part makes me proud in a very twisted, parental-rights-should-be-stripped kind of way.  She actually tripped the giant, who looked up at me (and honestly scared me with her expression), and Ally's teammate was able to get the ball and...SCORE!!! 

Our team lost, but I like to think the other coach now knows that WE know there is no way in hell his team is comprised of kindergarteners.  And we're on to him and his team of thugs...

What do you do all day?

This is not a question that any sane person who wants to live would ever pose to a stay-at-home parent. On second thought, that is not a question that should be posed to ANY parent, whether that parent works outside the home or stays at home.

When I retired (yes, I am calling it that because there is no way in hell I'm ever going back to work--this gig is way too good to let go), there were gambles ranging from 20 minutes to 6 months as to how long I'd last before rushing back to work. I don't think I need to tell you how much I love my current position. But, I knew I would get those comments, and I was okay with it. I have never felt compelled to announce what I do, how I do it, or how I feel about my methods as I "stay at home" to care for my family. I think it's a sad attempt at validating my decisions, and I do not feel I need to do that.

Even so, most people understand and know better than to ask The Question. So, why did it come up? Of course, it involves my Dad. My wonderful, loving, amazing, yet sometimes suicidal father.

He tricked his doctor into approving him to get a handicapped license plate. It is true that he and my mother suffer quite a bit from arthritis, but they are on some serious pain meds. And yes, their memory is slipping, but they have always managed to find where they parked their car. And sure, my Mom has osteoporosis and we worry about her falling and breaking a bone, so we're just extra careful with her. But does this warrent handicapped parking?!!! Hmmm...you can make the judgment on that, but I have a strong suspicion it's so he can get good parking without the effort.

There. I said it. On a cloudy day where there's a greater chance I'll get struck by lightening. But back to my story:

To get the handicapped parking, one must go to the DMV with appropriate papers. He had given me the doctor's papers on Monday, but I had not had the chance to go (this is one of the many duties of my new job--run their errands, which is fine for the most part). Yesterday, he asked me...you guessed it...The Question. After I had spent the morning running around like a chicken without its head (looks really silly if you've seen it in real life before).

Dad: What? You haven't gotten my sticker yet? What do you do all day?!
Me: (seething, but not wanting to say something I'll regret, scream, or inflict bodily harm on a senior citizen) Well Dad, I do nothing all day. But sometimes, I get so bored, I go to the casino and bet it all on black.

When I told this story to Sam, he actually sucked in his breath, widened his eyes, and stepped backwards when I got to The Question.

And that is all it takes to make me laugh. That is all I need to appreciate my father, who knows how to push every last one of my buttons at the same time, but understand that he truly loves my family and appreciates all that I do for him, so that I can laugh at the absurdity that is my life.

Most importantly, I remember my husband is the absolute best fit for my personality. As much as I complain about him or make fun of him, he really is an incredible husband and father, and I am so fortunate and blessed to have built this life with him. Because no matter what, he has NEVER asked The Question.

Spring Break

It is Spring Break! Sam took the week off to enjoy the week with the kids, and maybe even me.

I LOVE not having to wake up early in the morning to see Johan off to school. Except thanks to the months of training, my body automatically wakes up at 6:30am. I wake up, try to get back to sleep, but then Mr. Pterodactyl stirs and lets us know very firmly (even though he does not speak) he is ready to get up and destroy our home.

I LOVE not having to rush through the morning with Ally to get as much in as possible before she goes to school (at the perfect time because she hates being too early or late). But as luck would have it, she got violently ill Sunday night and still is not feeling well. However, she has learned how to milk the situation to her advantage very well:
"I want Gatorade."
"I want cold water."
"I want fresh, cold white milk."
"I want ice cold Sprite."
And now that more than 24 hours has passed and she is able to eat, she has added to her repertoire of commands:
"I want yogurt."
"I want bread. Whole-grain bread."
"I want pears. Or maybe a banana."
She was so sick that I have become wound so tight that a mere whimper from her gets me jumping to my feet. I am only able to write this because she is thankfully napping.

I thought I would love having Sam at home for an entire week. But it's only Tuesday, and I'm wondering if it's Friday yet. Spring Break. It might break me.