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.

My amazing parents

I turned 38 this year, a rather uneventful number, as it really is only a number.  I don't know what it is, be it this number or that it's been almost a year since I left my career in science to stay at home and raise my family.  But, something has changed.  No.  A lot has changed.

I have looked more closely at my parents, and really tried to understand things from their perspective.  It's not easy.  I have portions of their genetic makeup, been taught their morals and values, fought against these very same ideals, and watched them change as they raised their children in a foreign country.  And, I've watched them age.  It's not easy.

By the time my mother was my age, she had given birth to six children.  She held her youngest in her arms, and herded the other three as she escaped her war-torn country.  During the escape, as she headed towards China Beach to meet my dad and remaining two kids, she watched other escapees get gunned down by Viet Cong snipers, fall to the ground, get roughly kicked out of the path to make room for others running where everyone else was going, rivers of blood marking the road in a macabre map to safety.  All the while, holding her baby in her arms, keeping a watchful eye over her other children, counting to make sure the number was right: "Yes, yes, they are all here."  

In the midst of the confusion and hysteria of the escape, she was separated from my father, and did not know if she would ever see her country, her husband or her extended family ever again.  As the overly-crowded American ship transported the hundreds of refugees to Guam, a storm brewed around the ship in the night.  My mother, alone with her thoughts that have not been given voice to this day, stood on the deck, gripped the railing, and stared blankly into the night.  The rain and ocean mixed together in a furious fight with the winds, hitting her from every direction, soaking her and whipping her face and long hair.  But she stood, serene, and watched it.  Watched her life as she had known it simply disappear.

She and my father were eventually reunited, and waited months in desperate hopes the remainder of their families would also successfully escape from what was once South Vietnam, but now fallen to the Communist North.  They waited until they realized their family would not arrive, and waited as fate took them here, to the United States.  They were both 35.  Every day since that fateful day in April when they left Vietnam, then reunited and were brought to this country, they have thanked God for His many blessings.  They made it out with all of their children, alive.  

I have watched as my parents age, slowly losing their memory, but unbelievably growing stronger every day in their gratitude for the graces God gave them, and their love for their children and grandchildren.  Their love is boundless.  They are amazing, this little old couple with such a tremendous story.  A story I've been told I should share, but I simply do not have the words.  

I don't know what made me write this entry; I only know I've been wanting to talk about them for a very long time, but the words just would not come.  We sometimes drive each other crazy, but they are the most amazing people I have ever known.  I am so grateful and proud to be their daughter, and as I watch them, I hope that I make them happy.  And I hope that as their memory dims, they don't remember the times I lose my patience.

My home is protected by warriors. Be warned.

Ethan woke this morning, full of fire and energy, as usual.  He wanted to show what would happen to us if we did not respect his power--remote control, dismantled! He bites his lower lip to emphasize the sheer strength he has stored up in his deceptively small arms--GRRRR!!!

This earns him the title of Kung Fu Master Ethan.  When you are a Kung Fu Master, it does not matter that your bandana is light purple.  You can see Ally is really intimidated.

Moving onto other things to destroy...this is now Kung Fu Master Godzuki.

But somehow, Mommy is still the ruler of all things fun.  Kung Fu Godzuki and his sensei resume their duties and clean the house, still in uniform.

Sledding adventures with Daddy

After last week's blizzard, Sam and I insisted the kids get bundled up and out of the house.  Johan was the most reluctant, followed very closely by Ethan.  I do not count myself because my intent was to get all of them outside, lock the door, and enjoy some peace and quiet.  But someone had to capture evidence of attempts to freeze our children, right? 

Ally was very excited to go sledding with her Daddy.  The slope from our front-to-backyard is pretty impressive for a small child, and serves well for sledding.  Turns out it works best if the snow is not knee-deep in some spots.  Here, Ally is assessing the situation as she heads down the "hill" to the backyard:

Poor child kept falling out of the sled, and her Daddy had no idea until she was almost frozen to the ground:

They finally made it to the top (after tipping over several more times), across the front yard, and to the other side...only to have Ally tip over again:

Johan and Ethan would have none of the tipping over.  I think they figured out that it was intentional on Sam's part.

Finally, my babies were allowed back in the house to make a mess and lounge in front of the TV as God intended:

A blizzard brings clarity to our family

I am not blogging about the three consecutive snow days that almost lead to mass hysteria across the nation. Because you, too, experienced it and do not need a recap on that nightmare, nor do you need to be reminded that you came this close to doing what virtually every parent and child thought on the third day: I am going to just walk outside and freeze myself to a slow death because that would be preferable to this unending hell. No, I do not need to talk about that.

I will, however, talk about what happened to Sam's ongoing plea to have a third child as we came upon our third snow day. You see, Sam chose to risk life and limb and go to work, and NOT allow us to meet him for lunch because after 1 1/2 days, he had HAD it. When he got home from work, he found the kids and me in such foul moods with each other. Honestly, it was not because any one of us was misbehaving; we were just TIRED of seeing each other. So as Ethan was screaming like a pterodactyl at everyone and everything in his path, Ally was picking fights with her mini-dinosaur brother and I was offering both of them to go for a nice walk outside in the nude, Sam commented "Ok, I have decided I'm okay with only 2 kids."

Then this morning, the beautiful sound of reason came from none other than my sweet, perfect Ally, age 5. The thought must have been growing in her mind for some time until it finally found voice, out of nowhere:

"Mommy, there is only one me, and I cannot take care of more than one baby. If you guys have another baby, you should wait until Ethan gets older. But you know, if you give Daddy a third child, he'll just want another and then we'll have four children in this family! Let's just get a dog."

That child is perfection.