Saturday, August 30, 2008

Superficial Shallow Post #1

Posting outside the box today.
A little back story:
My partner in parenting is taking the big boys to see the New England Revolution play the L.A. Galaxy tonight. David Beckham plays for L.A. So to see this guy play is apparently quite an experience. 
I am staying home. 
I'm a fan of soccer only if I have a vested interest, like watching my boys or Mr. Dad play. Then it's interesting and can even be exciting at times. Two years ago Middle wanted nothing else for his birthday but the soccer channel. All soccer, all the time. I don't get it. Soccer on t.v. is like watching paint dry, but that's my opinion and I'm definitely in the minority in this house.
So I find myself contemplating other things. Case in point. Victoria Beckham.
The woman never smiles. I first noticed this while watching the ESPY awards a few months ago. 
At one point she had Justin Timberlake at her feet cracking some goofy joke and she didn't crack. Not even a smirk. She just sat their all stone faced looking like she'd rather be having her nose hairs plucked.
I did a google image search on her and I swear it took me until page 6 before I found even the hint of a smile.
Now I'm not smiles all the time, but could she make an effort or even look like she is acknowledging his existence?

If looks could kill, the dude that snapped this photo would be six feet under.

Maybe I'm judging too harshly, it can't be easy to have a camera in your face all the time. It truly must have it's horrible moments. Truly. But she did choose the life she's leading. She has the clothes, the cars, the homes the beautiful children, the famous friends and she's sitting next to THAT guy. 
THIS guy.

Just more proof that even the hunky guy can't buy happiness.

Friday, August 29, 2008

My 15 Minutes?

I really enjoy writing my little blog. I'm actually quite proud of it and find myself spending time out of my day while driving, waiting for kids to come out of soccer practice or walking through the grocery store, wondering what I'm going to be write about.
 I'm proud of my little following of 4 or 5 loyal readers (even though one of them is my mom) and even my brother who is a man of few words, told me it was really good and I should keep it up. 

One thing I find interesting is checking on my blog stats to see where people are coming from. Yesterday I noticed that I had quite a few hits on my blog all going to the same spot, a post I had written about The Willows an old time seaside amusement park here in Salem.
So I did a little investigative digging and found that my little blog had been linked in another blog, some dude named Mike and his blog called Redfin Boston Sweet Digs. I don't know Mike and I never even heard of his blog until I discovered he was sending readers here. 
I don't claim to be as prolific and well known as Carolyn, or Ms. Picket,  but I have to say I'm enjoying the extra traffic and I can't help but feel a little, well, discovered! 

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

True Test

Baby Boy #1 flunked his first test the other day. It was the first time I was relieved that he didn't do well on a test. Not because I'm a terrible mother, but because I'm a worried mother. He flunked his driving test.
It's hard enough to cut the old apron strings, but even worse when you know you're little boy is behind the wheel and in charge of an actual car that isn't powered by a battery but by a really combustible substance and doesn't go around a cute little track on rails but on asphalt with other people in other actual cars. 
The news, as always is full of reminders of how fragile life is, full of young people losing their lives to inexperience behind the wheel. Maybe it's always been this way and I'm just more sensitive to it now, but it scares the bejeezus out of me.

A year or so ago a student from his school was killed in an accident here in town. Speed and the lack of a seat belt was the apparent factor. He knew this boy, they were both members of the track team and Large was really bothered by the death of this boy. I can only hope that his death will save a few lives and someone who knew him will remember to buckle up and slow down. 
I think of his mom and dad who received "that phone call" late at night and know their lives will never be the same again. I think of him and all the kids who's lives were full of promise and are now cut short because they went too fast or took their eyes of the road to send a quick text message.

Large has always been  very responsible and I have no reason that with his license he will be any less so, but he is a S.T.B. (Stupid Teenaged Boy) and S.T.B.'s do stupid, irresponsible stuff. 
I have a whole new respect for my mother and by the way, I'm using this blog post to formally apologize for all the worry I put her through, like the time I drove in the wrong direction coming home from visiting a friend at UMASS and arrived home much later than I was supposed to. Sorry Mom!!!!
So the true test will not be whether he remembers not to speed, or to not roll through the stop sign or look over his shoulder when he pulls out or changes lanes, but how I will handle the fact that he has just a little bit more freedom and drives off being just that much further away from being my little boy.

Sunday, August 24, 2008

On Snakes and Snails

I enjoy telling people I'm the mom of three boys. Some are in awe, I get the occasional Oh My God, some ask me "how do you do it?" But mostly I get a lot of sympathetic looks. 
The truth is, as crazy and nutty as it can be around here, boys are pretty low maintenance. They don't need to have their hair braided in a complicated french braid (actually, my boys rarely even brush their hair), no ribbons or bows or fighting about clothes (unless it's to tell them to zip a fly or pull up their damn pants!)

Boys are far from modest, they'll pee outside and think nothing of standing on the front porch in their underwear. 

They fight like dogs but rarely carry a grudge and they love their mommies unconditionally.
They do however have a few undesirable qualities.

They leave their soccer crap all over the house. On the kitchen table, strewn all over the living room and bedroom floors and dumped in the front hall. 


They don't care whether or not they have sheets on their beds or pillow cases on their pillows. (I put them on, they somehow come off).

I've learned to be flexible, I don't complain so much about putting the toilet seat back down because in my house I am the minority, but I do complain when they forget to lift the thing in the first place!

The other day I was minding my own business, quietly surfing blogdom, when I heard a ruckus coming from upstairs. I ignore most of the rucki because I know it's just boy play and this was no exception. It got very quiet so I figured all was well until my phone chimed to tell me I had a text message. The names have been blurred to protect the innocent.
He obviously needed help because he wasn't spelling his way out of that "closset".

Saturday, August 23, 2008

Why I'm pathetic...

I knew I wanted to post something today, but couldn't think of a thing until I came across a post by Jen W of Serenity Now who got her idea from Carolyn of Carolyn on Line. So here's my very recent pathetic moment.

We have an annual road race here in town. It's one mile long on a flat straight course. I thought it would be a great idea if Mr. Dad and the three boys ran this race together. Now hubby is a real runner. He's run marathons (including 8 Bostons), various road races (some of which he's won), he's a natural athlete and NEVER gains weight. (I know, I know) He, along with my two oldest, Large, also a runner (the mile is his event) and Medium just coming off a season of summer soccer are extremely competitive and thought this would be a great idea, but who was going to run with the Little one? We couldn't just let him make his way by himself from beginning to end and the three of them are too competitive to not run this race to win.
So...I volunteered. It was a mile. Just a mile.
I've been having some ankle issues from a summer in flip flops, but I popped some Advil an hour or so before, laced up my running shoes and was determined to not only do fairly well in this race, but look good doing it. 
So there we were, Little and I, in the middle of the pack, ready to go with the starting gun. My heart was already racing in anticipation. With a pop of the gun, off we went. At about 1/2 mile in I was fading fast and was grateful when Little mentioned he might like to walk. "Are you sure?" "Yes, just for a little." (Thank you!!!!)
A tenth of a mile later, he wanted to pick up the pace again. (Crap!! Who's dumb idea was this again?) So we ran...
Next to me I heard a familiar voice as she passed with her GRANDPARENTS. "Hi Mrs. __. Good God one of my kindergarten students from last year will finish this damn race before me! She might as well have kicked me on the way by.
I looked ahead and saw hubby jogging toward me, he finished and double backed to find us knowing my ankle was about spent. He's nice like that.
He and Little took off toward the finish line together leaving me in their dust. I looked behind me and there was no one there but a few stragglers.  So with every step I moved closer to the sidewalk and off the course, feeling like, like...well, a loser!
Four years ago I ran and finished the Disney Half Marathon. I trained for this while going to grad school and working full time. I ran it ridiculously slow, but I finished and have the medal to prove it! Where did I get the motivation?
Well last night I found a little. Motivation that is. Do I want to live my life on the sidewalk? 
As soon as my legs recover and I'm no longer walking like I'm 102 I will do something about my patheticness and start pounding the pavement because I realized I don't have to win the race, but I don't have to be a...STRAGGLER either!

Thursday, August 21, 2008

First Day

There is something in the air this time of year. I can feel the buzz. I see the occasional school bus rumble by with drivers new and old rehearsing their routes. The newspaper is stuffed with circulars with deals to be had on supplies, new clothes and shockingly new white sneakers. The shelves are stocked with lunch boxes and back packs. The days are still warm, but the nights are cool now and the crickets have come alive with their late summery songs.
Back to school means something different to everyone. Those without a vested interest might think of it as busier roads and a harder commute in the morning with those big yellow busses with their red flashing lights in the way or too crowded aisles at the local Staples.
For kids it marks the end of running around barefoot and dirty grass stained feet that leave footprints in the bath tub. The end of staying up late and sleeping in, of playing in the waves and digging the biggest hole on the beach. It marks the beginning of homework, soccer practices, football games, and figuring out new schedules, report cards and meeting new friends. The beginning of getting out of bed to the sound of an alarm and eating their Frosted Flakes with their eyes half-shut.
I am a parent AND a teacher. 
The start of school holds so much promise for me but in different ways. As a parent I was never sad to see my boys start school. Maybe it's the teacher in me, but I've always known they were where they were supposed to be. They were adorable walking into kindergarten for the first time, lunch box in hand and L.L. Bean on their backs. I was full of questions. Would they succeed? Will someone hug them if they cry? Will they make friends? Will they ever have to visit the principal's office or sit in the "thinking chair"? Will their teacher love them as much as I do? There was really no way to know the answer to those questions as I sent them off for their first real experience without me, but time does tell and I'm happy to say I can answer "yes" to all those questions. 
As they have grown older I don't worry so much of their school success because they have proven themselves as students, but the question now is what kind of people will they become? 
I have come to realize that school doesn't just teach kids academics it helps teach them how to be people. How to get along with others on the playground, how to share, how to take responsibility for their actions, how to be part of a larger community and hopefully to become life-long learners.
Being a parent has made me a better teacher. I understand how those mommies and daddies feel dropping their children off for the first time.  The building is bigger, there are more kids, and the expectations are higher. I try to greet those nervous parents with a reassuring smile, a comforting touch on the shoulder and even sometimes a hug and a tissue to wipe the tears. I want them to know that yes, I will hug their little boy when when he cries, and give a band-aid to her little girl when she scrapes her knee. 
When the school year begins and I look at those  scared little faces looking up at me from their spot in the circle I do my best not to let them see that I'm scared too. Will they like me?  How will I possibly teach them all they need to know? How to walk in a line, pack up a back pack, write their names, when it's okay to read!!! But every year I take their little hands and lead them wherever they let me, wherever they need to go and wherever OUR learning will take us. It's just what I do, but mostly what I do is  love them as if they were my own, because for 9 months of the year that's exactly what they are.

Thank you to Starts with an X who gave me the idea for this blog post.

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

# 3

Someone asked me not long ago, if Little was a mistake. "Actually", I said miffed, "He was probably the most planned of the three."(Not that it's any of your business!!)

It amazes me that someone would actually ask that question. It bothered me in the same way the looks of sympathy bothered me when I would tell anyone who asked, that I was pregnant with Baby Boy #3. I can understand however, why someone would be curious, there is after all 6 1/2 years between Medium and Little.

I remember the day I decided I needed another baby in the house. It was the day Medium started kindergarten.
There is something about your child starting school that slaps you in the face and lets you know your baby is no longer a baby. 

Because of the age difference between Little and his older brothers, I've become his best friend by default. The big boys have always been able to entertain each other, they are partners in crime, but Little and I, we run with the same crowd.

We go to school together and come home together and he would still rather hang with me than anyone else. But, I'm startng to see glimmers of independence, like when he goes on ever increasing play dates, when I left him with his aunt and uncle at the beach the other day (and ridiculously worried he would be swept out to sea by an undetected rip tide because someone didn't watch him closely enough), or the other night
 when he experienced his first sleep over.
He asked me the other day if he 
could ride his scooter to the park ALONE and didn't get it when I told him, "Not a chance!!"

I know growing up is inevitable, I've seen and experienced it with the bigger ones, but today I will remember that these moments are fleeting and I will
 enjoy them as long as he'll let me.

Happy 8th Birthday My Friend.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Pretty in Pink

No more brown sweater...
I'm feeling rather "pink" today!

Disclaimer: Just because I own and proudly wear a pink Sox cap does not indicate that I am a bandwagon fan that knows nothing of baseball. It's purely a fashion statement.
Go Sox!

Sunday, August 17, 2008

Feeling Brown

The sun is shining, it's 81 degrees today I'm wearing a pink t-shirt, but I don't feel pink.
You know when you are just having one of those days? When nothing feels right, you're not motivated to do anything? And you're just generally feeling blah? My girlfriends and I refer to that feeling as "A Brown Sweater Day".
It could be that I put on a few summer pounds, it could be boredom, it might be that summer is nearly over and school is right around the corner. It might be that I'm soon to face another birthday. I'm not really sure what it is, but what I do know is I'm not liking myself much today or anyone else for that matter. The only thing I'm mildly happy about, is the fact that I'm having a really good hair day! But I'm too "brown sweater to appreciate it!

I'm thankful that days o' the brown sweater don't happen often, but what's comforting is those girlfriends I mentioned, have had days like that too, and when we need a turn to wallow in the wool we're there to remind each other that you can always take the itchy thing off!

Saturday, August 16, 2008


Disclaimer: I am not responsible for the well-being of you, or your loved ones if any one out there tries this at home. Now on to my post...

If my kids are nothing else they are resourceful. 
This is kind of becoming a weird family tradition for us. It started last summer while on vacation. It was one particular rainy night. Too wet to grill, too wet to light a fire in the fire pit, yet we had all these marshmallows, chocolate and graham crackers calling our names..."S'mores, you  must have s'mores. 
Thus was invented... 
The Candle S'more
Now I'm not even sure this is healthy. Doesn't a candle give off some weird toxin that I've now exposed my kids too? They're already quite loopy so I'm not sure how much further damage this could really cause. I was sure however, to suggest tea lights because I'm pretty sure the flavor of a  marshmallow should not be enhanced by the "tropical passion fruit" or "sun and sand" candles I have here in the house.
Let me tell you up front it takes a heck of a long time to roast a marshmallow over a tea light! 
But here they are doing their level best...

Little had a really hard time not snuffing out the flame. Not much roasting going on here.

Large was not wasting any time with the tea light. He's the impatient one. The weird "I'm enjoying this way too much" look he has on his face worries me a little.

Check out the look of concentration on Medium's face. He tackles everything in this manner. No fooling around, especially when there's food involved!

And finally, the finished product. If it looks like a s'more, and tastes like a s'more, it must be...  
a s'more!

Wednesday, August 13, 2008


My experiment of the day...

I'm going to keep track of how many times I hear the word "mom" today. 
I'll report back my findings tomorrow.

Experimental findings: 27 times. 
Now I think this number is slightly off. All three of them spent three hours at soccer camp. Little spent some time napping in the car on the way to mini-golf and the car is usually good for a dozen or so "moms", then because hubby was studying for a final exam, all three of them spent quite a bit of time upstairs trying to be as quiet as possible so there just wasn't enough opportunity to use the "m" word.
So that works out to about 2.7 "moms" in the 10 hours that they were awake. If I multiply that number times the number of days of summer vacation, that is about 189 "moms". 
That doesn't seem like all that much to me really. It feels as if that number should be much much higher!

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Is it really August?

Dog Days? I was sure August meant hot, steamy, days and cool nights, but lately it's been doing nothing but rain. Everyday. Some thunder, some lightening, some torrential down pours and inevitable flash flooding. Everyday. I'm convinced Massachusetts has suddenly adopted the climate of Oregon, Ireland or the Amazonian Rain Forest.
I woke up this morning to another dreary day. I got up early because Small, Medium and Large all had to be at soccer camp by 8:00. By 7:30 I had pretty much decided  they weren't going and at 7:50 the coach called to cancel for the second day in a row. This is putting a huge cramp in my plans for a pedicure.
So I fed them breakfast, and I hopped back into bed for a few more winks. It is summer after all and I only have a few more weeks of not having to get up at the crack of dawn. 
At one point small crawled in bed next to me. He cuddled in for a few minutes then started in with the questions. 

"Are grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches good?"
"If you like tomatoes they are."

"Is it nice in Rio?"
"Rio?? I don't know, I've never been."

"Could a plane ever crash in our back yard?"
"I suppose it's possible, but highly unlikely."

"Can I go watch t.v."
"If you must."
Apparently I was not giving him the answers he was looking for.
 How, in the span of 5 minutes, does an almost 8-year-old brain go from grilled cheese sandwiches, to Rio, to a plane crashing in our back yard?
I'm a little afraid to find out what really goes on in that little head.
Some things are best left to wonder about. Needless to say, my fingers are crossed for a little sunshine and a little soccer camp tomorrow. I'm not sure I could handle anymore of the tough questions.

Sunday, August 10, 2008

T is for Tooth Fairy

It's been an eventful weekend in the tooth department. Little, being 7 is in the throes of tooth loss. He's lost all of the front eight ( they are FINALLY growing back) and now he's working on the baby molars. He's had a wiggly one for awhile now, but those suckers are stubborn.
Friday night it was driving him nuts.  He was coming to me every 5 minutes or so to cop a feel of that tooth. It really grosses me out, but because I'm a good mom like that, I wiggled, then offered up the obligatory, "your almost there!"
Well it was bed time and the tooth was hanging on for dear life. He was sobbing. He almost never cries, so sobbing is really rare. 
"Does it hurt?" 
"Is there blood?" 
"Is it just really annoying you?" 
"No Mom!"
"Well, what is it then?"
"I just really want MONEY!"
"Don't we all."
So I convinced him to leave his tooth alone for the night and work on it in the morning. At this point I was ready to offer up some cash just so he would go to sleep. Kinda like the Packers offering to pay  Brett Favre 20 million to stay retired. (Okay, what idiot doesn't take THAT deal????)

Saturday morning he was happy again because, "I put my tooth back in it's spot."
"Wonderful, here, have an apple."
I love the look on his face when his teeth finally pop out. It's always that great look of surprise even thought it was inevitable. We had a birthday party to go to so he was busy and forgot all about the gaping hole in his jaw. I had a nice time sipping wine and visiting with other moms, but when we got home he ran right upstairs to check on the tooth.
Thankfully it was still safe under the pillow, undetected by tooth stealing burglars. 
He went through so much over that tooth I made a mental note to NOT forget that the tooth fairy needed to make an appearance. I've been guilty of forgetting more than one tooth fairy visit. Well I went to bed and just as I was dozing off, I remembered. I slipped quietly down the stairs and pulled a dollar out of hubby's wallet and slipped it under Little's pillow.
Around 6:30 he crawled into my bed and said, "Mom, Mr. Lincoln visited me last night."
In my groggy state, I didn't quite get it. Is he suddenly channeling dead presidents? 
"The tooth fairy left me FIVE BUCKS!" 
"Wow, the tooth fairy must have been feeling generous."
"I'm going to add it to my 6 bucks, now I have 11!"
He's well on his way to becoming a tooth mogul.
Here he is working on his spread sheet. 
What are the chances he pays me to retire as official tooth wiggler? 

Saturday, August 9, 2008

Attention Blog Readers!

If you're like me you want people to read your blog. I mean what's the point otherwise?
Yeah, I like to get my thoughts (as random as they are) out on virtual paper, it helps get rid of the clutter, but I want others to get a chuckle too!
Some bloggers profit financially from their blogs so in order to spread the blogging word, a very smart blogger came up with great idea "Blog the Recession". See that cute little pig down on the right of my blog? Click on him, follow the link and read how to add him to your blog.
Then go about your business clicking on the blogs you read and read the blogs in their blog rolls and so on, and so on, and so on.Spread the word, Read some new stuff, Get your feet wet, Click the Pig!

O is for Olympics

I love the Olympic games. I love the pageantry that comes along with it from the opening ceremonies with the raising of the Olympic Flag, the Parade of Nations and the Lighting of the Olympic Torch. 
The Chinese know how to throw a party the Greek Gods would be honored to be invited to. The performers all 15,000 plus of them were amazing. The hours of practice it must have taken to be as precise as they were, is incredible in a "we can take over the world anytime we want" kind of way. It was a little scary to be honest, and if I were Dubya sitting there watching, I would have been a tad intimidated by it all. Be afraid George, be very afraid.
The fireworks or rather the "pyrotechnic display" was unbelievable...of course the Chinese did invent them, but still.

I did discover how geographically challenged I am. I can't tell you how many countries I've never heard of much less be able to tell you where on the globe they're located. Some of these countries have only one Olympic athlete. The hopes of an entire country resting on the shoulders of one Olympian. A heavy weight to carry to be sure!
I love the way they incorporated little kids into the opening ceremonies. Especially that little boy who walked in beside Yao Ming, star NBA player, carrying the flag for China. This little boy was 1/3 of the height of Yao and was so dang cute. He was a survivor in the recent earthquake in China and after freeing himself, went back to help free his friends because "it was my job, I was hall monitor". Cue the tears.

I was all choked up watching the athletes parade in, their hopes evident with the smiles they wore on their faces. Most of them will never where a medal around their necks, but the sheer joy of participating is what it's all about. They will forever be able to say, "I was an Olympian".
The Olympics for me is full of weepy moments and the little side stories of the athletes, their political struggles, their ability and drive to train under the worst of conditions and circumstances. I wish I had half the drive they do.
It is impossible for me to hear the Star Spangled Banner and not feel a little choked up. I will be cheering for Dara Torres who, at 41 freakin' years-old will be swimming for the gold against athletes half her age. This will be her 5th Olympic games. I can't even imagine. Where does a person find that drive that's required to compete at that level. I hope and pray that she's doing this legitimately because if not I will be so let down. Sad we even have to consider that possibility.
But when all is said and done and she's standing up on that podium with a gold medal around her neck I will be singing the S.P.B. right along with her, a gold medal for her, for our country and for 40-something-year-old moms everywhere! 

So as the rest of the world cheers for their athletes, I will proudly be cheering for ours. 

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

L is for Laundry

I hate laundry. It is endless, no matter how much of it we do around here, there is always more to be done. 
There have been three periods in my life when I actually enjoyed doing laundry and that was when I had newborns in the house. I used to love folding those cute little onesies and one piece footed jammies, the little overalls and and the little rompers. They were so soft and smelled so good. I didn't even mind sorting the tiny little socks.
Socks. I hate them now, and they are not to be confused with Sox of the Red variety, because those Sox I love. But the Socks I'm talking about  aren't cute and little anymore. They are big and wholey and they all look the same. With three big footed people in the house I can't tell the difference between them and I have no idea which socks belong to which person. 

I don't wear them in the summer and I know the ones that belong to the Little guy, but the other 3/5 of the socks in this house are a complete mystery to me. 
There are tall white socks, white ankle length socks, no-see socks and soccer socks, which are the worst of the worst because they are usually stiff (I know, yuck) and inside out. Again, these look exactly the same to me, but apparently there are some very subtle differences that can only be felt by sensitive soccer feet. (insert eye roll).
There has been a giant laundry basket full of said socks sitting in the corner of my bedroom for awhile now. So with the rainy day and everyone out at one camp or another I decided to tackle sock hell.
I put on the bedroom television and tuned in to my favorite sock folding channel. The Food Network. I found Guy from Guy's Big Bite  making some kind of Flank Steak and McCallister potatoes. Guy is cool. He's got funky blond hair and also hosts a really good show called Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives. The stuff he cooks on his show is fairly simple which is what I need. The potatoes he was making involved sour cream, bacon and frying, and needless to say, I will be attempting those soon, but I digress...
I dumped the socks onto the bed and dug in. I sorted, matched, and folded for over an hour. I was in the zone. Matching sock after sock. My hands were a flurry of activity as my eyes darted from one side of the bed to the other.  I never actually counted how many pairs I sorted and folded, but I'm sure I broke the record. When all was said and done I only had 8 unmatched socks. I threw them away. 
Now I'm looking at my family, all walking around wearing socks. More socks to sort, more socks to match, more socks to fold. So keeping with the Olympic Spirit, I'll just have to go for the new record.
...Swifter, Higher Stronger!
Go Lisa, Go Mom, Go USA!

Sunday, August 3, 2008

S is for Soccer

I admit it, I'm a gasp! Soccer mom. Before that I was a soccer groupie, a soccer girlfriend, soccer fiance, and soccer wife so the mom thing was pretty much inevitable. I knew what I was getting into when I married hubby. We met in college where he played on the school's soccer team. When we left college he played for various men's leagues, my friends were girlfriends of other soccer players and it was actually a really good time.Then we had kids, three boys all soccer players. Now in my defense, I do not drive a forest green mini van (at least not anymore) I do not bring anything but my chair and my Dunkin' Donuts iced coffee to games. No picnic lunch, no cooler full of orange slices, nothing. 
What's up with the orange slices anyway? If a kid can't go for more than 90 minutes without eating he probably shouldn't be out there in the first place. Water they need, orange slices they don't. 
So I'm not your typical soccer mom. I supply the transportation and the "good game" when they're done. I cheer their accomplishments, and I provide the hug when they've had a bad game. They are responsible for bringing their own water and remembering their equipment. It's my little way of turning them into self-sufficient, independent men.
Now, with my entire family all playing, you might think I'd get the inclination to participate myself. Yesterday I tried to do just that. Little asked me if I'd take shots on him while he stood in an empty net. "Sure, why not?" I reply.
So I get my butt out of my standard-issue-soccer-mom-fold-up-captain's-chair and took the field. Ball at my feet, I suddenly feel like Mia Hamm.
There was no way this kid was keeping this ball from getting in that net. If I'm nothing else, I'm competitive!! So I take shot after shot. Maybe 10 or more. One-went-in One! Yes One!
"Okay mom, my turn to shoot."
So, with the score 1-nil (nil is soccer talk for zero, zilch, nada), I am hopeful but not very optimistic that I will come away with sweet V-I-C-T-O-R-Y.
He takes shot after shot and I save them all. Until the last. I don't save the ball, I step on it, my foot rolls off of it and I not so gracefully, fall to the ground as a sickening "pop" is heard from my knee. The pop is followed by instant pain. The kind of pain that hurts like a muthah for an instant but then slowly dissipates. 
"I win!" I hear Little say as tears of pain fall from my eyes onto the turf. "You're brilliant" I tell him, "Now help mom to her chair."
So I'll happily leave the glory to my family and I'll just be content to sit in my chair and be the "wind beneath their wings". Bend it Like Beckham? Not for this girl...
I'll wear the soccer mom label proudly! Now pass the ice pack!

Friday, August 1, 2008

A Alligators All Around

As I was perusing the local paper today I came across a story buried within it's pages. It was not front page news by any means, but the headline caught my eye. Louisiana Boy Hospitalized After Alligator Attack
The story was basically about an 11-year-old boy who lost his arm to an alligator. The doctors were unable to reattach the arm after retrieving it from the alligator's stomach.
A sad and tragic story to be sure. The boy will thankfully survive.
However, there was something in the article that made me laugh out loud. It was my WTF moment of the day. The alligator apparently has a name, "Big Joe" an 11-foot, 500 lb freakin' alligator!!!!
This is the quote that got me...
"It's an ideal pond to swim in, clean beautiful...but it's kind of a hike and there's no supervision there."  Hello!!!! A-L-L-I-G-A-T-O-R!!!!!! 11-year old boys, no supervision!!!
Does it take a freakin' genius to figure out that the ole gator infested swimmin' hole probably isn't a place for your kid to be cooling off with his buddies? 
I was puzzled...despite the fact the community knew there was a very large alligator living in that pond they allowed children to swim there? Am I missing something?
There is something so creepy about an alligator lurking just below the surface. Give me my ocean full of sharks any day!