Win, Schmin

R coached the Salad's soccer team this season.  He wasn't supposed to, but when the email came that the person who was supposed to coach had backed out, he felt obligated.  Our last name is 1/4 of the roster, after all. 

Out of the 9 kids who regularly came to the games, one boy played in the dirt patches, one boy wore the sideline cones on his head during the games, one boy spent more time than he should have whining, and one boy's mom told me he was too polite to actually try and kick the ball away from other people.  So that left the girls to rally together.  And most of them played really well.  Just not well enough to, you know, win a game. 

I am so proud of my family.  The Salad didn't complain once about losing every game.  They just got out there and played their little hearts out.  Of course, the promise of snacks and playground time with a new soccer friend didn't hurt. 

And I'm proud of R too.  Those kids had fun.  Granted, they didn't know that each Saturday R would wake up and ask me "Do you think I can talk the opposing coach into 4 - 3 minute quarters?"

Listen, what people don't know won't hurt. 

There's no crying in Running!

Last spring the Salad ran in a local race series. It was a 50 yard dash against about 30 other preschoolers. M came in 2nd and the girls were maybe 6th and 7th? Most importantly, they all had fun. Our family rules for the races were:

1. Don't look back.
2. Don't stop running.
3. Finish with a smile on your face.

This fall, they bumped up to 1/4 mile race. It was not an easy transition. In each race, A broke at least 2 of those rules. Most heartbreaking of all was the "Finish with a smile on your face" one. It's tough to do with tears streaming down your face as you scream, "I can't do it! My side hurts!" I ran the second half of each race with the Salad, staying close to A to shout words of encouragement. But that's tough to do with tears streaming down your face and your side hurting. So even though she begged to quit after each of the 5 races, she finished every one, with both of us hiding our tears and clutching our sides.

Darn Post Office

The post office sent a piece of mail today with the enticing promise "Tips inside to save you time this holiday season!" Save time? I thought, who doesn't need that?  Except this ad was one of those folded over, perforated, possibly glued deals and when 5 minutes later I still couldn't open it, I realized I had just lost valuable time I'd never get back, even with all of this time the post office had just promised me.

Full of resent, I threw that bit of false advertising away. 

The Salad doesn't stand a chance at a normal childhood, do they?

Internationale

S:  Mommy? Can you French braid my hair?

Me:  I’m sorry, baby girl. I don’t know how to French braid.

S:  (after a moment of silence) That’s fine, Mommy. You can just do an English braid.

Me:  Well then, of course, I can braid it!

She pressed her hands together and bowed, as she said “Arigato Gozaimasu”

What the . . . ?

Real Make Believe Conversation

S:  Hello?

A:  Hi Goldilocks! It’s Mary had a Little Lamb. How are you today?

S:  Oh, I’m OK. I have to find a new house to live in now though. The Three Bears don’t live with me anymore.

A:  I’ll come help you move.

S:  OK, it’s over the river and through the woods.

M:  Ring Ring

S:  Mary had a Little Lamb? I’ve got to go. My phone is breaking up and I’ve got another call coming through.  Hello?

M:  Hi! This is Little Bear. Do you want to meet me at a new park?

S:  Sure, can you call Mary had a Little Lamb and give her directions?

Dreams

M:  Mommy, are the fuzzy things in my dream catcher dreams?

Me:  I think they must be, buddy.

His eyes widen, he catches his breath.

M:  Come here and see, Mommy!

He points to a small fuzzy in his catcher.

M:  See?  There's my dream!

Me:  Yep.  I wonder what is was about.

M:  I think it was the one about Army guys.

Keep your tonsils for as long as you can

A had her tonsils out Monday August 6, the day after we got home from our month long DC vacation.  It sucked.  And I don't just throw around crude words like that.  Not often, anyway.  But it really bit. 

She was exceedingly brave, marching into that surgery center, looking everyone in the eye, answering all of their questions.  She was given medicine, lead groggily away from me for 45 minutes, and then next time I saw my baby, she was a hot mess, screaming and crying, coming out of her anesthesia with "emergence delirium."  She was like a child possessed.  But I got to rock her and put ice on her neck and eventually she drifted off into an unsettled sleep on my chest. 

Where she remained for the next 10 days.  Seriously.  People who say their kids were fine the afternoon of their surgeries are liars, liars pants on fire.  I will say day 1 and 2 were the better of the days.  But days 3-10 were complete misery.  She wouldn't eat.  She wouldn't take her gross tasting pain medication.  She couldn't go to the bathroom.  She slept all day but hardly at all at night.  She had nightmares.  Her breath smelled.  She asked me 752 times if her throat would hurt forever.  She wanted to know if she'd ever be able to eat again.  She lost 6 pounds.  I lost 5 years off of my life.

M and S were lost without her.  They slept together in M's room for the first 4 nights, while I slept with A in the girls' room.  On the third night, M woke up at 1:30 in the morning crying that he "missed playing with his buddy."  Later, as I rocked A back to sleep after a crying fit of pain at 4:00 in the morning, I softly told her about M's and my exchange earlier.

"I miss him too" she whispered as she drifted off.

Finally on day 10, she woke up and her light had been switched back on.  S was so happy to have her "old A back" that she planned the "Great A Gathering," a party to celebrate A's return to the land of the living, complete with a tea party and a "pin the horn on the unicorn" game.

I love my Salad who love each other.