Orange Slice Anyone?

I’m officially a soccer mom.   My son has entered the world of organized (or not-so-organized) athletics.  For forty-five minutes a week for the next six weeks he gets to slap on some shin guards and run free.  Better translated, he gets to plant himself on a 30yd makeshift grass soccer field w/ miniature goals and run in a pack with other kids as they all chase after the one kid actually kicking the ball.   My personal favorite is when the kid with the ball breaks from the pack and none of the followers notice.  Oddly, the herd appears unphased when “GOAL” is shouted from across the field.   And yes, in case you’re wondering, my kid is usually in the herd.  But due to his inherited athletic abilities, he did score a goal this week!  And in true soccer mom fashion, once the goal crossed the line I was instantly transformed into a crazed fan, waving my arms in the air and screaming cheers of approval.  I’m pretty sure he’s destined to be the next Pele’ if my cheering has anything to do with it!  Don’t underestimate the power of encouragement…….hell, the kid wipes his own ass….don’t think that skill wasn’t acquired without lots and lots of cheering. 

So organized athletics comes with its fair share of entertainment on the field but the sidelines seem to provide just as much entertainment.  “Day One” let me in on the following family scenarios:

Full-Go Family    

This would be the family that is absolutely OBSESSED with winning no matter what.  Drills = Boredom.  They need goals scored and names attached.  These are the parents that walk around asking “Isn’t this a soccer game.  Why are they doing drills?  Did the game start?”  They need assists counted and penalty kicks clearly marked.  These are the families that walk away from the game and begin listing the 7,345,550 things their kid can do “better” next time without taking a breath.   Meanwhile their five-year-old is stopping to pick up the dandelions fifteen feet downwind of the “pep talk”.  Disconnect anyone?

Social Family

This family doesn’t really care what event they are at, as long as they were the first to sign their kid up.  Actually they probably coordinated the sign-up sheets and assigned teams.  They bring lawn chairs, snacks, goodies, checkbooks to update, cell phones that they repeatedly answer, blankets and pillows – in the event that any siblings want to sprawl out and watch the portable television they brought.  They obnoxiously smile at EVERYONE who walks by in hopes of gaining popularity.  They point out their kid without being asked to.  “Billy’s the one in the blue shirt with the glasses.”  (Note to self:  No playdates with Billy)  These people set up camp on the sideline to resemble their living room and mingle with a mission.   These are the people that know just about everyone in the tri-county area.  If you’re not on the list, you’re bound to be stalked.

Glamour Family

This is the family that has gone out and purchased brand new top-of-the-line clothing attire and equipment.  Their kids are donning coordinating Nike shoes and shinguards, Adidas t-shirts that contain the same accent color as their shorts, and a newly unboxed, wrong-sized soccer ball.  Somewhere in the middle of this showy garbage is a five-year-old who’s never even seen a soccer ball, much less has any desire to play.  But damn does he look good running with the herd.  And he puts Billy’s blue shirt to shame, which secretly makes me smile. 

Semi-Normal Family

I like to throw my family in this group.  By no means are we normal.  But our five-year-old enjoys running around, likes being with other kids, and has seen a soccer ball in his lifetime.  We cheer for him when he’s good.  We cheer for his teammates when they score.  At the end of the game we tell him “good job” and move on to dinner at Burger King.  (Some of us have to eat!)  We are cordial to neighboring parents but don’t feel the need to schedule playdates or record stats.  We go because it’s fun, gets us outside, and who knows……..a future Pele’ may be in the works. 

 Strung Out Soccer Family Mom

This captures the family that typically is represented by one parent (primarily the mother) that can’t help but announce this is the 17th soccer game she’s been to in the last three days.  She leaves her mini-van running the entire forty-five minute session.  Four of her seven kids are on the sidelines whining for dinner.  One is straddling the field and the sidelines because he really has no desire to play soccer – which is obviously not an option for any member of this family.   The other two are taking turns running from the mini-van to the field while screaming “MOM!  Jack just kicked me.  Dad’s on the phone and wants to know what we’re having for dinner”.   This mom likes to look around at surrounding sideline parents with shrugged shoulders and rolled eyeballs as if she has no idea where these children came from.  Either that or she completely ignores all of her children and latches on to the closest adult in an attempt to hold adult conversation – something that she doesn’t participate in throughout the other 167 hours of the week.

There you have it – a well-rounded playing field, er…I mean sideline. 

Let the games begin. 

My son drew a picture of me.

And no, it’s not a perm.  I have naturally curly hair.

 

Swim for your life…..or for your limbs.

If you want to create an awkward observation as a parent, just throw a five-year-old boy in the bathtub after his sister has been in there and watch as “Dinosaurs meet Barbie and Friends” plays out.  As much as I really enjoy the current obsessive dinosaur phase we’re in where everyone’s head is bitten by a Tyrannasaurus Rex, something about T-Rex ripping the face off of Malibu Barbie just compels me to have to say something as a parent.  I get it, he’s a boy, dinosaurs rule, dinosaurs have sharp teeth, dinosaurs “really like to eat people”…………just leave f’n Skipper and her too big plastic boobies alone.  Better yet, “hand me the dolls.  Here’s a washcloth, T-Rex needs his tail scrubbed.”

So for the first five minutes of a ten minute bath, poor Skipper and Strawberry Shortcake’s sidekick, Apple Dumpling had to swim as fast as they could around the the bathtub in an attempt to outrun the T-Rex only to find that in the end their heads would be bitten off and limbs detached (literally by my son) as the T-Rex had lunch.  

The second five minutes of the ten minute bath involved my crappy attempt at popping Skipper’s legs back on and giving a light-hearted explanation as to why T-Rex doesn’t have to destroy everything in its path even though he’s a “horrible, meat-eating dinosaur with sharp teeth and really big claws that could tear your skin off - i’m really serious mom”, as described by my son.  

I’d like to think my explanation had a profound impact on the kid, but I’m not sure T-Rex taking a bite out of my ass as we walked out of the bathroom together would indicate that lesson learned.  

 

 

 

A moment of silence please……..

A pink post-it note will be hung at half-mast today in honor of the missing woobie.  We have received confirmation that Cat Woman did in fact kidnap the woobie.  Additional charges of feline interaction with the woobie have resulted in plans for a future trip to the fire pit for the tathered and beaten-down smock.  We had a good run old pal.  I’m sorry that others were too shallow to see the good in you that I did. 

And for you Cat Woman……straight to the slammer…. with your smirky sidekick, Shoe Bandit. 

There she is………Miss America

Let me start with – I can’t make this shit up.

Today I walked in on my 3yr-old daughter having a conversation with/to my 1 1/2 yr-old daughter.  My youngest doesn’t talk yet and basically just smiles when being spoken to. 

“Oooops, I just tooted.”

Smile

“Oooops, I just tooted again.”

Smile

“Tooted is when sumpin comes out of you’s butt.”

Smile

“Did you hears me?  Sumpin comin’ out of you’s butt.”

Smile, with a slight nose twitch

“You smell sumpin?  I smell sumpin.”

Smile slowly fading to a grimace

“Oops I tooted again.”

Grimace turns to high pitch crying

“Mom, I think she smells sumpin.”

 

Notify the pageant circuit.  I think we got ourselves a future beauty contestant here. 

Price check aisle 12

What is it about leisurely shopping in Wal-Mart that I don’t get?  I’ve had to shop the big box about 14 times in the last two weeks, a couple times for work and other times for last minute efforts to grab soy milk after rounding the turn on my way home.  Regardless of the reason for my visit,  it’s been a pain in my ass each and every time.  Today’s visit, proving to be consistent on the annoyance log, left me stumped as I observed several random people wandering the store in search of what looked like “nothing”???? No cart out in front of them, no list written on the back of a ratty envelope, nothing.  Maybe they came in to develop a nice squint in their brow from the obnoxious neon lights?  Maybe they thought it was sample day and the Oreo Cakesters would make yet another week ending appearance?  Whatever the reason for their dumbfounded zombie walk through the store, it made me wonder why in the hell I even shop with these weirdos.  I have enough of them in my family.  No need to subject myself to an extra hundred of them for the sake of a box of Cheerios or a glimpse at Hallmark’s metallic curly bow.  So I came up with the following ideas/techniques/strategies that I’m going to think about in an attempt to avoid the big W:

1.   Look into shopping at the equally annoying, yet smaller Marc’s.  This would require me to make a mental note to only shop between the hours of 7-7:20am Monday-Friday.  Otherwise, I may as well just take a cart, walk around the store and fill it with as much shit as humanly possible and then just leave the cart in the middle of the freezer section.  That’s about as far as I’ll get in a four hour timeframe any other time of the week.  For those that dare go at other times, usually they find a cart full of sixteen 99cent frozen pizzas with no owner who obviously came to that same conclusion. 

2.   Move back in with my mom and dad so they can buy all the essentials for me and my family.   I’m already 1/2 way there.  I rip off cases of pop and water as much as I can get away with.  They make a good habit out of feeding my kids 12lbs of candy - thanks….I think?  I like to pretend their my personal food bank.  Need a can of tomatoes….mom and dad.  Need a stick of butter……I’ll just run over to mom and dad’s.  Recipe calls for:  chicken, cheese, can of mushroom soup, butter, rice, and broccoli.  I have the chicken, I’m sure mom and dad have the rest…..I’ll run over and check.  So maybe this one shouldn’t be on the list of new techniques, just make sure to maintain the set up. 

3.   Start a food drive for the Cracas Family.   While mom and dad’s food bank is plentiful.  I gotta tell you, they really slack in the junk food department.  What kind of grandparents don’t stock licorice, Hawaiian Punch juice boxes, Weaver Chicken Drumsticks, and an endless supply of crap for the sake of their grandchildren?  I mean, come on!!!!  Having said that, this food drive that I speak of would be user friendly in that I would provide a very detailed list of items that are needed – Cheerios, Fruit Loops, crab legs, Kraft Mac & Cheese, Doritos, Cheetos, ham, chicken wings, Taco Bell Soft Taco Supreme minus the sour cream…you get the point.  (Ok, so maybe the list will change based on how hungry I am?)

4.  In an attempt to curb the work portion of these visits, I’m going to pretend my company does business with Claire’s, Subway, Taco Bell, Aldie’s, and Radio Shack.   These places seem the least annoying to me right now.  Please note – list subject to change.

5.  Teach my kid to ride his bike to Convenient Food Mart by himself.  He’s got a helmet and training wheels.  He’ll be fine.  A backpack can hold a lot of shit. 

6.  Go on a hunger strike.  And a paper strike (tp, kleenex, paper plates, napkins……………)

7.  Who am I kidding on #6? 

8.  Actually prepare a grocery list and make a trip to the grocery store………….with the list.  Purchase everything on the list as to remove annoying last minute trips to the big box.  This task will be completed in my dreams  – where I will also find myself sleeping on “a nice puffy white cloud” that my friend recently told me about while giving me techniques to combat insomnia.  Maybe my grocery list will be edible in my dream?

9.  Turn into one of those people that gets their groceries from dumpsters and other people’s garbage.  I’m not sure what it’s all about, but if I’m suggesting it over actually entering a Wal-Mart, what does that say?  

 10.  Continue to shop at the big W, if for no other reason that to spawn new ideas for this ridiculous blog that talks about a bunch of nothing.  I keep telling myself that’s how people describe Seinfeld…..I think I’m hitting the big time soon. 

In the meantime, “Price check aisle 12 on a 10 pack of Oreo Cakesters”. 

 

Paging P.W. Herman

So I’m learning that kid behaviors, gestures, and sayings that seem “cute” at home suddenly become “not so cute” when displayed in a public arena.  For instance, my 3-year-old shaking her butt and singing “Shake Your Groove Thing” like the diva that she is generates lots of laughs at home.  But let’s say she performs a repeat concert at church on Sunday…..instead of laughter, the more appropriate response from her parents would have to be complete shock and facial expressions that clearly communicate to our holy neighbors  that “we have no idea where she would have ever learned this behavior.   Would you mind holding her sister and brother while we run and douse her in the baptismal fountain?”  Mind you, I’m not naive enough to assume that even 1/2 of the surrounding audience actually buys our acting bit, especially those who were on the dance floor with me at my wedding while Humpty Dance by Digital Underground played.  But I still like to put on a good show none-the-less in a futile attempt to take the attention off 3-year-old Beyonce busting a move down the church pew.  To the left, to the left….

Along with his own accomplished physial antics, my five-year-old has mastered the art of inducing parental panic as he carefully chooses to reveal words such as butt, weiner, drag queen, idiot, and the cut throat “I hate you” at the most opportune times.  Shopping carts, doctor visits, guests’ homes, and the ever-famous walk in and out of church Sunday morning seem to be his favorites in recent weeks.   Something tells me we’re added to everyone’s “special prayers” after witnessing our grand entrance into good ole’ St. Joe’s each week.  God bless us, everyone.  In light of this recent showstopping talent my son has decided to share with the world, I find added entertainment in the fact that the response from my husband and I places us in the center of Pee Wee’s Big Adventure (a.ka. my dad’s favorite show – no joke).  Every time an inappropriate saying spews from our kid’s mouth we’re scrambling like idiots (which was probably the choice word just spoken)  to either talk louder than they are, throw our hands up in the air to distract from the hot air being thrown around, and/or yelling about the “Secret Word of the Day”. 

  

And although child #3 appears the most innocent at this point in the game, I can only imagine what she’s taking in and what she’ll be spitting out in another year.   In the meantime, I’ll be looking for some new parenting videos in the form of Pee Wee’s Playhouse DVD #1 and #2.  Maybe the local library has a set?