I've never really played soccer so I admit I don't know all the rules of the game. But I know some. I know that you are supposed to kick the ball into the other team's net. And you can't use your hands. But my six-year-old son has taken several soccer classes now and knows a bit more than me. So yesterday when we went to the park I deferred to him.
Me: Okay, we need teams and there are only three of us so I can just watch and referee.
Older son: No. You two (pointing to me and my youngest son) are on different teams. I'm the judge.
Me: It's referee, not judge.
Son: Mommy, listen....
Me: Okay, okay go on.
Son: We can't use a soccer ball. We're using my Bakugan ball because it will explode and a regular soccer ball won't. At level two you both have to play and when one of you gets frozen then the other has to score quickly unless the ball is also frozen, which can happen in this game -- it really can -- and it might happen if you're not fast enough. So you have to be fast. Are you going to be fast.?
Me: (Looking at my flip-flops) Maybe...
Son: So you have to tag the other person, but not if you're frozen or if the ball has exploded because you got the bad guy half.
Me: What bad guy?
Son: Just listen....I'm telling you!
Me: Okay.
Son: Okay, I'm not sure who is the bad guy yet. But you can also punch. But there is a code over there (pointing to trees that back up to Metra tracks) but you have to unlock the code before it explodes...
Me: Before what explodes?
Son: (clearly exhasperated with my ignorance) The ball....
Me: Of course. Go on.
Son: Okay, so mommy, you're it. You're frozen though for 10 minutes and cannot move. He (pointing to little brother) has the ball. And also, I'm going to be frozen too and the only way to unfreeze me is to crawl between my legs. But remember that the ball is fine. Until it explodes. You have to throw the ball at me but you can't hit my head or my legs and if I get back to base first before it explodes or the lock is opened then I'm not it anymore. But you have to let me have a head-start and then only try and get me. But remember I can't be frozen. Okay?
Younger son: What if I get thirsty?
Son: There are no water breaks allowed. (Pause) Mommy? Where is our water?
Me: Right here....
Son: Is it still cold? Can I have some?
Me: Sure....
Son: Okay, so I'm the captain but only until you free me. Or open the lock. Don't forget about the lock.
Me: Okay, fine. What else?
Son: No squeezing.
Me: No squeezing what?
Son: No squeezing necks.
Me: Yes, that's a good idea.
Younger son: I don't wanna play.
Me: No, this is good. Let's play. What else do we need to know?
Son: That's it. That's the game.
Me: Really, that's it?
Son: Yes. Well, that's level two. Levels three and four get much harder.
Me: Wait, what's level one?
Son: Regular soccer.
Game on.
It's a Life Sentence on Facebook.
August 26, 2011
August 1, 2011
Tucked out
Endings upset me. I'm not picky, it doesn't matter what kind of an ending it is. A book ending, a relationship ending, a favorite TV show...they all make me sad. Even the endings I've been looking forward to (leaving our old home) tend to upset me because it's change and I struggle with change.
So it is probably a good thing that I wasn't aware that the last night I snuggled with my six-year-old in his bed would be the last night I would really be able to do so.
When we moved into our new home a few weeks ago we set their beds up as bunk beds. My oldest son couldn't wait to sleep up on top. And my little guy couldn't wait for his older brother to sleep up on top. Until he realized that meant he couldn't see his brother when he was talking to him. Then he decided it was a horrible idea. He stopped speaking to me for seven minutes in protest.
But still, we did it.
A guy came to set them up. When he was finished he asked how we liked it. We all agreed that it was great. He grabbed his tools and left. I didn't realize at that moment that he was also taking a piece of my oldest son's childhood with him when shut the door behind him.
Within minutes both boys were scrambling up the ladder to see how cool the top bunk really was. One thing lead to another and within seconds I was screaming at them to stop shoving and pushing on the ladder, that there was to be no wresting -- EVER -- on that top bunk, or leaning over the side, or jumping up and down, or even breathing too heavily for fear of it collapsing or I would take it apart with my own two hands and they would have to sleep side by side again and then they wouldn't have room for the Lego table in their room anymore.
My younger son pouted as he crawled down. My older son ignored me. Or maybe he just couldn't hear me all the way up there.
So I climbed the ladder to make sure he knew the rules about sleeping in the top bunk. He was already giving it a test run, nestled under his Spider Man blanket surrounded by his favorite animals. I called out his name once. Twice.
Nothing.
I shook his leg.
He told me to leave him alone, he was practicing sleeping.
I took another step up to climb in bed with him and stopped. I realized that the top bunk probably was not meant to hold a 40+-pound boy, his mommy and all of his dolls. Or maybe it was, but with my younger son pouting in his bed directly beneath me I didn't want to take the chance. So I climbed down. And with every step on the ladder I felt my older son drifting farther and farther away.
I'm being melodramatic of course. I excel at that. But I was sad because I realized in that moment that my days of snuggling with my first baby were essentially over. Sure I'd have that chance on vacations or any place were they weren't in bunk beds. But at home those moments were gone. And by the time they were tired of bunk beds, or too big for them, they'd certainly be too big for mommy to lay in bed with them, scratching their backs and asking about their day.
Instead, from now on I'd be kissing him goodnight before sending him up the ladder into his bed. Any snuggles that he'd get would be in his small chair on the floor. Any nighttime stories would have to be told, not cuddled in bed, but sitting on the floor or in his brother's bottom bunk with his brother complaining that he didn't have enough room with all three of us in there and that "Baby Ankylosaurus" was getting squished, which in this house is akin to crimes against humanity.
I know not everyone believes it's good to get in bed with your kids. Independent sleep is important. No one knows that better than this mom who's first child began boycotting sleep just as all of his peers were realizing 10+ hours was a good thing. So we never let the kids sleep in our bed with us. We wanted them comfortable in their own room, in their own beds. Happily independent. But still, no matter how spent we were at day's end, we crawled into theirs every night for a few minutes. And the snuggles were as much for us as for them. Faced with the horribly unfair realization that their day was over, they suddenly remembered all the information they had "forgotten" right after school or camp or a play date that they wanted to share with us. Nothing like the threat of sleep to spur a six-year-old's memory.
It was often the best part of my day. Partially because it meant I would finally have some of that elusive "me" time, and partially because in their cozy dinosaur pajamas, under their Spider Man comforters, they were sweeter, happier, more loving and less likely to launch a Matchbox Car at my head.
We'd check on them periodically throughout the night and make sure their bodies weren't hanging sideways off the bed, their covers were up around their chins, and their dollies were easily reachable when they woke up. I'd marvel at how these same faces, peaceful, innocent and angelic, were the same ones that were trying to mutilate each other just hours earlier.
Now, I can no longer even see my son sleeping all the way up in his bunk, beneath his covers. I can't put my finger under his nose or on his chest to confirm breath. Instead I now comfort myself by feeling around under the blankets to find a warm ankle or toe. A little tickle to the foot followed by a small kick tells me everything's okay. I'm adapting.
The week before we moved into our new home we stayed at my aunt and uncle's house. The last night there I crawled into their twin, non-bunk bed beds and snuggled with them. We talked about our old house and the new one we were moving into the next morning. We discussed where we'd put things (no the litter box wasn't going next to mommy's side of the bed.) After half-an-hour I kissed them goodnight and got up. My older son asked me to stay longer but I said no. Tomorrow was going to be a long day. They needed to get to sleep. And I left.
Had I realized that that was one of the last nights to snuggle with him in bed I would have stayed there longer.
Not much longer. Just another 12 years or so.
It's a Life Sentence on Facebook.
So it is probably a good thing that I wasn't aware that the last night I snuggled with my six-year-old in his bed would be the last night I would really be able to do so.
When we moved into our new home a few weeks ago we set their beds up as bunk beds. My oldest son couldn't wait to sleep up on top. And my little guy couldn't wait for his older brother to sleep up on top. Until he realized that meant he couldn't see his brother when he was talking to him. Then he decided it was a horrible idea. He stopped speaking to me for seven minutes in protest.
But still, we did it.
A guy came to set them up. When he was finished he asked how we liked it. We all agreed that it was great. He grabbed his tools and left. I didn't realize at that moment that he was also taking a piece of my oldest son's childhood with him when shut the door behind him.
Within minutes both boys were scrambling up the ladder to see how cool the top bunk really was. One thing lead to another and within seconds I was screaming at them to stop shoving and pushing on the ladder, that there was to be no wresting -- EVER -- on that top bunk, or leaning over the side, or jumping up and down, or even breathing too heavily for fear of it collapsing or I would take it apart with my own two hands and they would have to sleep side by side again and then they wouldn't have room for the Lego table in their room anymore.
My younger son pouted as he crawled down. My older son ignored me. Or maybe he just couldn't hear me all the way up there.
So I climbed the ladder to make sure he knew the rules about sleeping in the top bunk. He was already giving it a test run, nestled under his Spider Man blanket surrounded by his favorite animals. I called out his name once. Twice.
Nothing.
I shook his leg.
He told me to leave him alone, he was practicing sleeping.
I took another step up to climb in bed with him and stopped. I realized that the top bunk probably was not meant to hold a 40+-pound boy, his mommy and all of his dolls. Or maybe it was, but with my younger son pouting in his bed directly beneath me I didn't want to take the chance. So I climbed down. And with every step on the ladder I felt my older son drifting farther and farther away.
I'm being melodramatic of course. I excel at that. But I was sad because I realized in that moment that my days of snuggling with my first baby were essentially over. Sure I'd have that chance on vacations or any place were they weren't in bunk beds. But at home those moments were gone. And by the time they were tired of bunk beds, or too big for them, they'd certainly be too big for mommy to lay in bed with them, scratching their backs and asking about their day.
Instead, from now on I'd be kissing him goodnight before sending him up the ladder into his bed. Any snuggles that he'd get would be in his small chair on the floor. Any nighttime stories would have to be told, not cuddled in bed, but sitting on the floor or in his brother's bottom bunk with his brother complaining that he didn't have enough room with all three of us in there and that "Baby Ankylosaurus" was getting squished, which in this house is akin to crimes against humanity.
I know not everyone believes it's good to get in bed with your kids. Independent sleep is important. No one knows that better than this mom who's first child began boycotting sleep just as all of his peers were realizing 10+ hours was a good thing. So we never let the kids sleep in our bed with us. We wanted them comfortable in their own room, in their own beds. Happily independent. But still, no matter how spent we were at day's end, we crawled into theirs every night for a few minutes. And the snuggles were as much for us as for them. Faced with the horribly unfair realization that their day was over, they suddenly remembered all the information they had "forgotten" right after school or camp or a play date that they wanted to share with us. Nothing like the threat of sleep to spur a six-year-old's memory.
It was often the best part of my day. Partially because it meant I would finally have some of that elusive "me" time, and partially because in their cozy dinosaur pajamas, under their Spider Man comforters, they were sweeter, happier, more loving and less likely to launch a Matchbox Car at my head.
We'd check on them periodically throughout the night and make sure their bodies weren't hanging sideways off the bed, their covers were up around their chins, and their dollies were easily reachable when they woke up. I'd marvel at how these same faces, peaceful, innocent and angelic, were the same ones that were trying to mutilate each other just hours earlier.
Now, I can no longer even see my son sleeping all the way up in his bunk, beneath his covers. I can't put my finger under his nose or on his chest to confirm breath. Instead I now comfort myself by feeling around under the blankets to find a warm ankle or toe. A little tickle to the foot followed by a small kick tells me everything's okay. I'm adapting.
The week before we moved into our new home we stayed at my aunt and uncle's house. The last night there I crawled into their twin, non-bunk bed beds and snuggled with them. We talked about our old house and the new one we were moving into the next morning. We discussed where we'd put things (no the litter box wasn't going next to mommy's side of the bed.) After half-an-hour I kissed them goodnight and got up. My older son asked me to stay longer but I said no. Tomorrow was going to be a long day. They needed to get to sleep. And I left.
Had I realized that that was one of the last nights to snuggle with him in bed I would have stayed there longer.
Not much longer. Just another 12 years or so.
It's a Life Sentence on Facebook.
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