Jamborees

"It is more important to keep your eye on the ball than it is to try to get a goal," Sam said after I asked how he knew so much, how he had gotten so good so fast. 

We were out in the back yard kicking the ball around while Eva napped.  He had just scored his third goal by kicking the ball past me and in to the evergreen that sits between our house and the street.  I had yet to get the ball away from him long enough to kick it down the slope of our yard and into the tree that would allow me to score.

That was two weeks ago, a few days after his first Football Jamboree in La Crosse in which Kate and Eric and I cheered from the sidelines and took pictures while Kelly entertained Eva and snuggled with Eomji.  During the first Jamboree they had an older gentleman as a ref and he took the entire thing very seriously, encouraged the coaches to come out on the field and instruct the kids about the game, carefully explained the coin toss to the team captains (one of them Sam), and made sure the rules were followed.  During the second jamboree 2 weeks later, the high school student ref didn't seem all that interested in being there and he insisted we play on the smaller field and we all groaned about having to move to the cold shade, but even with the new 4 on 4 formation and the cold weather and one boy out with a broken arm, the second jamboree was a wild success.  Kate even got them all to pose for a team photo before we grabbed brats from the concession stand and loaded our gear back in the Mazda and headed home wishing we could do it every week.

Sam had two more nights of practice in which they mostly played games and the parents jogged in place to stay warm, but even though the sun is getting low in the sky by dinner time and the temperatures make gloves imperative, Sam still wants to be out there every day. 

"Why can't we play soccer in the winter?" he asks.  "We could shovel a circle in the snow and still play," he insists.  "Or maybe there's someplace we could play indoors in the winter.  What about our basement?"

Not a bad idea.

Three

As was the case last year also, I didn't really plan a formal birthday party for Eva.  She was just thrilled that a few friends agreed to come over and have some pizza and cupcakes with us on a Friday night so she could show them how she'd practiced holding up only three fingers all week.  And the evening included all the things a 3-year-old could ask for... noise and running and pizza and cupcakes and toys and friends.  The presents were an unexpected bonus and having close friends to share them with made it even better.  And even though her new Lego friends sets (especially the purple car that Brooklynn helped build) and the electronic cash register and plastic money were wonderful surprises, the best surprise of all was having TT show up in time to help blow out the candles.

Where did the three years go?

Lessons

When Kelly's kids were little I used to visit and tell her that when I grew up I wanted to be just like her.  She was a patient mother, teaching her children empathy and responsibility while supporting their soccer careers and reading Harry Potter with them every night.  I was her kids' crazy friend who came for a weekend and played shark-in-the-water on the couch cushions in the living room and helped Zachary and Josh create imaginary scenes in the sandbox and laughed when they danced and performed Shania Twain songs from the fireplace hearth.  And a decade later, Kelly is showing up at my house and bringing my kids toys and love and attention and joy, and they love her just as much as I do.  We are so blessed.

Some lessons learned from my much wiser friend who has had many more years of practice being a mom:

Having an adult conversation is actually possible if they have new toys.

ANYTHING can become a toy.

Being a good mommy sometimes requires wine.

When all else fails, give them food.

The Meaning of the D Word

TT has said we should sneak away, go get some grown-up time.  She knows how The Man and I have avoided using the D word, and she teases us about going on a date-non-date.  Sam has overheard me talk about how I wasn't going to date until Eva was four years old, but this is perhaps the first time the word has come up in front of him in the context of The Man and me.  Sam snickers just as The Man sets a second plate of hamburgers down on the table between Eva and TT.

"You don't even know what dating is," I say as I ruffle Sam's mop of thick blond hair.  "Do you even know what a date is?"

I smile and push his dinner plate back from the edge of the table and I briefly make eye contact with The Man who smiles and winks.

"Yah," Sam says. "It's when you go out for some love and some food."