The Seasons, They Are A-Changin'

I feel the cold a-comin’. Yep. The seasons, they are a changin’. Ready or not, here the cold weather comes.

I hate the cold. I absolutely despise driving in the ice and snow. This is probably the biggest thing I don’t like about living in town – winter driving conditions. I just dread when the temperatures drop.

However, this time right before it gets really cold; this is probably my favorite time of year. I love autumn not because of the beginning of school, or the football season, or all the birthdays we celebrate in my family. It’s the change in the season that gets me ready to change my pace. The change in the weather and the trees takes me from the hot, busy summer days spent outdoors to the cold, laid-back days spent indoors.

The cooler temperatures mean afternoons napping on the couch in front of a football game on television. It means caramel apples, hot apple cider, pumpkin pie, big bowls of chili, and lots of little smokies on the side. It means breaking out the corduroy jackets, cozy scarves, and buying new kickin’ boots. In our family, a trip to the mall has to fit in there somewhere.

The colors outside are just spectacular. The oranges, the yellows, the reds, and the browns on the green grass under a blue sky are incredible. All the different shades of these colors blended together are something worth taking a minute to appreciate.

It’s this time of year that you look forward to driving slowly through tree-lined residential neighborhoods. If you drive slowly enough, the leaves may gently fall on your car. If you pick up the pace, you can sift and scatter piles that may have collected on those less-traveled streets. Sometimes after I drop the kids at school I might go a block or two out of my way just to find a street full of leaves. Sometimes I’m still a kid at heart – a kid with a big sport utility vehicle.

The tree at the corner of our street is just beautiful. It’s a maple and right now has the most vibrant red foliage. It’s even more vibrant than my daughter’s new red highlights. And that’s saying something. The neighbors who own the tree barely have any grass in their yard and often don’t tie up their dog. But it makes me love these neighbors for having that tree -- and I don’t even know these people.

I took the dog for a walk yesterday. The weather channel predicted that Tuesday would probably be the last day to see 70 degrees for some time. The sights and smells just give you that fuzzy feeling; the kind of feeling that stays with you. The sky was a perfect blue. The sun was warm on my back, but there was crispness in the air that kept the weather from feeling too warm. With George Winston’s Autumn album playing in the CD player, life was just perfection.

There is a street I look forward to walking along at this time of year. It’s a short block with lots of oak trees. The oak trees drop all their leaves on the sidewalk, and the property owners rarely rake. It is a perfect place for piles of leaves that you can kick up as you walk. It has that earthy leaf scent that candle companies spend all kinds of money to duplicate. And when the sprinklers have just run, oh, it smells just awesome. That is the smell of autumn.

I’ve been missing another smell that means autumn to me. We’ve been so busy with school and sports and church activities that we didn’t make it out to my parent’s farm for harvest this year. The kids love to ride in the combine with my brother, the truck with my dad, or the grain cart with my mom. The smell of the corn in the back of the combine and the trucks is another smell that means the end of the warm weather. And the little pieces of corn husk that collect in your clothes and hair are just a precursor of the flakes that will soon fall.

God puts on quite a show this time of year. It’s worth taking a minute to stop and look around. Of course, what do we go and do at our house? We slap spider webs and skeletons on the house and yard (at least when we have the time). I still need to get the Halloween tub out of the basement and place a few gravestones in the lawn. But what’s the hurry? Halloween is only less than a week away. Heaven knows I am only motivated by a deadline. I guess I might as well break out the Christmas lights while we are at it.

I know this blog is a little out of character for my smart mouth. But I thought it was time to take a minute to appreciate God’s beautiful creation. If, however, you are missing the snarky comments, here are a few issues that I have stumbled upon over the past week or two that I think are worth mentioning, but may not be able to carry their own blog. Hope they aren’t too sassy. Enjoy.

--If you ever are presented with the opportunity to serve at your church during a pastor’s conference – do it. These are people who appreciate everything you do, and they will tell you so, a lot. They thank you for the wonderful food. They thank you for cleaning up the wonderful food. They thank you for the coffee. They thank you for the snacks. They thank you for the bottled water. They thank you for making everything run so smoothly. They thank you for just being there. And if you get the opportunity to hear them sing – do it. Pastors sing. I mean they really sing with their beautiful bass and tenor voices, often in harmony. They don’t mouth the words. They belt it out to glorify God. It is a beautiful thing. I would take that as my thanks any day.

--I find lately I often have to ask “Who is this person?” When I am on Face book in the People You May Know section (at the top right corner), I have several people to which I have 25 or so mutual friends. But I have no idea who these people are. How did that happen? I know I am forgetful, but not that forgetful. Also, I think they should put a “Not in a million years” button when some people pop up in this section. Call me catty, but life is too short to friend mean people and I don’t want to look at their faces again and again.

--Why do people with little dogs think it is so funny when their little unleashed dog comes charging over as you pass by, but then freak out if your big dog perks up their ears and stops walking to check the situation? When dogs charge they are displaying aggressive behavior, no matter what their size. So if your dog is going to pick a fight, leave them in the backyard or on a leash. I should mention, however, big 90-pound golden retrievers are generally too well behaved to tear a little dog to pieces, no matter how annoying your dog is. Most of time, the big dog is thinking, “Really? (Eye roll.) You’ve got to be kidding. Take a sedative. I’ve pooped bigger things than you today. Don’t make me step on you. Why don’t you take it up with the German shepherd around the corner? He didn’t have his snack this morning.”

--It only takes one night to have a sleepover, but it takes a week to clean up the mess. I’ve rounded up all the sleeping bags and popcorn residue, but I am still finding unknown socks. I also have an extra pillow and an extra pair of jean shorts. I am hoping to find a home for these items within the next month. Somewhere there is a mom desperately searching for a pink pillow and the match to several lonely socks.

--Why do all the new Top 40 songs feature somebody whistling at some point in the song? What is up with that? And more importantly, why did I never learn to whistle? These are things I want to know.

--Why are the new movies either about super heroes or are remakes of old films? Since we’ve run out of J.K. Rowling’s books, can nobody think of anything original any more? Are we so short of real-life people doing heroic deeds that we have to look to the comic books? I know we aren’t finding any quality deeds coming out the reality television shows. I don’t know. Maybe this might be worth a blog. I feel a rant coming on.

--I’ve stopped worrying if the kids in my neighborhood are going to like the candy I buy. Most of the kids old enough to trick-or-treat go to the mall or the zoo anyway. They don’t go house to house anymore. It’s too cold and too dangerous. So I buy the kind of candy I like (and a nice dessert wine to go with it). Somebody ought to eat good Monday, and it might as well be me.

--I have to say, I am glad my son is on my side. We were goofing around today, giving each other a few shoves, and the boy totally threw me sideways. I’m thinking this whole football linebacker thing has turned him into a little stud. He got low and gave me the shoulder, and I almost came up off the ground from the sheer force. He says that wasn’t even a real shove. It was just a little one. And it totally hurt. I know I’m getting a bruise. So I’m glad I have the boy on my side. He can plow the way through life one step ahead of me, blazing a path. Awesomeness. At least I got that going for me.

--Joe quote of the week: “Once you go chubby, you gotta go Bubby.” Take that however you deem appropriate.

OK, so that’s all I’ve got for you for this week. We are finally done with football games and soccer, so I might actually have a little time to write a blog again. Hopefully I will be able to get back to the computer a couple times a week for more blog updates.

I promise that I’ll do my best. Of course, there might be a really nap-worthy football game on television. Or I might need to take the dog for another walk.

If you don’t like it, take it up with my new complaints department. Of course, you will have to get by the little stud at the door. And watch out. He only takes it easy on his mom. 

An End to Football, American and Otherwise

This week marks the end of another season of football in our household – American and Association. For us hick Americans, association football is just a fancy way of saying soccer. Of course, shouldn’t a game called football be played with only your feet? Just asking.

It’s been a fantastic season of soccer this year for Mandy. Her team of 13-15 year olds, the Roos (or the Kroo), finished in second place in the Lincoln Spirit Soccer league. I’ve bragged of this before, but Mandy won the first game of the season for her team. The game was scoreless until close to the end of the game. Mandy pounded a kick past a goalie -- with her left foot – scoring the only goal of the game. It was fantastic. There was screaming and jumping up and down. And I think Mandy and her teammates were pretty excited too.

I’m not exactly sure what came over Mandy the last couple of years. When she first started playing the game in kindergarten, she was not the brawler she is today -- far from it. In fact, when her team went from regular, YMCA soccer to Spirit soccer, the coach told her she might not make the team. On the field Mandy was just too nice. She was one of those players that when someone came up and took the ball, she would back off, as if to say “Oh, you want it? OK, you can have it.” But the team needed one or two subs to warm the bench, so they kept her on the Kangaroos and she got some play time and stood in as goalie when needed. Some years you just need a warm body to stand in the goalie box in the hopes that the ball might accidentally bounce off the goalie when kicked that direction.

Then things changed. I credit the British Soccer Camps. Mandy is one of those examples of a player that just needed a chance to blossom and come into her own. That’s why her dad knows you can never stop teaching every single kid on the team the basics and skills of the game. Because you don’t know who it is suddenly going to “click” for and who is going to grow into a strong player. Some of the girls on Mandy’s team who were the real early standouts just stopped progressing. They were happy with how well they played, and they never really extended their skills. These girls are now very happy that Mandy stayed on their team. They know Mandy will charge up the field, hell on wheels, and take out any girl who stands in her way. Needless to say, “OK, you can have it,” has a whole new meaning for Mandy on the soccer field.

Mandy absolutely loved, loved, loved the British Soccer Camps she attended. She was always signed up for camp in the absolute hottest part of August. Some years the temperature was up in the 100s at 5:30pm when camp started. But she didn’t seem to mind. She always came home grinning. The coaches gave her loads of positive feedback and taught her all sorts of skills on the field that helped her have loads of confidence. And it didn’t hurt that the coaches were hot and talked with British accents. She used to giggle about how they would say “On the come, girls” and how they pronounced “Ah-mahn-dah.” Last year the coaches picked on her the last day of camp, dumping their water jugs on her head (at least those tall enough to reach that high). I think they enjoyed her happy attitude and smiling face, and couldn’t believe this tall lanky girl would prefer soccer over basketball. Go figure.

She loved her British coaches and they loved the kids. Every year Mandy and one of her friends would make the coaches nickname bracelets of who the girls thought the coaches resembled. This year Mandy made one of the coaches a bracelet that said “Cody Simpson.” In his beautiful British accent he asked Mandy “Is this Cody Simpson good looking?” Mandy, boof that she is, quickly replies, “Oh yeah. He is totally hot.” Then realizing what she just said, she slaps her hand over her mouth as the coaches all laugh and high-five. She may be tough, but she is still a blonde in a brunette’s body. 

After the summer camp, this year Mandy also signed up to do a once-a-week British camp session on Friday evenings. Coach Marty is an awesome coach. He was even wearing the bracelet she made him at summer camp on the first day of the fall individual camps. He said she was “a pleasure” to have at camp on the last day. She took a picture with Marty, and I think she put it on her Facebook page. What a great guy. Mandy can do a perfect imitation of his voice. She loves how he pronounces her name and attempts to uses American slang in his British accent. She laughs, however, when he attempts to call the players “Dude” during practice. This, she says, is just wrong. It’s not natural.

It really was the result of the British soccer coaches’ aggressive coaching and love for the sport that has made all the difference to Mandy the past couple seasons. I don’t know if brawler is the right term, but Mandy has become quite aggressive on the field. As opposed to hockey, nobody throws down their gloves and fights on the girls’ soccer fields. But Mandy is the player the teammates look to if they need somebody to take on a really pushy player on the other team. She splits her time during the game playing offensive attacker and defender. This Thursday’s game there was a really aggressive attacker that Mandy had to mark up on during the first half of the game. During the second half of the game Mandy played attacker, but then traded back with the girl who was playing defender against this aggressive attacker. I asked her why she did that (because I really wanted to see her score a goal). Her answer was that the other girl just wasn’t covering that aggressive player hard enough, MOM. Well, OK. I would never have imagined that coming out of her mouth when I watched her ride the bench a few years ago.

And when it comes to playing co-ed games, all bets are off. My baby is tough. Last year at soccer camp there was a seventh-grade boy who was pretty good, who liked to goad her. (I’m sure this is seventh-grade-boy speak for “I think you are cute so I am going to pick on you a lot.”) During one of the scrimmages, they both went after the ball. I watched my baby lay that boy out flat. And she walked away smiling. A similar situation happened at the NELHS soccer jam Friday. Mandy was playing defender and one of the eighth-grade boys was driving the ball into the goal. Mandy’s brawler instinct kicked in, they collided, and she gave him a shoulder shove that laid him out on the ground, right in front of the goal post. And he laid there for a while. I’m not sure if he was hurt, or if it was his pride, getting laid out by a girl. She should have, of course, helped him up -- and in true American football fashion – given him a slap on the butt to send him on his way. At least, that’s what Rick’s assistant football coach says. What eighth grade boy wouldn’t appreciate that?

Sometimes I wonder if this tough, aggressive exterior is a good thing. The other day she said she almost punched a sixth-grade football boy in the mouth for calling one of her best friends a freak. (Not the same footballer who she told to “talk to the booty, the hands off duty.”) Good thing this boy knew when to cut bait and run. It’s true, sports have given her a load of confidence that she is going to need once she hits high school. And it will probably be OK if she can keep it contained. I’d rather have to ask her where to direct phone calls to Krush’s sister’s booty than calls from angry parents. We may have to work on this.

So Mandy’s soccer team ended their season today with a record of 6 wins and 2 losses. They got beat this afternoon by the other top team in the league. It was a super hard loss, because Mandy’s team would have been first in the league if they had won. Sometimes it seems second place can be so much harder than last place. We discovered this last year in volleyball when Mandy’s team took second in a volleyball tournament. Coming so close, but losing in the last few minutes is a heart-breaker. You can tell yourself all you want that you beat all those other teams, but it doesn’t stop the tears. Today there were quite a few Roos streaming tears as they walked off the field. Coach Scott gave out a lot of hugs, and a lot of girls had their daddys’ arms around their shoulders. The girls played incredibly, with awesome passes and headers and they looked like a grown-up soccer team. I guess it is something to motivate them in the Spring season. As Joe told his sister tonight, you just can’t win them all.

And today was the last day of Lincoln’s midget football season. Joe has been playing on the B team on the offensive line as left guard, holding off much bigger, heavier players. He knows how to use his choppy feet, his short, solid stature, and his low center of gravity to drive his shoulder pads up into a defensive lineman and hold him back. The boy, age 11 in the sixth grade, weighs in at about 154 pounds. He is in the top five of his team for weight, but is probably one of the shortest guys on the team.

I’ve been so proud of how my little guy has played this season. He plays on the B team with mostly seventh and eighth graders. He is just a little sixth grader, so he should be an awesome lineman once he gets to the eighth grade. And he is going to need to be. I’ve seen those A-team eighth graders at the scale waiting to weigh in. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, on the Runza team I saw two boys with full beards. And those were the guys who chose not to shave that day.

But Joe often plays against bigger, older boys. A lot of the time he lines up against guys with double-dots who are about a head taller than he is. Today was a prime example. The guy across the line was a head taller and a lot wider. The first time Joe crashed into him, Joe bounced off him like a rubber ball. But then he remembered to get low and blocked him out. I get nervous, but he always says the bigger they are, the harder they fall. I think he has a secret pride that he can throw down with the big boys and get right back up.

Of course that doesn’t always happen. Joe’s Assurity B team often scrimmages with the Assurity A team. At one practice, one of the offensive lineman on the A team hit Joe so hard he went flying backwards through the air, landing flat on his back. Joe said it totally knocked the wind out of him and so he just laid there for a while. Joe came home after another scrimmage with the A team with a migraine because this same offensive lineman kept hitting him so hard. Consequently, Mandy is seriously crushing on this A-team lineman. I’m not sure if it is because of how he is built, how he can hit, or the fact that he can lay out her brother. It’s probably a little of all three.

Of course, as I’ve mentioned in a previous blog, Joe is a beefy boy who can hold his own. In fact, he should be playing with one green dot on his helmet, although he seemed to make it through the season dodging this tag. If you weigh above a certain weight limit for the level team you are playing for, you either have one dot (which means you have to play on the line) or two dots (which means you have to play on the line one direction, offense or defense). When Joe went through the scales at the first game, the guy running the scales took one look at how short Joe is and waved him through. Joe didn’t argue, although the weight limit on B for a single dot is 145. And Joe is 154. At the second game, the guy running the scale hesitated a bit when Joe came in. He stopped Joe and asked if he had a dot. Joe, honest as the day is long, said “well, they didn’t give me one last week.” And the guy waved him through. Well, he can’t say he lied.

This week Joe’s coach let Joe spend some time in on the defensive line. At practice he was breaking through his own offensive line, so he got to try his hand at messing up the offense, instead of protecting it. My fear was that Joe would break through the line and then just stand there looking around, as if to say, well I made it this far, now what? But he did OK. He even broke through and messed up a play or two on the other side. No quarterback sacks, though. Oh well, there’s always next year.

I should also mention Rick’s D team here somewhere. The Rookie and D teams finished their season last week. The Assurity white D team finished their season 5 and 2. Rick and his offensive-coach Brian spent the season doing a lot of yelling and a lot of pushups. Of course, you’ve got to do a lot of that when you are dealing with fourth-, fifth-, and sixth-grade boys. Rick and Brian are typical football coaches. If the boys mouthed off, goofed around, or just didn’t listen, the boys ran another lap. Or, they did another dozen diamond pushups. And the coaches were right there with them, doing the pushups and scrimmages with the players. (You should see Rick’s biceps.) The coaches, of course, were the biggest kids out there.

Mandy and I enjoyed coming to several practices to watch Rick and Brian drill the fundamentals of tackling and passing and catching over and over again. We had our favorite players. Of course we enjoyed the football studs on Rick’s D team, like Appleget, who could just take the ball and fly down the field. But we also loved several other little guys because of their determination. We loved little Morrison, the second-string nose tackle. He was short and little and round with the cutest freckles and glasses. When he got knocked down, he just rolled and bounced right back up. In fact, sometimes he would run and fall down for no reason, and then bounce back up and keep running. Nothing kept him down, or dampened his spirits. We also loved little Pinkerton, or Pinky. The boy is a repeat D-team player, mostly because he is in the sixth grade and 70-pounds soaking wet. So what does Rick do? Rick puts him in the middle of his defensive line. Pinky army crawls his way through the offensive line and either sacks the quarterback or really messes up their plays in the backfield. This is also the player that never forgets. He reminds Rick that he owes the team a dozen diamond pushups for causing a penalty for sending too many players out on the field. He is somewhat obsessive/compulsive, so Rick puts him in charge of getting out and putting away the kicking T. And he never lost it all season. Pinky also is the guy on the team who has the audacity to pancake each of the coaches when they were scrimmaging with the team. This boy takes no prisoners. Heaven help his mother.

So it was with a somewhat heavy heart that I approached this Sunday, which will end both our football and our soccer seasons. We packed up the folding bag chairs and the water bottles. We threw in a couple blankets and sweatshirts. And I took my pictures. There are pictures of the team, pictures with their coaches, and pictures with their best friends. It’s a day you want to make sure you’ve got your battery charged with plenty of memory space. And guess what? I even had room to take a picture of Krush’s sister’s booty for a football player or two. Her hand is off duty. We seriously don’t want anybody getting punched.

Just Say No To AM Radio

Sometimes I look at my husband and I think “who is this guy and when did he start listening to AM radio?” I mean seriously, AM radio? My grandparents listened to that stuff. We aren’t that old, are we?

I spent the weekend with my husband’s pickup, traveling back and forth to a craft show in Council Bluffs (a blog all by itself). I started the pickup and out pops some yeehaw talking about government and economics. I push another button, and out pops some wanna-be talking about a football game. Another button brings up a station with a call-in version of Craig’s list. Talk about a parallel universe.

I hear enough yeehaws on television, walking around town, and especially out at the football field. I don’t need to invite them into my vehicle, becoming their captive audience for an hour. I mean they let just about anybody have their own talk radio show, the stupider and more confrontational, the better. And even worse, they let just about anybody call into these shows and express their rambling, inane opinions about the most mind-numbing topics. Is this supposed to keep me awake while I am driving? Life is too short to waste time listening to dumb people.

I should have known this love of news and talk radio was coming. Rick’s parents keep their television tuned to CNN or FOX news, 25 hours a day. (Yes, I know, I said 25 hours. I am making an attempt at sarcasm here. I would have said it was an attempt at humor, but it loses something when I have to explain it.)

News was never my favorite program growing up. I thought it was something they put on television following Scooby Doo and before the prime-time comedies to waste time while you eat supper. This probably is somewhat ironic, considering I got my bachelor’s degree in the News/Editorial program at the UNL Journalism college.

News is fantastically exciting when you are in the thick of it, calling people for interviews, doing research, studying products, and getting quotes. But when you are on the other side of the news -- in the general public -- it loses its charm. You know that the writer (or editor) left out all the quotes and statistics that didn’t quite slant the story the way he or she wanted it to go. You can make most stories lead whatever direction you want them to go, if you search hard enough. There really are two sides to every story, it just depends which direction you want it to lean.

But as I said earlier, I should have known that someday my husband would be a talk radio junkie. It’s in his genes. His parents often discuss the happenings half way across the world that seem to me to have little to do with our everyday life. And I really don’t want my kids exposed to school shootings and child disappearances, especially back when they were younger and a lot more impressionable. Kids have enough bad dreams the way it is. I used to have to spray the exterior of Joe’s room with Lysol, because it would kill and ward off all the spiders, crabs, wolves, or bears while he slept. Yeah, I know, I was really pushing it. Even then he was skeptical. But he probably thought if I believed it, who was he shatter my delusions.

I just am not an AM radio person. I have to listen to music when I drive – happy fun music -- cranked up loud. It keeps me moving. It keeps me conscious.

So I changed the radio over to FM. Did I change all his presets? I really, really considered it. It’s not beyond me to mess with Rick like that. I do take his little to-do notebook he keeps in his pickup and I add random messages here and there. Along with his list of lumber, screws, cleaners, and other items for apartment maintenance, I like to add “candy bottlecaps” and “flowers for your wife.” Or in his list of around-the-house chores, I might add “take your wife out for supper.” I’m still waiting on those bottlecaps and that supper out. I suppose the handwriting gave me away.

But I didn’t mess with his radio presets -- at least not this time. And as far as his preference for AM news radio, I suppose I have to take the good with the bad. After 19 years of marriage, there are going to be compromises. He may have more grey hair than black hair. He may spend most of his spare time drafting new midget football plays with his pal Brian. He may listen to talk radio and occasionally talk back to the callers. But, we are stuck with one another, for better or worse, thick or thin. He’s just lucky, I guess, that I’m so perfect. Don’t worry. If he didn’t know his wife is perfect already, he will the next time he checks his apartment to-do list. He will read that I’m perfect and that he really needs to buy more candy corn…….

The Proverbial Soccer Mom

There comes a time when you have to ask yourself if you are the soccer mom that you’ve been warned about.

Are there soccer games in which you have to sit in your vehicle because you will yell too much during a close game and embarrass your child?

Do you honk when your team scores a goal from said vehicle?

Do you change seats at volleyball games when you find yourself sitting next to the opposing crowd?

Do you update your kids with a scouting report of the other team’s players, based on their warm-up?

Does your husband make you do the stats book at baseball games to keep you busy and out of the crowd?

Oh crap. That’s me.

I yell loudly at my kids’ games. I’m that mom yelling “go Assurity” or “block somebody red” at football games. I have bellowed “move your feet” or “serve receive ladies, serve receive” at volleyball games. I’ve also been known to yell “that’s you’re ball” or “Mandy, that’s you” at soccer games. I often lose my voice. I jump up and down when we make a big play. Yes, really. I have caught myself leaving my seat and jumping like a goof. Really.

My husband may be turning into a grumpy old coach, but I’m the proverbial soccer mom. I’m always sporting the folding bag chairs and water bottles for every game. I’ve got the sports sticker on the back of my Traverse. I’m styling with my Assurity t-shirt and giant player button featuring my kids’ smiling face. (Except for the football one. Joe looks totally bad-a** with his glowering stare.)

But I do have my limits. I try to never criticize anyone else’s child or the officials. And I never cheer at the other’s teams’ failings. If I yell anything, it’s to rally my child or to encourage someone else’s child. Anything beyond that crosses a line that I expect everyone at the game to respect. I have no patience for parents who put down someone else on their team or blame the officials when things aren’t going their way.

I expect my kids to do their best. Sometimes I suppose that if I yell louder that will somehow motivate them to work harder or run faster. Sometimes, however, it just results in a bigger eye-roll.

We are rounding the corner to close the football season for Joe and the soccer season for Mandy. Joe’s team is rated third in the B league and Mandy’s soccer team is undefeated. Joe, or Krush, plays left guard as a 6^th grader, playing with mostly 7^th and 8^th graders. In two years he is going to be an awesome lineman for the A team. Mandy splits her time as a defender and an attacker for soccer. The first game of the season she scored the only goal of the game – with her left foot – to bring home the win for the Roos. Mandy’s spirit volleyball team has one win and one loss, with the majority of the season ahead of them. So far, she’s had some incredible serving series and her hits are going down hard. But who can help but brag a little? They are doing awesome. (I can’t help it. The soccer/helicopter mom in me keeps peeking out.)

So if you see me on the sideline, with my hand over my mouth, remember that I am trying to do better. We all are learning that you can’t win every game. You have to be a good sportsman, especially when you lose. And one person can’t be the whole team.

I’ll try to keep the pictures to a minimum. I’ll stay off the field if they get injured (an embarrassment evidently worse than death). And I’ll refrain from yelling “that’s my baby,” when they make a big play. Oh wait. I take that last one back. I may have to be a little trailer park and embarrass my kids a wee bit during the big plays. Baby steps, people. Baby steps.