This is not news to my friends or family, but Aidan does not consider himself to be a child. At the mature age of 8 1/2, he considers himself to be the third adult in our home. He's extremely intelligent, and that contributes to the..."situation", (a loving mother should not call it a "problem"). That's not bragging, he really is very intellectual. He reads at least 2 hours a day. And he has moved beyond fiction kids' books. His all-time love topic is The Titanic. I bet he's read a dozen books on the subject, and yesterday we had to hear ALL DAY about how it was the 100th anniversary of it's sinking.
He is also currently reading books about the Alamo, Gettysburg, the Hindenburg, and every boy's favorite, the Guinness Book of World Records.
I noticed a light coming from his room the other night, and when I went to investigate I found him under the covers, reading by flashlight. I can imagine a lot of things that young boys might hide under their covers to read, but do you know what he was reading? The Declaration of Independence. No joke. My mouth is still hanging open. My grandmother gave him a copy of it on fake parchment, and I think Aidan fancies himself to be a branch of the Smithsonian.
Aidan also calls Ava and Coop "the kids". When we were out a restaurant with the Spellmans, one of the kids tipped the table over and spilled a coke. Aidan turns to the Trooper and I and says, "Well, at least that wasn't one of our kids!" Yeah. At least.
Truthfully, it is easier to go places without Aidan. Ava and Coop just skip along, and do whatever we tell them. They obligingly eat off of the kids' menus in restaurants. They act like CHILDREN. Aidan wants to be consulted on where we're going, what we're doing, and is mortally offended if a waitress brings him a plastic child's cup with a lid. Aidan is exhausting mentally.
But he is also really funny. And a lot of fun to be around. Aidan has been an adult since he was about a year old, so I am very used to it by now. I love listening as he "teaches" me about whatever his latest fascination is. This morning I was learning about 2,000 year old oak trees while I drove him to his baseball game. Speaking of, I know I have mentioned it 500 times, but we listen to K-Love in the car. It is contemporary Christian music. K-Love promotes something called the "30 Day Challenge". K-Love believes that if you listen to only Christian music for 30 days, it will change your life and you'll never go back to regular radio. Personally, I found this to be true. That's how I got hooked on it. Aidan listens to the radio as he falls asleep at night, and I did not realize that he knew about this 30 day thing until this morning.
It was 8 am on a Sunday. We were in the middle of a baseball tournament, and missing church for game #3. I was exhausted after a "will the tornadoes wipe us out tonight" night of rest. We took our smaller car, since it was just the two of us, and all of my old CD's are in that car. I had my mega-sized cup of coffee, and I popped in my Billy Squier CD. (Will everyone who is judging me for having a Billy Squier CD, kindly click the red X in the upper right hand corner?) Nothing like 80s music to wake a mommy up! And then in chimes my adult son,
"Mom? You are ruining my K-Love 30 Day Challenge by making me listen to this."
So I told him,
"You are making me miss church, you little heathen, in order to go to baseball."
He just laughed. That's what I love best of all about Aidan. He has a grown-up sense of humor and we make each other laugh a lot.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Friday, April 13, 2012
Ridin Dirty
My running girls are doing the first Half of the year tomorrow. It's called Rock the Parkway. I am very excited for them, they have been training hard, but a little sad I wasn't up and ready to go by now. I really wish I could run it with them.
But my training is going well. I'm right where I should be right now, and I'm planning to the Hospital Hill Half Marathon in June. Traci says we should never do any run that has both the words "Hospital" and "Hill" in it, and I am doing my best to ignore the little voice in my head telling me that there is a ringing of the truth in that statement.
So today was about making myself feel a little better. I admit it, I was feeling a little sorry for myself. So I set off on my first long run alone. My girls all have to lay off long runs before a race, so I went out and busted out 8.2 miles. My plan was to do 9, but then my Garmin froze up and I was so distracted and mad I cut it short. (Anyone who relies on a Garmin will understand this. I can't run without it anymore!) Last night I loaded up my iPhone with good running music to keep me company, and it did not disappoint.
I should be embarrassed to admit the 80's mix on my iPhone. Really embarrassed. But the two songs that I most love running to are a crazy contradiction. The first one is Our God by Chris Tomlin. Love this song! Very inspirational. Not a huge leap for the middle-aged Jesus loving mom though. My car radio rarely leaves K-Love.
But my second new favorite running song is Ridin Dirty. Have you ever listened to Ridin Dirty? If you don't want to click on that link and listen to the whole song, check out this commercial. It is classic.
Click HERE.
So during an 8ish mile run I listened to this song approximately 942 times? I forgot who I was. The hotter and sweatier I got, the more my inner bad ass rose to the surface. I started doing my "Wazzup?" nod at people. I wasn't scared to run alone, because no idiot would mess with me! I felt TOUGH. When the Basehor police cruised by me slowly, I looked at them suspiciously. I thought maybe I was a victim of racial profiling. Then I remembered that I was not, in fact, a young, black male running from the cops in some really cool low-riding wheels, no matter what my headphones were telling me. When I open my door, I don't worry that empty 40s are going to fall out. I don't have bad ass friends ready to back my play in the backseat. Everyone in my world knows that when I open my minivan door petrified french fries fall out, and sometimes the odd overdue library book. And I usually don't have room for friends because I roll with so many carseats and boosters. Oh yeah, and I'm married to a cop. (Ironically enough, my husband is the one who gave me that song.) That poor Basehor policeman was probably just wondering if he should call the paramedics because this very pale white female tends to turn reddish-purple with any physical exertion.
So that's how I spent my Friday morning. A little crazy, but I burned enough calories to eat a hamburger for lunch. I am soooo wild like that.
But my training is going well. I'm right where I should be right now, and I'm planning to the Hospital Hill Half Marathon in June. Traci says we should never do any run that has both the words "Hospital" and "Hill" in it, and I am doing my best to ignore the little voice in my head telling me that there is a ringing of the truth in that statement.
So today was about making myself feel a little better. I admit it, I was feeling a little sorry for myself. So I set off on my first long run alone. My girls all have to lay off long runs before a race, so I went out and busted out 8.2 miles. My plan was to do 9, but then my Garmin froze up and I was so distracted and mad I cut it short. (Anyone who relies on a Garmin will understand this. I can't run without it anymore!) Last night I loaded up my iPhone with good running music to keep me company, and it did not disappoint.
I should be embarrassed to admit the 80's mix on my iPhone. Really embarrassed. But the two songs that I most love running to are a crazy contradiction. The first one is Our God by Chris Tomlin. Love this song! Very inspirational. Not a huge leap for the middle-aged Jesus loving mom though. My car radio rarely leaves K-Love.
But my second new favorite running song is Ridin Dirty. Have you ever listened to Ridin Dirty? If you don't want to click on that link and listen to the whole song, check out this commercial. It is classic.
Click HERE.
So during an 8ish mile run I listened to this song approximately 942 times? I forgot who I was. The hotter and sweatier I got, the more my inner bad ass rose to the surface. I started doing my "Wazzup?" nod at people. I wasn't scared to run alone, because no idiot would mess with me! I felt TOUGH. When the Basehor police cruised by me slowly, I looked at them suspiciously. I thought maybe I was a victim of racial profiling. Then I remembered that I was not, in fact, a young, black male running from the cops in some really cool low-riding wheels, no matter what my headphones were telling me. When I open my door, I don't worry that empty 40s are going to fall out. I don't have bad ass friends ready to back my play in the backseat. Everyone in my world knows that when I open my minivan door petrified french fries fall out, and sometimes the odd overdue library book. And I usually don't have room for friends because I roll with so many carseats and boosters. Oh yeah, and I'm married to a cop. (Ironically enough, my husband is the one who gave me that song.) That poor Basehor policeman was probably just wondering if he should call the paramedics because this very pale white female tends to turn reddish-purple with any physical exertion.
So that's how I spent my Friday morning. A little crazy, but I burned enough calories to eat a hamburger for lunch. I am soooo wild like that.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Don't Mess with the Carpool
Soccer moms live and die by the carpool line. And I'm sorry friends, if you don't want to think you're a soccer mom, but most of you that I'm talking to are.
Carpool is a feared tradition that we partake in every day, year in and year out. (Because we don't want to pay $200 for our kids to ride the bus!) It is for the cheap, but not for the weak.
The Grisly Details:
Our school gets out at 3:50, but for some reason by 3:25 you can find myself, Traci, Stephanie, and April all right up front, jockeying for position. Why do we arrive so early? Different reasons. I can't speak for Steph and April's motivations, but Traci likes to sit there and read with Bodey restrained in his carseat and sedated by a movie, and I have to get there because if my oldest son is not one of the first ten kids picked up he freaks out. No joke. I would have to put Aidan on Xanax if I could not idle my minivan in the school parking lot for 30 minutes every afternoon. You would think a kid with a heliparent would have a bit more confidence that I won't leave him at school.....but, noooo.
Not all of us are fighting to be first. There are also car-poolers like my neighbor, Rachel. Rach works from home, and has a laid back kid, so she blows in last, wastes no more than 5 minutes of her afternoon, and takes her more relaxed kid back home. Easy peasy. She seems kind of lucky some days. But I have to fess up to something. If I ever find myself behind Rach in carpool I instantly check my dash clock and think, "Oh crap, Aidan must have hives by now."
This is our life. April is always in the first fleet, Rachel is in the last, and the rest of us are in between, but usually towards the front. All moms have their own routines. It rarely changes. We like our routines. We have a comfort zone. And I am not going to lie. I secretly like carpool. Sitting there in the sunshine, listening to the radio....it's relaxing.
But yesterday there was a newbie running the line---God bless her little heart. She looked so fresh-faced and innocent. Smiling and waving as she let the cars go....three from one line, three from the next.
Oh dear. I feared she might be eaten alive. Was she being hazed? Did her coworkers really send her out there without knowing the RULES??? Vicious.
I first noticed the problem because I was diagonal and behind my friend Steph, and I see her shaking her head, obviously irritated. See this is how carpool works. (Don't I sound like a crazy person? Sometimes I just cannot believe this is my life.) There are two lines. The early bird line, and the park-in-the-shade line. The teacher in charge lets ten cars go out of the early bird line, then five from the shady line, then five from the bird line, and so on and so on.
THIS MUST NOT BE CHANGED EVER. EVER!!! EVER!!!
People (Stephanie!) have counted to find the perfect position in line. And some don't like a sally-come-later (like myself) to get ahead of them in the pick-up line, because damn it, they have paid their dues! This is serious! This is....THE SUBURBS!
I am amused by all of this deep, deep down. I mean, seriously, why is this so critical?
I don't know.
But it is!
I am also getting judgmental about dandelion yards. The assimilation is almost complete. I think I may wake up tomorrow in a pod.
Carpool is a feared tradition that we partake in every day, year in and year out. (Because we don't want to pay $200 for our kids to ride the bus!) It is for the cheap, but not for the weak.
The Grisly Details:
Our school gets out at 3:50, but for some reason by 3:25 you can find myself, Traci, Stephanie, and April all right up front, jockeying for position. Why do we arrive so early? Different reasons. I can't speak for Steph and April's motivations, but Traci likes to sit there and read with Bodey restrained in his carseat and sedated by a movie, and I have to get there because if my oldest son is not one of the first ten kids picked up he freaks out. No joke. I would have to put Aidan on Xanax if I could not idle my minivan in the school parking lot for 30 minutes every afternoon. You would think a kid with a heliparent would have a bit more confidence that I won't leave him at school.....but, noooo.
Not all of us are fighting to be first. There are also car-poolers like my neighbor, Rachel. Rach works from home, and has a laid back kid, so she blows in last, wastes no more than 5 minutes of her afternoon, and takes her more relaxed kid back home. Easy peasy. She seems kind of lucky some days. But I have to fess up to something. If I ever find myself behind Rach in carpool I instantly check my dash clock and think, "Oh crap, Aidan must have hives by now."
This is our life. April is always in the first fleet, Rachel is in the last, and the rest of us are in between, but usually towards the front. All moms have their own routines. It rarely changes. We like our routines. We have a comfort zone. And I am not going to lie. I secretly like carpool. Sitting there in the sunshine, listening to the radio....it's relaxing.
But yesterday there was a newbie running the line---God bless her little heart. She looked so fresh-faced and innocent. Smiling and waving as she let the cars go....three from one line, three from the next.
Oh dear. I feared she might be eaten alive. Was she being hazed? Did her coworkers really send her out there without knowing the RULES??? Vicious.
I first noticed the problem because I was diagonal and behind my friend Steph, and I see her shaking her head, obviously irritated. See this is how carpool works. (Don't I sound like a crazy person? Sometimes I just cannot believe this is my life.) There are two lines. The early bird line, and the park-in-the-shade line. The teacher in charge lets ten cars go out of the early bird line, then five from the shady line, then five from the bird line, and so on and so on.
THIS MUST NOT BE CHANGED EVER. EVER!!! EVER!!!
People (Stephanie!) have counted to find the perfect position in line. And some don't like a sally-come-later (like myself) to get ahead of them in the pick-up line, because damn it, they have paid their dues! This is serious! This is....THE SUBURBS!
I am amused by all of this deep, deep down. I mean, seriously, why is this so critical?
I don't know.
But it is!
I am also getting judgmental about dandelion yards. The assimilation is almost complete. I think I may wake up tomorrow in a pod.
Honesty is Overrated
My youngest son is the funniest little man. He has that honest four year-old thing going on, and it works for him. Works for him, but is DESTROYING any ego that I had left. Take tonight for example. I took him with me to try on swimsuits. Big vacay coming up, and Mommy needs to not wear her 5 year-old swimsuit anymore. I am in my "maintenance" phase of Weight Watchers, and was feeling pretty confident. Before.
As I try on the bottoms to the first bikini, Coop loudly says, "I think that clothes was made for a little lady."
Holy crap. Did he just...? No, don't listen to him. He's four.
Then as I wrestled my way into a too small tank suit, (it was Nike, and marked down from $72 to $15!!! I really wanted it to fit!), he says even more loudly, "Why are you dancing to get those clothes on?" That created a perfect visual for the whole audience on the other side of the curtain. Thank you, Son. Time to leave!
But the best moment ever might have been in the car the other day. The Trooper and I were driving along, chatting, glad the Blessings were occupied by a movie, and Coop's little voice speaks up from the back.
"What I really want to know is.....why do only girls have boobies? I really want to have boobies like girls."
I could not look at my husband. I was biting a hole through my lip trying not to laugh as my poor, worried husband mutters, "Gosh damn it." Then I lost it. BAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! Later that night Coop told me that he wanted boobies so that his could "hang low" like mine.
Are...You...Freaking...Kidding...Me?
It was on the tip of my tongue to let my youngest know that maybe he should have met me before I nursed three ungrateful children, but then I looked down at him, and there was such adoration in his eyes.
This kid truly adores his droopy, "not little" mother. How awesome. So he can say whatever he wants to me.
But he is scaring his Dad just a little.
As I try on the bottoms to the first bikini, Coop loudly says, "I think that clothes was made for a little lady."
Holy crap. Did he just...? No, don't listen to him. He's four.
Then as I wrestled my way into a too small tank suit, (it was Nike, and marked down from $72 to $15!!! I really wanted it to fit!), he says even more loudly, "Why are you dancing to get those clothes on?" That created a perfect visual for the whole audience on the other side of the curtain. Thank you, Son. Time to leave!
But the best moment ever might have been in the car the other day. The Trooper and I were driving along, chatting, glad the Blessings were occupied by a movie, and Coop's little voice speaks up from the back.
"What I really want to know is.....why do only girls have boobies? I really want to have boobies like girls."
I could not look at my husband. I was biting a hole through my lip trying not to laugh as my poor, worried husband mutters, "Gosh damn it." Then I lost it. BAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! Later that night Coop told me that he wanted boobies so that his could "hang low" like mine.
Are...You...Freaking...Kidding...Me?
It was on the tip of my tongue to let my youngest know that maybe he should have met me before I nursed three ungrateful children, but then I looked down at him, and there was such adoration in his eyes.
This kid truly adores his droopy, "not little" mother. How awesome. So he can say whatever he wants to me.
But he is scaring his Dad just a little.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
The Table Unveiling
Three posts in two days......whew.....can you tell I have had sick babies and am trapped at home this week?
(Before the great unveiling of my latest DIY project, just a random thought. The Trooper and I have been very whiny lately about our total lack of time to get everything on our to do list done. Well, I'm over it. I have just as much time as everyone else in the world, and it will all get done eventually. This means no more pathetic whining on my part. I am grateful for all of the "busyness" in my life.)
Now, on with the story.
When Ava was a year old, Johnny and I bought a very lovely dining room table. Our home is a California Split, so the dining table is visible from the front door. Because of this, I knew that wanted something pretty and decorative. Enter, Table #1:
See the problem? It is a table for four. So when Cooper arrived on the scene 2 1/2 years later, I knew we'd have to get rid of the table eventually. But we have three bar stools, and the kids usually eat there, so we managed to stretch it out for a few more years.
But our kids are now getting to the age where we need to start working on table manners. And this is hard to do when we are not seated in front of them. For example, I have no idea if Ava chews with her mouth shut most of the time, or not. She is usually sitting behind me at the bar. We do eat dinner together every night, but it isn't at the same table, and this has been bothering me for at least a year.
We had looked at tables, but the prices were outrageous. Since we got Dave Ramsey-fied, we no longer utilize our Nebraska Furniture Mart card, or any other, and this has changed how I shop. I would have had no problem putting $1000 on my NFM card, and paying it off with 0% interest over 18 months. But to actually save up $1000 and hand it to someone? That is PAINFUL. So I have developed a new philosophy where furniture is concerned. If it is a softline, meaning sofas, mattress, armchairs, I will buy new. (I don't need anyone's dead skin cell cooties in my house.) But if it's hard, like tables, desks, dressers, etc., I am buying used.
So I had watched Craig's List and NFM's clearance room for months. I finally decided that I wanted a Farmhouse style table. I found lots of them, but they often didn't come with chairs, so by the time I added in the chair cost, it was back up to $500 or $600. It was a tad frustrating.
One day while perusing Craig's List with Traci, I stumbled upon the deal of the century. A beautiful golden oak farmhouse table with seven chairs for $300. I pounced on it instantly. I bought it and it was in my garage within 24 hours. The Trooper was not too happy with me. He thought it was ugly. (But he didn't see my vision yet!) I hadn't sold our other table. (Silly details...) And we had to park our cars in the driveway for 12 days. (We are garage parkers.) The more I relive that day, the more I feel like coming clean. I'm getting worked up now. He wasn't just not happy, he was downright furious. We had quite the blowout. You know, one of those fights where you're texting your BFF's about can you come live with them and bring your three kids, and then you delete all of your texts in case he checks your phone? Yeah, it was one of those days. (But I love you now Sweetheart. Especially since you said you like the table after all.)
The thing is, he did not know that I had prayed about this table! And when I pray about something, I get convinced that God and I have a plan "together" and everyone else should just help facilitate my plan or get out of my way! (Lovely quality in a spouse. Poor Trooper. I suck sometimes.) I won't bore you with the details, but I KNEW that I was supposed to have this table, husband or no husband. Totally kidding. Sort of.
I put the old table on Craig's List and Facebook, and thanks to God, it sold within one hour!!! (It sold to some Christian friends, not a coincidence.) The Trooper was still grumpy. But get this, the new table cost $300, we sold the old table for $200. I got my dream table for $100! I did have to refinish it. I had never refinished anything before. But Google and I can do ANYTHING. (Except groom a dog. And that might have gone better if I weren't using kindergarten Fiskars blunt scissors.)
So here's my new frugal find. Before:
After DAYS of sanding and priming: (Have you ever sanded 63 spindles? I wanted to gouge my own eyeballs out! Not to mention I was high on paint fumes.)
And after I waved my magic wand and turned the table black, I attacked it with sandpaper to give it a distressed look. I also put on 4 coats of polyurethane. The total process took 12 long days, but it was worth it.
Stay tuned, because if these kids keep spiking fevers, I may have a few more posts in me this week.
(Before the great unveiling of my latest DIY project, just a random thought. The Trooper and I have been very whiny lately about our total lack of time to get everything on our to do list done. Well, I'm over it. I have just as much time as everyone else in the world, and it will all get done eventually. This means no more pathetic whining on my part. I am grateful for all of the "busyness" in my life.)
Now, on with the story.
When Ava was a year old, Johnny and I bought a very lovely dining room table. Our home is a California Split, so the dining table is visible from the front door. Because of this, I knew that wanted something pretty and decorative. Enter, Table #1:
See the problem? It is a table for four. So when Cooper arrived on the scene 2 1/2 years later, I knew we'd have to get rid of the table eventually. But we have three bar stools, and the kids usually eat there, so we managed to stretch it out for a few more years.
But our kids are now getting to the age where we need to start working on table manners. And this is hard to do when we are not seated in front of them. For example, I have no idea if Ava chews with her mouth shut most of the time, or not. She is usually sitting behind me at the bar. We do eat dinner together every night, but it isn't at the same table, and this has been bothering me for at least a year.
We had looked at tables, but the prices were outrageous. Since we got Dave Ramsey-fied, we no longer utilize our Nebraska Furniture Mart card, or any other, and this has changed how I shop. I would have had no problem putting $1000 on my NFM card, and paying it off with 0% interest over 18 months. But to actually save up $1000 and hand it to someone? That is PAINFUL. So I have developed a new philosophy where furniture is concerned. If it is a softline, meaning sofas, mattress, armchairs, I will buy new. (I don't need anyone's dead skin cell cooties in my house.) But if it's hard, like tables, desks, dressers, etc., I am buying used.
So I had watched Craig's List and NFM's clearance room for months. I finally decided that I wanted a Farmhouse style table. I found lots of them, but they often didn't come with chairs, so by the time I added in the chair cost, it was back up to $500 or $600. It was a tad frustrating.
One day while perusing Craig's List with Traci, I stumbled upon the deal of the century. A beautiful golden oak farmhouse table with seven chairs for $300. I pounced on it instantly. I bought it and it was in my garage within 24 hours. The Trooper was not too happy with me. He thought it was ugly. (But he didn't see my vision yet!) I hadn't sold our other table. (Silly details...) And we had to park our cars in the driveway for 12 days. (We are garage parkers.) The more I relive that day, the more I feel like coming clean. I'm getting worked up now. He wasn't just not happy, he was downright furious. We had quite the blowout. You know, one of those fights where you're texting your BFF's about can you come live with them and bring your three kids, and then you delete all of your texts in case he checks your phone? Yeah, it was one of those days. (But I love you now Sweetheart. Especially since you said you like the table after all.)
The thing is, he did not know that I had prayed about this table! And when I pray about something, I get convinced that God and I have a plan "together" and everyone else should just help facilitate my plan or get out of my way! (Lovely quality in a spouse. Poor Trooper. I suck sometimes.) I won't bore you with the details, but I KNEW that I was supposed to have this table, husband or no husband. Totally kidding. Sort of.
I put the old table on Craig's List and Facebook, and thanks to God, it sold within one hour!!! (It sold to some Christian friends, not a coincidence.) The Trooper was still grumpy. But get this, the new table cost $300, we sold the old table for $200. I got my dream table for $100! I did have to refinish it. I had never refinished anything before. But Google and I can do ANYTHING. (Except groom a dog. And that might have gone better if I weren't using kindergarten Fiskars blunt scissors.)
So here's my new frugal find. Before:
After DAYS of sanding and priming: (Have you ever sanded 63 spindles? I wanted to gouge my own eyeballs out! Not to mention I was high on paint fumes.)
And after I waved my magic wand and turned the table black, I attacked it with sandpaper to give it a distressed look. I also put on 4 coats of polyurethane. The total process took 12 long days, but it was worth it.
Stay tuned, because if these kids keep spiking fevers, I may have a few more posts in me this week.
Monday, April 2, 2012
Kick it like Cooper!
The beauty of being Child #3 is that when you cry during 2/3 of your first soccer game, your parents think it's funny. Now if poor Aidan did that, we'd have been a mess. Why isn't our child the best? Why isn't he PERFECT? Firstborns have it rough. But Coop....I will never forget Coop's first soccer game.
Cooper is on a team with Avery and Bodey. They are the Rangers. I mean, The Rangers!!! The team is downright comical. If one child falls down, it is like dominoes....they will all end up in a heap. I think two of the kids might know what they're doing. The rest are just in it for the Caprisuns and post-game snacks.
Coop started out as goalie. He ran out onto the field with his hands in a high V. I was excited! "Look at him!", I told the Trooper. "Look how excited he is!" That would be the last time I uttered that phrase, even though he was a pretty good little goalie.
Because heaven forbid he have to RUN for more than two minutes when it's HOT and SUNNY outside. He just chased the little pack of kids up and down the field, turning more and more red. Poor kid with his mother's genes, can't even sweat properly. He was exhausted, I could easily see that. And just as he got near the sidelines where we were all sitting, Johnny yelled in a normal, happy voice, "Go Cooper! Kick that ball!" Cooper burst into tears. Couldn't take the pressure. Our kid cracked. And we cracked up, because we are bad parents, and that's how we roll.
But he never recovered. He was sent to the bench, oh, I'd say 3 times for crying. I finally had to go sit on the bench with him while he sat on my lap and sobbed. The coach's wife was so patient, "Cooper, would you like to be goalie so that you don't have to run anymore?" "No!" he shouted, "I want to be nothing!"
Uh-oh. I should add, playing soccer was COOPER'S idea. He has been jonesing about this for 6 months. Everyone knows that I don't need another practice/game to attend. My dance card is full. So after the game we had a talk about crying in sports.
WE DON'T DO IT.
I'm not sexist, by the way. I tell Ava the same thing. But the difference is, I don't have to say that to Ava. Girlfriend is tough when it comes to sports. Just today I heard her lecturing Aidan about saying "can't". She told him that he should never say that because she said "I can't" at gymnastics once, and they made her do 10 push-ups. And she was bragging.
He recovered for game #2, I'm happy to report. I had to bribe him, but I have no shame. I told him that he could have a Gatorade if he didn't cry the whole game. So he didn't. Punk.
And that's how Cooper's sporting career began.
Cooper is on a team with Avery and Bodey. They are the Rangers. I mean, The Rangers!!! The team is downright comical. If one child falls down, it is like dominoes....they will all end up in a heap. I think two of the kids might know what they're doing. The rest are just in it for the Caprisuns and post-game snacks.
Coop started out as goalie. He ran out onto the field with his hands in a high V. I was excited! "Look at him!", I told the Trooper. "Look how excited he is!" That would be the last time I uttered that phrase, even though he was a pretty good little goalie.
A goalie dress?
Because heaven forbid he have to RUN for more than two minutes when it's HOT and SUNNY outside. He just chased the little pack of kids up and down the field, turning more and more red. Poor kid with his mother's genes, can't even sweat properly. He was exhausted, I could easily see that. And just as he got near the sidelines where we were all sitting, Johnny yelled in a normal, happy voice, "Go Cooper! Kick that ball!" Cooper burst into tears. Couldn't take the pressure. Our kid cracked. And we cracked up, because we are bad parents, and that's how we roll.
Warming Up---ha!
But he never recovered. He was sent to the bench, oh, I'd say 3 times for crying. I finally had to go sit on the bench with him while he sat on my lap and sobbed. The coach's wife was so patient, "Cooper, would you like to be goalie so that you don't have to run anymore?" "No!" he shouted, "I want to be nothing!"
Uh-oh. I should add, playing soccer was COOPER'S idea. He has been jonesing about this for 6 months. Everyone knows that I don't need another practice/game to attend. My dance card is full. So after the game we had a talk about crying in sports.
WE DON'T DO IT.
I'm not sexist, by the way. I tell Ava the same thing. But the difference is, I don't have to say that to Ava. Girlfriend is tough when it comes to sports. Just today I heard her lecturing Aidan about saying "can't". She told him that he should never say that because she said "I can't" at gymnastics once, and they made her do 10 push-ups. And she was bragging.
He recovered for game #2, I'm happy to report. I had to bribe him, but I have no shame. I told him that he could have a Gatorade if he didn't cry the whole game. So he didn't. Punk.
And that's how Cooper's sporting career began.
Aidan's Baptism
A few months ago Aidan told me that he wanted to get baptized. It surprised me a bit because we had never discussed it. It's not particularly pushed at church either in Aidan's class. Our faith believes that you should be baptized once you are old enough to understand your decision to follow Jesus. It's symbolic, an act of obedience, and there is no right or wrong age to be, I just thought 8 might be young to really understand the ramifications of such a decision.
So I told him that I thought it was a great idea.....but I didn't do anything about it.
Two more times in the last 3 months Aidan mentioned it. I finally knew he was serious. I took him to talk with the children's pastor at church. His knowledge on the topic blew both of us away. She asked Aidan if he was aware that even Jesus was baptized, and Aidan said "yes" and told her the story of "John" (John the Baptist) baptizing Jesus in the river. The pastor said to me, "He's a very spiritually sensitive child, isn't he?" He is. He always has been.
Aidan worries about people who he thinks don't know Jesus. He prays for them. He talks to his friends about Jesus. He's very courageous with his forthright attitude, and I admire him very much. He has told me that he maybe he wants to be a minister when he grows up....or the Director of FEMA. "I just really love disasters, Mom." He is a REALLY interesting kid.
So on Sunday morning, Johnny and I stood by his side while Aidan was baptized at our church. His 6 grandparents and great-grandmother were there to watch. My friend Jen took pictures for us. It was one of the most precious moments of my life, and I am so grateful that I got to witness it.
I have always felt that my number one job as a parent is to raise my kids to know Jesus. I know they will make their own decisions, but I want to lay groundwork. I want them to see how beautiful faith can be. I want them to understand the peace that comes from letting God be in control of your life. I also want them to understand that as Christians their number one job is to love people, not judge people. All people are the same. Christians aren't "better", or even better behaved, than non-Christians. But hopefully they are striving to be more like Jesus, and follow his teachings to the best of their abilities. This is what I want for my children more than anything in this world.
I could make myself cry typing this.... I remember with clarity the very first time I locked eyes with my oldest son on October 30, 2003. I was near death (even if only in my own mind, first babies will do that to a girl). I remember looking over my left shoulder as the nurse brought Aidan to me.
I remember his serious, worried-looking little face and those dark, dark blue eyes. And I knew that my life would always be different after that moment. And it has been. And now I will forever remember that beautiful boy's face as he was submerged in the water. I was actually touching his shoulder, looking down into the water. His eyes were closed, his pale skin was beautiful, light freckles visible on is nose, the lights in the church were dimmed, and the band was playing "Mighty to Save"---one of my all time favorite songs. I was happy for him, but I was also happy for me. I got to witness this beautiful boy come into this world, against all odds, and I got to witness him go after Jesus with all of his heart. What a privilege as a mother.
He was the only child baptized that day in our service. We don't belong to an old school clap and be proper kind of church. When he came up from the water, I heard people start to clap and cheer. He was high-fived in the hallway. And I cried the whole time. It was just awesome.
On a light note, Ava's reaction to Aidan getting baptized was pretty funny. Ava loves Jesus, too. But at the age of 6, my gut told me that Ava is still not quite ready for baptism. And then she confirmed it.
Me: "Ava, do you know what it means to be baptized?"
Ava: "Yes. It means to surrender to Jesus. I can do that. I will surrender to Jesus. I just don't want to surrender at recess. I really hate surrendering at recess, Mom."
I see we have the "Christianese" language down, but not the answer Mommy was looking for chick.
Me: "Let's revisit this later, Ava. And if you still feel this strongly, we'll reconsider. But you can't do this just because Aidan is doing it."
Ava: (Big irritated sigh) "Well, later I might forget about it!"
Me: "My point exactly. I want you to get baptized, Ava. But I think maybe 6 is not quite old enough. But I'm so happy you love Jesus, and he is happy about it, too."
She was satisfied with that answer for now. But I look forward to the day that she brings up the topic again.
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