On Soccer Camp.

July 17th, 2010

I am constantly learning new things as a mother. For example, last week I learned that getting a 3-year-old to listen to a soccer coach for three hours in 90+ degree heat is impossible. We tried. I had high expectations, but it went just about as smoothly as Mom and Baby Yoga. The good news is we didn’t end each class lying on our sides, breastfeeding our kids. The thought of doing that in direct sunlight in 95 degree heat makes me want to puke.

He’s not ready to pay attention for that long. I was silly to think otherwise. Motherhood has been one learning experience after another. For example, I’ve learned that the more you spend on an activity, the less your kid’s gonna get out of it. And the more excited you are by said activity, the less excited they’re gonna be. So, should we ever have a second child, that kid’s gonna be ignored until age five or so, particularly where extracurricular activities are concerned. Sorry, kid. It’s nothing but flour and water for you. Maybe some paint. And we might take you to the playground.

(Wait, I’m a second child. This explains a lot.)

But all was not entirely lost. We had two great days. He followed instructions, had fun and we stayed the entire time. I won’t talk about the other three days; the days I had to take him home kicking, screaming and spitting. (Picture Linda Blair from “The Exorcist” only without the company of The Devil. Because, seriously, had The Devil been there I’d have asked him or her for help.)

I won’t mention those days. I won’t start talking about how age 3 is ten bloody times worse than age 2. If I start talking about all the timeouts we’ve had lately, or the fact that it took him 1 hour, 40 minutes to eat pancakes this morning all the while he sat screaming at the table, I’ll never stop talking. Plus, I’ll develop a stutter and start drinking. And I haven’t had a drink in a very long time.

I will say this: the closer we get to three, the rougher our days become. I’ll leave it at that for now. But soon I’m gonna need some companionship, a gentle shoulder to cry on. Because this has been hard, really hard. It’s kind of like breaking in a wild horse, not that I’ve ever done that. But if I ever apply for a job as cowboy, I’m putting this on my resume.

I’m convinced this is why siblings aren’t often 4 years apart. Who in their right mind looks at their husband after a day spent with a three-year-old and says, “Hi, honey! Let’s have unprotective sex so we can have ANOTHER ONE!”?

Anyway… SOCCER CAMP! The last class went off without a hitch. And I managed to get this short video of my boy following instructions, giving high fives and receiving his final award.

So, we won’t be back next week. But we will be back next year. Because the gentlemen from United Soccer Academy who were in charge of these 3-year-olds were amazing. I’ve never met two Brits more deserving of an award for patience. In fact, everyone pooled together a hefty tip at the end of the week to show how sorry we felt for them. A pity tip! A pitippy!

We’ll be back next year—you know, after three is over.

(Three does end, right?)


Give Me A Bappy!! I Want A Bappy!

December 22nd, 2009

Today is Tuesdays With Murray, which means I’m supposed be writing about Murray. And I have a story to share. But Internet? It’s been a really rough four days and my brain is out of batteries.

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First Haircut!

December 3rd, 2009

Emory had his first haircut yesterday. I love his curls, and I’m all for longer hair on boys, but the back of it looked like an albino Brillo pad. Trying to comb it had become impossible. Whenever I did try, he would scream, “OW! OW! OW, MAMA!” And most of the time I hadn’t even touched him yet. Needless to say, I was concerned for the safety of our hair stylist. But I was pleasantly surprised.

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NaBloPoMo: Toddler Politics

November 4th, 2009

Emory is going through a strange phase. At least I hope it’s a phase. He’s never been a really outgoing kid, but he’s always been unabashedly joyful. (Remember this post?) But recently, he’s become a great deal more introverted and shy. He’s also easily spooked and/or scared away from a situation. And I think that some of the other kids pick up on this.

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NYC Mom Takes Her Anti-Sweets Too Far.

June 16th, 2009

It’s possible to take it too far. Just ask MeMe Roth resident of the Upper West Side.

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Toddler Potty Training. Reader’s Email.

June 10th, 2009

10-0607-01fEmory isn’t yet potty trained. Of course, he’s not really supposed to be, at 21 months. We do have one of those Bjorn toddler toilets and have for almost a year but we’re not militant about putting it to use. I store it in our bathroom across from the regular toilet.

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Bye Bye, School! We’ll See You Next Time!

June 4th, 2009

The other day a friend of mine called me sobbing. At first I thought something terrible had happened to someone in her family. My mind raced with possibilities before she was able to get the words out.

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Behold! The Kettler Navigator.

June 1st, 2009

It’s been a while since I last wrote about this, but we finally pulled the trigger on a Kettler bike for Em. It was money well spent. He loves it. My only complaint is I can no longer keep him stationary whenever we’re out and we stop moving for one second. He’s up and running in no time. But other than that, the bike is awesome. (I think I heard you can buy a seatbelt for them. I may do that.)

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Not Yet Two and Already Defiant.

May 27th, 2009

Toby Joe and I love soccer. We’re huge fans of the English Premier League. Today’s UEFA final between Barça and Manchester United is a match I’ve been looking forward to for quite some time. I’m giddy with excitement, watching the clock and preparing snacks. I really think this one is going to be awesome. Emory and I will probably watch it together once he gets home from school.

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Please Don’t Blush.

May 6th, 2009

When Emory hit the 15-month mark, he started to notice the world around him and that he was sharing it with other people. He went from a dancing, falling down toddler to realizing that people were paying attention. Instead of embracing them and pulling them in, he stopped dancing.

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