Snap Happy

It's an addiction. Pure addiction, but I use the excuse that my husband is deployed and he wants me to document everything that he is missing. So I continue to snap happy. Here are today's top pics. 

Keagan's team won. We celebrated with Five Guys, and he commented that his day was complete when he found fruit punch Powerade in the soda machine. Never mind the fact that we have an unopened eight pack sitting in the pantry.  After finishing off the last of the fries, Evan looked at me and seriously asked, "You think I could have another burger? I'm still hungry." Obviously, he wasn't feeling the same level of completeness.

Dawn and Deer

I awoke this morning with ESPN on LOUD and then found the boys on the couch watching Chelsea and Arsenal duke it out. It was a great game, and while I sat in the leather chair eating my Captain Crunch, I said, "OMG! I can't believe it!"

And Evan said, "I know, right! I thought it was going in, too!"

And I said, "No, I can't believe THAT is in our back yard!"

We forgot the soccer game to watch the deer. Keagan screaming Where's the camera? Evan asking Will Mr. Baker shoot it? All the while, I was just thankful it wasn't another snake, or worse another cat to feed.

Before we knew it, we had this.

It was a wonderful way to wake up - even if the TV was on loud.

SOAR student

Keagan was awarded SOAR student for this month. In true Keagan style, he gave away all of his goodies from his prize sack to his friends and brother. His teacher calls him her "go to guy" and her "right hand man." She adores him; Keagan seems to think she's a pretty good teacher because she watches football on Sunday afternoons.

This award, though, must have been presented before he got into that little scuffle on the playground that involved swing dumping and pushing another kid into the sand where "ring worms live." I'll be honest and admit the scuffle part of his story was never fully processed by my brain because I got hung up on the mention of ring worms.

I think I am going to be sick.

I think I am going to home school effective Monday.

Kicked in the Crouch

"Boys, what's all the yelling about?"

"Mom, I was playing football and I got kicked in the crouch."

"The crouch?"

"Yeah, you know...Mom, The crouch! See! Evan told me it would feel better if I got a bag of frozen peas. I couldn't find peas, but I found the ice pack you take to school in your lunch."

And then he slowly stood up and removed the mini-icepack (the one that I carry in my lunchbox) out of his underwear.

I think this means I will not be making a sandwich with mayonaise for my lunch tomorrow.

Soccer, Friends, and Wins

 On Saturday we spent 12 hours on the soccer fields. Twelve hours in temps hovering around 90 degrees. Because I have nothing else to do. At all. Armed with an ice chest, beach blankets, sideline chairs, sunblock, multiple jerseys, and anything else that could possibly fit in the back of the car, we looked like we were prepared to spend the night there, too.

Keagan's first game ended in a tie. It was a very exciting game with Keagan scoring the second goal that we thought was the winning goal. While we waited four hours for Evan's first game, we ran into some old friends.

 The only thing that had changed was the color of our jerseys. The boys hung out with their old team mates and well, watched even more soccer.

 .
Then it was Evan's turn. His team played two games back to back and won both. Evan scored and had an assist. Because I now know all of the team members names, it is much easier to cheer. However, I lost my voice on Friday, and by Saturday, I had only a fraction of my voice box functionally properly. It was a sad day for me; great day for the coaches.

As we walked back to the car, Keagan said, "Well, this was a pretty fun day. How long were we here, Mom? It looks like it is getting dark."

Number 23

It's not his jersey number. Nor is it his favorite athlete's number. It is Evan's student number. The number that  he is supposed to write on the top of every worksheet, every project, every test, every homework packet. The elusive 23 is often forgotten. When it is forgotten, Evan is "marked."

I tried to reason that the number policy helps the teacher stay organized, makes it easier to enter grades in the grade book, and helps her easily identify who has missing work.

Evan did not buy into my excuses.

He believes the teacher should identify him with his name; not a number. He tells me, "I am Evan; not #23."

How can I argue with that? He is so much wiser than I give him credit.

So I say. You are right. It is a ridiculous policy that undermines a student's ability to identify with self.

Evan asks if it would be possible to rebel and refuse to use his number.

I say. No, you will do it because your teacher said you should.

I realize I have just undermined my own son's own ability to find justice in the unjust. I have encouraged passiveness - a trait I abhor.

Who is at greater fault?

MASH

My boys learned how to play MASH at school this week. This would be the same MASH game that was played hundreds of times in the late 80s by every tween girl in study hall. And now my 8 and almost 10 year old BOYS are beyond intrigued with the mind numbing game.

I have one thing to say about the game that predicts your future: Jeepers!, that's so OLD SCHOOL, Boys! Let me give you a few pointers, though, Guys, about the appropriate way to play. I may know what I am talking about here.

1. The names written on the top left corner are not supposed to be the names of kids you want to room with in college. They are supposed to be names of your possible future spouse. I mean who cares who your roomie will be when the game can identify your life partner?

2. M stands for Mansion. A stands for apartment, and yes, it can be a luxury apartment in NYC if you so wish.

3. The numbers 1, 2, and 3 are supposed to represent the number of kids you will have and not the number of sports you will letter in while in high school. Although, I totally support multi-lettering in high school - especially if it will save me thousands of dollars in college tuition.

4. Which leads me nicely into my next observation. My older son put on his game board that he wanted one of these three professions: NFL player, football commentator, and sports statistician. My younger son said he wished to be an athlete in the Olympics, a MLS player, or a NBA player. Is there a pattern here, Folks? I'm hoping it means college is paid in full.

Nothing is better than listening to Keagan belly laugh when he manipulates the game board to ensure Evan lands on S and lives his golden years in a shack. Who knew living in a shack could be so funny? But paybacks from Evan are almost certain. Keagan is currently slated to be the best waste disposal guy in America!

Old School

The boys and I almost always have a book that we are reading together. We call it our read aloud, and it is positively my favorite part of the day. We all three cuddle together in the bed, read/listen, and laugh. After last spring's reading of Old Yellar and months of the Hydrophobia game, nothing more than where a rabied animals runs wild through the house, I vowed to be more selective with any upcoming classic read alouds.

Hence our current read aloud, Henry and Ribsy by Beverly Cleary. She wrote the Diary of a Wimpy Kid books of the 80s. A boy. A dog. What could be more perfect to read to my two? 

We read chapter one tonight.

The boys chuckled when we learned Henry's best friends were Scooter and Robert, and it wasn't the name Scooter than sounded odd to them. It was Robert. They thought it was hilarious that someone would have an old school name like Robert. Since when did Robert become old school? They belly laughed at it though, and it made me chuckle, too, only because they thought it was so funny.

We read a little further and heard Henry exclaim, "Oh, Jeepers!" I thought the boys were going to lose it - full belly laughs with legs kicking and hand slapping. Jeepers? What is Jeepers? Like the Jeep we used to have? They couldn't explain it and neither could I. But they thought it was so funny!

My only regret is that I didn't introduce the author and her collection to Evan two years ago. He has outgrown the adventures of Henry and the dog and would much prefer "The Ring" or "Gregor the Overlander", but I guess a little old school is better late than never.

The boys have a bet to see who can exclaim "Oh, Jeepers!" at school tomorrow. One will chicken out. One will have the class in stitches. Can you guess who wins?

Winning for a Losing Team

 It is no secret we left the organization we played for last year so that Keagan would have a team. He may now have a team, but it is a team that has yet to win a game. In all honesty, in two years, the team will be unstoppable, but we don't have two years. We have nine months and that makes losing real difficult to swallow.

Keagan told me after the game that he appreciated my sideline cheers and suggestions. He told me, "Your suggestions actually made more sense than the coach's." I completely understand that this will be the only time I will ever here such words from either boy. I will treasure them forever.

Our first win will be celebrated in a big way. Forget icecream. Keagan has already requested a shrimp dinner.

He Says the Darndest Things

Keagan says the darndest things.

"What??? When I get to heaven, I have to get a new body? I don't want a new body. I like my freckles on my nose, and I want to keep them. They are just right for my style."

"Mom, guess what I found in the library today? A yearbook so old that all the pictures were in black and white. I think it was from like 2002."

"Mom, if I was in charge of the war in Libya, I would find a special drone that could drop a bomb on Libya and blow it all up and kill them all."  

Are you ready for some futbol?

Are you ready for some futbol? And by that I mean soccer, of course! Our fall season kicked off today!

Believe me when I say I shed a few tears in July and August when it became very clear that the boys' favorite sport included something other than football. In May I had a flash image of myself sitting in the bleachers at a high school football game with a shirt that said, "QB's Mom" written across my back, and I knew my dream of being that mom was quickly fading. I wanted that dream and my dry bean laden milk jug more than I realized. However, when the boys decided to play with a local soccer academy, we were left with no time for any other sports. Three days a week we drive 75 min to practice. Three days a week we drive 75 min back home after practice. Today I drove 3.5 hours to Evan's first friendly.

Can I just tell you that blue never looked so good on a player? Even a sweating boy?

He is completely in his element on the field and may or may not have been called for a foul or two or dozen. This may have been one of them.

It is also pure physics that when a 50 pound boy runs into a 92 pound boy, the 92 pound boy will win every time. The opposing team never finds this very fun either. So they cry foul while the little guy finds himself sprawled out helplessly upon the ground.
I made no apologies today, though, and actually found comfort in the shoves in the back and the collar grabs.   It was a tiny slice of football at the futbol game.

I guess I should also admit that even though I did sign the paper that said I would refrain from speaking any negative words while on the sideline, I still yelled. A lot. Evan told me he knew I would never be able to go an entire game sitting quietly. I was extremely sorry to disappoint him with my lack of obedience with team-mom rules. However, my reminders kept my young lad from being off-sides at least a half dozen times. That should count for something. And I keep telling myself that I am still able to talk this evening so I really couldn't have been that bad on the sidelines. Yelling. Encouraging. Uplifting. Developing.

 Perhaps next week I will create my dry bean noise maker.

Labor of Love

It was a labor of love; it was a total sacrifice on my part to spend Labor Day here.

We spent the last official day of summer at my very favorite place on Earth.

If we were still in Virginia, I would be truly saddened to flip the calendar to September this weekend and say good-bye to summer, and if we were in Germany, I would be saddened to have never said hello to summer.

Six more weeks of summer weather. Six more weekends to make it back to our favorite place.