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.

Be All You Can Be

"Mom, I would never be a soldier unless I needed money to pay for college. If I do need money to pay for college, like something happens and we become really poor, then I want to join the Army and fly. Do you think the war will be over by then?"

Hammers, Cameras, Oh My!

Today I hear a scream. I see a flash as Keagan runs past me. I hear the pounding steps of Man Child as he chases his little brother. It is then I notice the red video camera in Keagan's hand and the hammer in Evan's hand.

I intercede.

No worries. The screams are fake. The boys are filming a horror movie. Certain that a true horror film was only seconds from becoming my reality, I took the hammer. It is now hidden in the bathroom among the towels.

The boys have now returned to recording Instructional films on how to beat the enemy while playing Skylanders, a much more calm and less dangerous filming process. For the time being anyway.

Eight, Skate, Donate

Keagan told me a week before his birthday he wanted to spend his birthday weekend at a hotel on the beach, riding bikes, and eating shrimp. And so we did.

Within our first hour of swimming in the water, Evan was bitten by something that he swears was a baby shark. He ran out of the water crying and that was the end of that. To make matters worse, we checked into the hotel to learn we were in the midst of a hundred or so couples celebrating the 12th annual Shaganza, a fairly popular dance with the sixty something crowd in Coastal Georgia.

Suffice it to say, we all felt better about the weekend when we learned a soccer tournament was taking place a mile down the beach, and of course, we couldn't be that close without catching a game or two. We never did get to ride bikes along the beach, but Keagan did have a new bike awaiting him on the morning of his birthday!

Happy Birthday, Keagan! We love the sparkle in your big blue eyes, your wonderful sense of humor, and your wicked ability to run like a Jamaican. We love you!

First Day of School

Another first day of school. The last first day of school in Georgia.

Keagan is in second grade this year. He told me it was a great first day of school because "after all of the rules, we went straight to work. Straight to work." Lunch was also a highlight. Some things never change from year to year.

Evan is in fourth grade. I sent him to school happy because his science teacher had told him he would be able to build a rocket. He never likes school; always finds something unfair, unjust about the process. This time it was unfair that the teacher had built up his expectations only to disappoint him when he learned the rocket would be made from construction paper. The first week of school he read two chapter books. I think I find something unfair, unjust about school.

May the next 179 days begin with the same big smiles.

Irony

It was six years ago that I decided to start a blog so that I would have a record of all of the amusing things my boys did as babies. I recorded it all: the first day of pre-school, learning to ride a bike, football games, the many, many soccer games, and the amusing day-to-day events that I will surely forget without them recorded in print.

Now it is gone. All gone. I have mourned the loss of those photos, videos, and blog entries as if it were a family member. Eight weeks later, 55 days to be exact, I have decided that every day I cry about the the six years I have lost, I am neglecting to record the here and now.

And so it begins again. Living with Boys