Patience, young Jedi...

Humbled once again. Just when I throw my hands up, stomp my feet, and wish for a magic wand to solve all...the answer appears. I just needed to be patient. Time is an amazing thing, and if we can slow ourselves down long enough to move at "time's" pace, it will all be fine.

As documented in the previous "blog" I, was feeling particularly defeated by the sport of wrestling and our sons.  Apparently, it takes all of us getting to that special level of frustration, mixed with undocumented hours of practice to generate one of the biggest "highs" in wrestling history (of our family) ever.

As the practice started, just like last weeks and the weeks before, the boys encircled their "head coach" looking clueless and defeated.  The "head coach" (aka...you) said, in a loving, gentle and compassionate tone, "Get outta here! Go find someone to wrestle. I can't deal with this every time."

And minutes later, begat unto us, were two wrestlers. They were not only trying, but mauling, in fierce frustration, and succeeding with great glee!

While typing this, it feels very contradictory to their natural demeanor to applaud and celebrate such aggression, BUT this is not a celebration of "attacking" it is a celebration of determination, and perseverance. And the smile on their faces, after succeeding was priceless.  Not only did they prove they could do it, but they proved to themselves that they really DO get less hurt if they try...which is incentive enough all on its own.

I have to admit, for the first time. Ever. I am actually looking forward to Saturday's tournament.

I may bring a sedative or something just in case though...

Proud of our boys.

The answer I have not...

Where's Yoda when you need him?

I don't know what to do. I don't. I just keep sitting here wishing for a magical parenting manual to appear in which I would thumb through the table of contents to "sports and children" and then quickly flip to the back of the book for the answer---just like I did in 6th grade math. Damn the later lesson taught of sixth grade math.

My hope is that at the back of said book there would simply be a very factual and precise answer that says "If this...'child hates it', 'weekends full of tears',  than that...'quit'."

But it's not that black and white. And there is no book. And I think, like many in the workforce, that I need to go on furlough in order to return with a clear perspective.

Because what I need that book to address would involve way too many footnotes. But for the sake of seeking inner peace, I imagine it would look a little like this (Which by the way, is yes, truly all in my head on a regular basis):

If "THIS"

* Child said he wanted to do the sport.
** Child encouraged father to be head coach.
***Child wants credit for doing such a hard sport.
****Child does not feel like trying at practice nor tournaments.
*****Child swears he is trying.
******Child has been seen standing around with his finger in his mouth staring into space.
*******Child says he DOES like said sport.
********Child is getting hurt every weekend due to lack of effort.
LOTS OF CRYING
*********Parents don't want to support "quitting"...however...
**********Child swears he does not want to quit.
***********Child often says he wishes he didn't have said sport tomorrow.
************Child takes pride with friends that he is in said sport.
*************Father is watching own children of team he is coaching "puss out."
**************Mother is paying to watch Father watch own children of team he is coaching "puss out."
MORE CRYING
***************Mother is driving great distance and surrendering each Saturday until MARCH to watch Father watch own children of team he is coaching "puss out."
*****************Parents are encouraging the concept of "trying" through a delicate, scientifically precise method called "shaming."
******************Mother is emphasizing the importance of "trying" lest her babies get beat on.
*******************Mother has seen them be successful and wonders where those kids went.
MORE CRYING
********************Children SWEAR they want to do said sport.
*********************Children SWEAR they are trying, as they move up a level on Plants vs Zombies while waiting for next match in the bleachers.
**********************Mother and Father start to doubt every choice they ever made starting 10 years ago as they drive thru Carl's Jr. on the way home every Sat.


Than "THIS"
*Drink whenever you can. And smile and nod. It's their path. Not yours. Viva "detachment parenting!"

**Or not...you should be their guide. Teach them right from wrong.

***But, you can only do so much...you can't do it for them.

****But what if they are doing it "to please" not because they want to?

****That is not up to you, they need to figure that out for themselves.

*****But at what price?

******I give up too. Perhaps pop a valium before a tournament...

Yer a Nus...

Last night, before you got upstairs to tuck the kids into bed, this happened...

"THAT IS SO INAPPROPRIATE!" Came the shrill reprimand of our 8yr old, scolding our six year old for something...anything.

"Bring it down a level. What is going on?" I said as I entered the room with stacks of folded laundry for each kid to put away in the morning (which is code for never).

"He keeps saying 'anus'!" Our 8yr old explained, disgusted while pointing her finger in outrage at the tiny culprit standing on his bed in his Star Wars Lego briefs.

I can only guess that given the level of outrage, and the tiny six year old's fingers firmly grasping the band of said Lego briefs, that he had been providing physical evidence to accompany the word.

Now, I would like to think that it was the late hour at the end of a long day that provoked the following, but it may have just been that I needed a timeout...or that we were out of wine...

In a loud and clear voice I began my finest speech to date as a mother...

"STOP SAYING ANUS! I'm tired of hearing 'I see your ANUS!' "That's his ANUS!' 'She's showing her ANUS!' 'What if you could see his ANUS?' ANUS ANUS ANUS ANUS!"

This worked marvelously as everybody started giggling at the crazy woman yelling "anus" in the doorway.

The six year old said, "But it's a planet." Trying to find a legal loophole.

I explained that the planet is "Uranus." Pronounced "Yeranus."

To which he replied, "Yer A Nus."  And giggled.


I think that's when you came up...

Sea Monkeys Do...Sea Monkeys...

Because you are allergic to cats, and we have a dog, and all our daughter wanted for her birthday was a live pet---preferably a cat, I made the executive decision (because in my microcosm of a world I am a CEO and COO and sometimes a CFO) that we should all live out our childhood dreams and get Sea Monkeys! Yes, the bizarre little creatures that used to be on the back of comic books that took 6-8 weeks to arrive! Now with Amazon they are here in a matter of days---look how far we've come.

SO...the Sea Monkeys were a hit.  They even made it to school for Show and Tell in their earliest days of "hatchery."  However, had we waited a few more weeks, we could have had an entirely different Show and Tell.

Take for instance the other morning...

"Mom! The Sea Monkeys are fighting!"

"Hmmm...I don't think they are fighting..."

"But they are hooked on each other!"

"Yup."  And at this time, I want to be more mature, but I...we gotta get breakfast and...well...Sea Monkey Sex Talk just is not on the menu this morning.

"But they are attached?!"

"I think they might be trying to have a baby."

"Oh you and daddy don't do that anymore..."

I started to get defensive...and was about to say, "well not as much as we..."

..."because you don't want any more babies..."

"Yes," I said thankful for the pause for reflection, "that is true."

Documenting for a future defense

I approached our daughter today, not unlike one approaching a grenade with no knowledge as to the status of the pin. She seemed happy. She was laying on our bed playing with the iPad.
"Hey Sweetie."
"Hi Mom," she said without looking up. So I cautiously continued...
"I was thinking we could take a look at your wardrobe and see what you might need. New pants, leggings, tights, skirts?"
"MOOOOM!" she dramatically flipped on to her back, relinquishing the iPad, "Why must you terrorize my life!"

Really? Really?! I looked at her for a brief moment while my brain began "googling" ways to survive the next 10 years.

"So....'No thanks' ?" I responded.

She giggled and went back to the iPad.

It's 3pm. I'm drinking and looking for her birth certificate. I could swear she was born in 2005, but that would only make her 8.