Late

Yes, yes I know, I have fallen behind on my blogging duty. What can I say? I've been busy...it's hard to sit down and write about the girls when the girls seem to have more days off from school lately than days in school. You would think with all this time off - spring break, followed by professional days, followed by Easter break - that I would be refreshed and recharged and full of patience and wisdom to pass on to my children. After this mornings off to school debacle, I think I can safely say that apparently I am not. Okay, we did manage to get out the door in decent fashion yesterday after a four day Easter hiatus, but I am pretty sure that is due mainly to the fact that I lured the girls out of bed with waffles. I did attempt a repeat performance this morning, but it would seem waffles are only good once, and then after that you have to dig deeper into your morning bag of tricks. Let me preface this by explaining that last night was game 7 of the Canucks vs. Chicago hockey playoff series, which happened to go into overtime. It was already well past bedtime before we headed into sudden death, and there was just no way either myself or my husband were going to start playing bedtime bingo with Kate, so everyone was up until we'd scored the winning goal and done a family version of screaming and jumping up and down and high fives etc. So by the time we were all in bed, it was late. We all looked hungover this morning, which was odd since no one was drinking. So we got up late. And I hadn't made lunches the night before either - give me a small break, I had the kids at soccer practice until 7:30 and then had to race home in a bizarre cloudburst of blinding rain, followed by the most amazing rainbow, and of course the game was well underway by the time we got home, so no, lunches did not get made. Anyway. So as I slapped together sandwiches, the kids silently worked their way through some cereal and one waffle each that I had toasted for them in the hopes that it might perk them all up a bit. We did manage to make it through the morning routine in about 20 minutes, but then it all fell apart. Kate wanted me to help her brush her hair...and that was all it took. I have a rule about hair. If the girls can't take care of it themselves properly, then they have to wear it short. Because I can't handle the ordeal of trying to brush it for them while they scream and writhe around like I am applying hot coals to their scalps. So as you may have guessed by now, the hair brushing didn't go well, and I chose to walk away and put on my jacket and shoes and leave the house with the other girls. Meanwhile Kate was not getting us anywhere, so I ended up having to go pick her up, carry her to the car with her socks and shoes, stuff her in, shut the door on her screaming face, go back to the house, get her back pack and jacket, return to the car, stuff them in, and blast off. Poor Elizabeth was having a heart attack in the meantime, as she hates to be late. I reached behind me and patted her leg to reassure her that everything would be fine. Then we pulled out of our driveway into a line of traffic and burly woman with a stop sign leaped in front of my car and waved at me to pull over and stop. Oh. My. God. Have I mentioned that our road is being completely dug up, moved, basically annihilated to make room for a highway going in a little further down the hill? So there we sit, waiting while traffic from the opposite direction drives slowly past, Elizabeth is wailing, Kate is shrieking that if we're late it's not her fault, and Emily is begging everyone to just be quiet. The last truck approaches the stocky sign holder, but instead of moving past he STOPS. And leans out his window, and starts having a "conversation" with the sign lady, who smiles and walks away from him. He shouts and waves his arms at her, the kids shrieks build to a furious crescendo, and that's it, I snap. I lay on my horn as hard as I can to get the attention of both the truck driver and the sign lady, and then while continuing to lean on my horn I wave my other arm around and make crazy lady faces at them. My windows are not rolled down so I know they can't actually hear me, therefore I just have to look like I'm saying something....the sign lady waves the truck driver on, gives me the go ahead to move, and the truck driver passed me with his tongue stuck out...which the kids really appreciate, and we tear off up the road to school in stony silence. And it must be a morning after a hockey miracle miracle, because although my watch indicates that we are definitely late, the doors have just opened and the kids are just going inside. I call out "have a good day, have a good day, have a good day" three times in succession and get into my car again without looking back. When I get home, I check the paper to see when round two of the playoffs start...tomorrow night. Hmmmm. Looks like I am going to have to stock up on an exciting assortment of breakfast items, plus maybe make a month's worth of lunches and freeze them just to keep up with mornings around here. Perhaps even more importantly, I will have to come up with some form of bribes for the traffic ladies if this is going to continue, maybe special coffees for letting us jump the line so we make it to school on time? Or maybe I just need to reevaluate the whole concept of "late", at least for the remainder of the hockey season...

game day

Well, after an extraordinarily busy week (well, maybe just ordinarily busy) we finally made it to game day. Sunday morning, first soccer games of the spring season for the girls. I had thought ahead and had them all run around and gather up all their various soccer paraphernalia earlier that weekend and place it all where I could actually confirm that everyone did indeed have socks, shin pads, cleats etc. I spent most of Saturday driving all over hells half acre (I know that's an odd phrase, yet somehow apt for the part of town that I eventually ended up in) with Emily trying to locate two pairs of white youth size small soccer shorts, as the twins coach had thoughtfully decided that white shorts would match the girls jerseys better than black. Oh come on, I remember thinking as soon as I heard him utter the words. Obviously he doesn't' do the laundry in HIS house. Not to mention the premonition I had that finding white shorts in the girls size, and two pairs of them would prove to be a challenge. But white shorts were what he wanted, so white shorts I would try to find. And the fates were with me, I tracked down and put on hold what must have been the two last pairs  in the entire greater Vancouver area. So. Sunday morning arrives, I'm up first at 7am, and look anxiously out the window to  - yes! - a blue sky. Which means it's already a good day in my books. We make it through breakfast relatively intact, no last minute meltdowns, and head to the field for the first game of the day, Kate and Em's. Ahhh, little kid soccer. So entertaining! We realize very quickly that the other team may pose a bit of a threat when we hear their coach saying things like "okay, quick pass now, and check your man, and cross that ball" and our coach is saying "okay girls, run faster!". Fortunately most of the parents on our side seem to be in same frame of mind as we are, a little high on that extra morning coffee, and just happy that their child isn't crying. The other team scores two goals against us in rapid succession, as our goalie stands frozen in the net, staring wide eyed at the pack of girls in red race towards her with the ball. So the coach makes a change, and Emily finds herself in goal. As the opposing team dashes yet again towards our goal on a breakaway, I hold my breath and watch as Em smiles hugely and then charges headlong towards them, deflecting the ball away and kicking some shin pads and who knows what else at the same time. Again and again they try to score, and each time Em rushes out of the goal and flings herself every which way to block the ball, smiling a  big gap toothed grin the entire time. When I catch my breath from laughing I wave to get her attention, hold up my hands and shout "use your hands Em! You can use your hands!!" And Em looks at me for a second, then smiles and waves her hands back at me....and continues to use everything but her hands to stop the ball. Whatever works, we all tell ourselves, whatever works. Finally towards the very end of the game something clicks, and our girls suddenly start kicking and chasing the ball down the other end of the field. Kate gets her chance and manages to kick the ball several times in more or less the right direction. She seems pleased enough with herself, and happy to be part of the pack, no pressure. Game time is called but the coaches figure they'll let them play a little longer, and our girls go on to score three quick goals, so the opposing coach decides it's time to stop after all, and that's it, the game is over. We have no idea who won, and really, no one seems too concerned about it. I mean, we're talking about kids who are playing with Barbies on the sidelines while waiting for their turn to go on the field. Now it's time for the big kids' game. Elizabeth has been off warming up with her team for half an hour, and we all make our way over to the field she will be playing on. The sun goes behind a cloud, the wind picks up, and suddenly the whole day seems more serious, less fun. We all zip up our jackets, pull on our hoods, and jump up and down to stay warm while the game begins. Well, the adults do, the twins and their buddy Summer find some sticks and wander off to dig in the dirt for worms. Elizabeth's division is a motley crew of different shapes and sizes. This apparently is what happens between the ages of 8 and 9, suddenly some of the girls REALLY grow, so you end up with teams of kids who range in size from tinier than my 7 year old twins, to tall as some full grown women. Anyway, they take their soccer a lot more seriously. But it's their first game together, they've only had two practices and unfortunately they haven't had enough time to learn each other's names yet, so this poses some challenges for them. Actually not just for them, but also for their coaches, who realize over half way through the game  that the reason Elizabeth isn't listening to them is because they keep calling her Brooke. This does however work in her favor somewhat as she gets to play almost the entire game without being subbed out. As does her friend Brooke, because they think she is Eva. Brooke (the real Brooke) even manages to score a goal. The girls see us all madly jumping up and down on the sidelines and think we are super excited, cheering them on, not realizing that we are actually all just trying to keep our fingers and toes from going numb. Finally the game is over, a tie (we think). Elizabeth is fairly disgusted, as she played defense the whole game, and wanted a chance to play up front. Despite our assurances that she was amazing on defense, and how important that is, blah blah blah, I could tell she remained unconvinced. Oh well. Maybe once the coaches actually get to know everyone's names better, she will get her chance!

soccer practice

So I bit the bullet and registered all three of my girls for spring soccer. Elizabeth is fantastically keen to play - she just finished winter soccer which ran from August through March, so no problem there. Emily and Kate have never played before though, but I felt it was time they take the plunge into organized sports. They did bring home forms to sign up for baseball, which I almost went for  - it would be a natural really, since my husband not only played for years himself but coached too, and it happens to be my favorite spectator sport by far, I really love my baseball - but then I started thinking about it....how the spotlight is just on you when you're at the plate, and then how the spotlight is just on you when you have to field a ball, throw a ball, catch a ball....and I just couldn't see that sort of high pressure appealing to the girls, Kate in particular. So I had Elizabeth take them outside one day to kick the ball around and tell them how super good they were at that, and they came in afterwards and announced that they wanted to play soccer. Well, Kate did. Em would be quite happy to chase butterflies while the other kids slogged it out on the sports battlefields of life, but I figure she has to at least give it all a shot. Spring soccer sounded pretty perfect, since it's just a short season from April to June, and I figure if she still has no interest after that then I won't bother to make her play again. Anyway. Elizabeth's coach contacted us and she had already had her first practice and I still hadn't heard anything about the twins team. Hmmm. Hoping this wasn't a bad omen,  I sent an email off to the registrar, and within a couple days we had a coach and a team and a plan to practice this weekend. On Saturday I asked the girls if they knew where all their soccer gear was, and was assured that they did...but knowing better I asked them to go and produce it for me, just in case. And sure enough Em was missing a shin pad, which we discovered after much searching in Kate's dresser. Next I asked them to make sure they each had a pair of leggings to wear as the next day would be cool and possibly quite wet. By leggings I meant something long enough to keep their legs warm, and snug enough to keep them from tripping over their pant legs. An argument then ensued as to which leggings were considered appropriate - naturally the girls were all about the fashion, and warmth etc be damned. Pick your battle Lis, pick your battles I said to myself, and walked away from that one. So off we went the following day to practice, and in a somewhat rare show of solidarity, the girls had matching pony tails, matching sweaters and matching shorts on over their sparkly fashion forward leggings. Now we would see which way the ball was going to bounce, so to speak - would they respond positively or negatively to their coach, to their team mates, to the rain that started to fall as soon as we arrived at the already sodden field? The coach seemed very nice, check. Then one of the girls from their class at school showed up, very big check, excellent news. And after that they didn't seem to mind the rain. In fact, they got right into the various drills the coach put them through, and then it was time to play a mock game against each other. Ahhh, I had forgotten what soccer is like at this age. A little pack that chases the ball around the field with one child now and then getting away with it and kicking it towards whichever goal happens to be handiest. My fears for Emily's interest seemed to at least temporarily disappear at this point, as she managed to score one of the first goals of the game - mind you, it did happen to be on her own net, but this didn't seem to phase her in the least, nor any of the other kids.Meanwhile I could tell that Kate of course was taking things a little more seriously, but seemed to be enjoying herself nonetheless. She was particularly happy with the fact that their team jerseys are green, her favorite color. Priorities, priorities. At any rate, they survived their first practice, and so far both seem very excited for the next one this week. Now they are working on thinking up the all important team name, to be voted on at the next practice. Em's suggestion is the Bernese Mountain Dogs, hmmm, and Kate thinks they should be the Pooh Bears...I can only imagine what all the other little 6 and 7 year olds are coming up with. It's shaping up to be an entertaining season if nothing else!

back to reality

Okay, to sum up, spent the rest of spring break going mini golfing, bowling, and finally on the last day which was pouring rain again, I caved and took the kids to a place that gives me the heebie jeebies - Go Bananas. One of those giant indoor germ infested playgrounds, filled with screaming kids with snotty noses, running madly up and down and around and around, conducting secret bullying sessions at the zip line out of the sightline of their parents, who huddle below in a cave like area, clutching coffee cups like zombies while they attempt to read a long forgotten book, but are compelled to jerk their heads up every 30 seconds to check to see if that is their child who just tripped and did a face plant at the very top of the jungle gym and is now shrieking for their mother, who will be totally unable to go to her child's aid, but will instead have to recruit some other manic child passing by to climb up into the maze and drag her injured offspring out to safety. You know the kind of place I'm talking about - is my horror of them terribly obvious? But I was desperate, at the end of my rope, it was the last Friday of our two weeks off, I had exhausted my supply of coupons from my entertainment book, the only one left was for this place...I stared at the deluge of rain outside my kitchen window for a moment, while listening to the kids chasing each other around and around the main floor of my house, yelling things like "I didn't MEAN to hit you, it was an ACCIDENT" and "stop LOOKING at me!!" and that was it, my moment of weakness, and before I could stop myself I had torn out the coupon and was telling the girls to put on their jackets and get in the car, and I grabbed a book and we headed off in the rain. The kids sang and cheered all the way there - about a 25 minute drive - while I clutched the steering wheel in a death grip, wondering what the hell I had just done. I clung to the faint possibility that I might not be able to find the place, I had never been there before, having previously always been strong enough to boycott such outings. Or perhaps they would be closed....but no such luck. The giant green and yellow sign loomed, the open sign was lit, and we were in. The kids took off their shoes so as to be able to slip more easily whilst I filled out some kind of release form in a daze. A buzzer sounded, a gate opened and into the mayhem we went. My three children vanished, and I found myself standing staring like an open mouthed idiot at the other parents in the tiny seating area. They were either trendily dressed, fully loaded with a mass of litterless snack containers on their tables, or scrunched miserably in a corner like a prisoner awaiting sentencing. I dragged a chair to a far corner, got out my book, and attempted to tune out the world around for the next hour and a half. That's the beauty of having three kids. I figured they were in a contained area, they couldn't get out, and no one worse than some other mean kid could get in, and if that happened I would just tell them that three kids are stronger than one, and encourage a swarming style attitude to prevail against opposition. Stick together, stick together, that's my motto to them when they are out in the world.
Anyway, sometime later I realized I was getting both a horrible kink in my right shoulder and more frequent visits from the girls who were thirsty - go use the water fountain - and hungry - I didn't bring food and I'm not buying any, so play or go home and eat, you choose - and I figured our time was coming to an end, so sad. Gathering up sweaters and my book, I practically sprinted to the gate to get out of there, and once outside in the rain I decided that wet air had never smelled so good. Was it worth the trip? I guess. The kids got more than enough exercise, and it definitely killed some time. Plus it was like gold having that outing to dangle over their heads for at least a week or two whenever they started to complain that we never did anything fun. Like during the rest of the weekend, when we eased them back to reality by having to entertain themselves while we did yard work, cleaned out the carports, stuff like that. Only downer is that I still have that kink in my shoulder - I guess that's the price I paid to make it though spring break otherwise unscathed. How will I make it through two months of summer holidays? I'm thinking day camp is starting to sound really good....