That's what his soccer coaches call him because he sports blonde hair, Packer colors, and the number 4. 

Of course they probably started calling him that after these pictures were taken, after he had his haircut back in October.

A season or two ago he was referred to by another coach as a "fuzzball on legs."

But his hair is not the only thing changed since that season.  He's become quite aggressive with the ball and much prefers offense to defense.  Now that the boys (try) to play positions, I think the added logic and strategy has helped peak his interest in the game.  His last fall game was a few weeks ago and he had two assists.

He's not the fastest.  In fact, he's pretty much the slowest and runs like his feet are in pain.  Until he gets the ball.  Then all of the sudden he takes these uncharacteristically long strides down the field.  He is so aggressive on one of these sprints that he doesn't bother going around the opposition but looks more like a quarterback running a ball right through the line.  Oh, did I kick your shin along with the ball?  Too bad, sucka!  Watching him charge right through like that leaves me on pins and needles because every time I feel sure he'll lose the ball, but nearly everytime the ball pops right through and he follows...

So I guess the painful-to-watch, duck-footed, war veteran jaunt he has going is just a reflection of his boredom when he knows the ball isn't in his zone.  (Or maybe some podiatrist out there will read this and say it is borderline abusive to make fun of a such serious birth defect.)

His coaches were sitting by me at the party and noting this very occurrence: "You know Evan is really aggressive when he has the ball- but it's only when he has the ball.  It's very interesting."

"Yes, we've come a long way from his first season," I said, "when he was much more interested in looking for Who's on a dandelion growing in the field.  He's unique that way; he's actually very bright with numbers and math but very spacey."

"Oh yeah, that's right!"  he said, looking at the other coach, "remember when we gave them a really hard math problem and promised a reward knowing no one would get it?"

The other coach laughed, "yeah, and he yelled out the answer!"

"Yep, that's Evan," I said.  "But try to point something out in the sky or a crowded place and he is hopeless at locating it."

And then- I kid you not- about 2 minutes later the coaches stand up to hand out trophies and they call them up by jersey number:  "Player One... two... three.. four...  player four?  Who is player four?"

Duh.  Brett Favre.  Chop, chop, Brett, that's your number, dude!  But Evan is looking around like, who is number four?

And that was when the coach looked at me and said, "I thought you said he was good with numbers."

Labels: adventures in sports, boys will be boys, conversation, dumbhead parenting, Evan, math man, pics, pictures, soccer

Yesterday morning Madalyn walked out of her room to find me in the kitchen: "My throat hurts like I'm gonna throw up" she said.

And then as soon as she'd spoken she threw up bile.

She does this in the mornings every so often... if she doesn't eat her dinner and wakes up with low blood sugar or dehydrated or an empty stomach... for whatever reason both she and Jack have these mornings once in a blue moon.  It is usually a one time episode, but yesterday I must've given her muffins and milk too soon because right after we got her all dressed and bathed, complete with hair bow, she did it again.  Twice.  At that point I was in the bathroom giving a slightly constipated two-year-old a potty pep talk.  She came in, sat on the floor and said, "I'm gonna throw up again."

"Okay," I said,  "well do it on the floor- on the tile- move to the-"

And I will spare you of sound effects but let's just say she didn't move from the bath mat to the tile but heaved chocolate chip muffins all over her legs and skirt, and the bathmat. 

It was one of those moments when I wasn't sure what to address first... the now-hungry baby crying in his crib, the toddler who had just had victory on the potty and needed wiping, or the vomit...  I decided to go get cleaner (having a newborn in the house, and just in case it was a virus,) and while I was gone the toddler, who was given strict instructions to not dismount the potty, had done just that and was jumping on our upholstered bedroom chair.  At this point, I should add, I had already sopped up some of the vomit that had, after all, reached the tile as well as the bathmat, and sprayed cleaner there.  Now, once I realized the toddler was jumping with a soiled derrière in our bedroom, all else became background music (if background music from a horror flick.) I tore into the bedroom after him, yelling, and probably appearing like some monster from that horror flick, head spinning like girl from The Exorcist.

His natural response to my furious chase was- to run.  And so he took off running away from me, back toward the bathroom in all his nakedness, in all his fear... at this point I am telling him not to run because I see where this is going... and it does... he slides through the vomit and cleaner as if on ice, clear across the bathroom until his feet go up in the air and he hits his head on the tile.  And what do I do?  In all of my nurturing glory?  I tell him this is what happens when he disobeys mommy- he gets poop on my chair, and vomit on his feet, and hits his head on the floor- all because he didn't stay on the potty. 

Long story short, and somehow or other, the two middle children end up in the shower and the baby gets fed... although not without me first walking by the eldest, who was sitting by the front door sniffling because he thought I spanked his little brother (he has never cared before but he had not been part of the fiasco and felt left out) and so I had to answer to him, the third parent in the house, and tell him I had not, in fact, spanked his little brother but he had hit his head running from me in disobedience, hence the racket.  The eldest responded by saying he would just sit by the front door and play his video game until his grandmother arrived.  You know, an adult who would be, how should he put it?  Sane.

Wow, am I super mom or what, I thought.  Whatever, I thought next.  Then my third thought wasn't really a thought but more of a hysterical, crazy-woman laugh. 

This is because:  A) with your first kid you are determined to not mess up... and then you do.  Once.  B) So you have another kid, and you look at them in all their pure, newborn glory and think, okay, this one I haven't messed up yet, clean slate.  And then you mess up.  More than once.  C) Then, with your third, you start learning it's okay to mess up and be, you know- fallen and human and all of that- because if we could attain their salvation then Jesus died for nothing... and besides which, mess-ups and all, they are still turning out to be really great kids...

But the fourth?  By the fourth kid you just start laughing;  a good, hysterical, long laugh at how serious you used to take yourself and your parenting, because now you know it's ENITRELY up to Jesus, your parenting highs and lows... and if they sit in a counselor's office saying as much, lamenting about what a horrible parent you were, you will not only be okay with that, but you know your next best move will be to say "Amen, son, amen" and "I am so sorry."  (Not that we ever stop trying to do them better...be better... but at some point we have to accept that we are imperfect and they will get some of our baggage and be imperfect, too, no matter how hard we try to prevent it... that's the nature of it.  Literally.  This stuff called sin.)  And because you realize this you are able to laugh, free to laugh... to have a really pleasant, if seemingly psychotic laugh over your morning.

I'm not making sense, am I?  I'm overanalyzing, aren't I?  Okay, so maybe scratch all that.  That's because I should be napping.  And instead I'm going to tell you another story, another confessional, if you will... about this morning.

This morning I was watching the kids swim outside when Evan broke through the surface of the water with a piercing scream and holding his ear.  I glibly mentioned an ear infection possibility and that we should see if it keeps bothering him, but you don't glibly mention anything to Evan.  (What I should've said was that it was his imagination and to stop pretending so hard or something to that effect.)  Anyway, I didn't, and next thing I knew he wouldn't move his head,  and was keeping a permanent hand over his ear as though it might fall off if he moved too suddenly.  He was also screeching in sudden pain every time he moved right or left. 

SO, seeing as how it was almost lunch time, I packed three lunches, got the other two kids out of the pool- loaded up the baby- and we headed for the clinic because none of us want to hear screams like this for the rest of the day.  The clinic was so full there was nowhere to sit, or stand, really... so we left... loaded back in the car, all five of us, two in car seats, where the kids ate lunches and I nursed... then we drove to a different clinic- much further away.

On the way we got ice cream cones at Chic Fil A and after we got on the road again and made some headway, Madalyn dropped hers between the seat and the side of the car... 

I dare you to ask me if I was cool and calm- ask me if I was patient and collect- go ahead, ASK ME!  (I wasn't.)  I said why in the world couldn't she now pick it up, why couldn't she reach it, I said things along the lines of "you've got to be kidding me" and "unreal"... things that I'm sure will resurface in our counseling days.  We pulled over and I climbed in the way back from outside the car and cleaned it up best I could, and cleaned her up, too... soothed her and told her we'd get another and I did know it wasn't her fault... all of that pasting together what had come unglued, you know...  It was a really pretty scene for the Shell station to witness, let me tell you...

So an ice cream cone and drive-thru line later, we were then on our way to clinic #2 with ice cream cone #2, where there was no line (praise God!)  The kids were great in there (praise God.)  The only upset was that when the doc looked in Evan's ear- finally- while we all held our baited  breaths, knowing we were about to get a nasty report on how his bloody, pussy ear drum had already ruptured and he would be partially deaf for the rest of his life (judging by his carrying on)- what happened? 

The doc said: hmm.  Well, it's certainly not infected.

And then she suggested that maybe he just had a little pressure from his sinuses when he swam way down.  Pressure?  A little pressure?  Let's talk about pressure, SHALL WE.  And right now I am laughing again.  And dancing a little... to that song that just popped in my head from the 80's or 90's- "pressure- pressing down on me, pressing down on you..." I could do a really rad break dance to that song right now and I think I would feel so much better.  I love that song, do you?  WHY do I love that song?  It's probably perverted, right?  I have no idea what it's talking about but I dig it.

But I digress.  So nothing is wrong with his ear, (but don't try to tell him that.)  Because now his neck hurts from straining it to protect his not-hurt ear for the last three or four hours.  Seriously, he walked around for hours as though he were wearing an invisible neck brace, wincing in pain.  So by this point in the day, when we were leaving the clinic, he really was in pain as he had given himself a neck ache, and I made him nap when we got home. When he lay down in his bed (after many cries of pain to get comfortable) he looked at me and said very matter-of-fact, "I think I'm dying." 

Wow.  Dying?  Really? 

Let's hope not because I will not be able to live with the amount of guilt I have from not believing him.

Ah, and now see how this ends... he just walked in here just now and said he feels better after sleeping and is fine. 

Sleep.  I forgot how magical that stuff is.

On another note, our 9 year anniversary is tomorrow.  NINE years.  Wow.  I said to Shaun who knew in nine short years here we would sit- with 4 kids and a dog- and after 6 moves, 10 job changes, 1 business started... I told Shaun if someone told me 9 years ago that all of this would happen in the next decade, along with some family deaths and a divorce, a surgery for a two-year-old and who can remember what else... I think I would've stuck my head in the ground. 

But as Beth Moore says, sometimes God wants to show us that we're capable of a lot more than we think we are... 

You know, like being able to move our heads around without our ears falling off.

Labels: dumbhead parenting, Evan, sick days

Evan's been reading to us at night a little- he takes turns with me and we read to the younger two.  Lately, Madalyn has started trying to jump in and read the words before him.  I assumed she just had the books memorized or was guessing from the pictures.  (Shaun says she has a photographic memory like his sister, Kelly.)  If anything in our house is missing, we ask Madalyn and she's likely to have seen it somewhere.  

But last night I realized she's not relying (at least not entirely) on memorization. 

I was going to read to just her because Shaun was tucking in the boys.  Instead, we decided to let her try reading to me- One Fish, Two Fish. And to my surprise, she CAN read.  I quickly realized this when she would get stumped on a word she didn't just know and start sounding out the letters. 

Now I know four year olds and even three year olds all over the globe read, but seeing as how I haven't worked with her at all (other than basic sounds and letters) this came as quite a surprise.  She seems to have a knack for it that developed out of the wild blue yonder.      

It's interesting to see how her method is a little different than Evan's, having not been TAUGHT a method at all.  (I know, home schooling is looking really promising for us, eh?)  He relies very much on the rules he's been taught about e's at the end of the word and blends, etc.  He will sometimes be SO focused on the word that he neglects to use the pictures at all, so he misses something rather obvious about a sentence or paragraph.  She, relying solely on herself to figure this reading thing out, has learned to take in the pictures AND the letters AND the rhyming pattern and make sense of it pretty quickly like a riddle.  (This is why I thought she was using memorization, but after taking some time with just her, I realized she wasn't.)  She was piecing it together.  She also doesn't wear out as quickly as he does.  She would've read all night if I'd let her, (where as Evan will read a short book and then he's ready to get back to shading in cylinders and cubes and designing web applications.)

It's exciting to see her unfold a little more, revealing who she's made to be; to wonder if she might have literature or writing or poetry or lyrics or screenplays in her future.  (Look, it's hard not to get ahead of yourself when you get these glimpses because the mystery is what makes it exciting.)  I know it's cliche', but it really is like waiting for and watching a flower blossom.  After all, it is Springtime, so the cliche'  is at least a fitting one.

Labels: dumbhead parenting, Madalyn, milestones, school

It seems like most of our friends do soccer the first part of the school year.  Not us.  I can't seem to get my act together yet in the Fall.  A new school routine and a new business season have always seemed daunting enough.

But I really like Spring soccer, as it turns out.  The weather is perfect- it's cool to comfortably warm, unlike the hot Florida Fall season, and it gives us something to do during those drab months between Christmas and Summer.

Besides which- doesn't Evan look handsome with long sleeves under his uniform?  He looks so "prep school" to me in his uniform this year.  I don't know.  Maybe it's the black.

And this lady with him is Coach Lisa who is a new coach for us this year.  We like Coach Lisa.  Even though she's thin and athletic and organized, and even though she brings healthy snacks like- GASP- FRUIT to every game.  Even though she has really pretty hair.  We still like her because she's so nice it's unavoidable.

I think I mentioned before that Evan is like a different kid on the field this year; understands the game so much more, cares much more, and has much more aggression and confidence.

Well this series is your "case in point."  See little Timmy with the grey hood?  Well hoody's about to have an ouchy...

See, you don't bump into the Evanator.  He's made of steel this year and if you're both going after a loose ball, you'll be the one taking the fall...

...left in his dust without a glance backwards.  His eyes are locked on his kill and he's gone.

But girls like this sort of intense drive... look where their heads are facing... (I'm just saying.)

And Madalyn's really coordinated herself...

when she wants to be... when she's not preoccupied with her flirting.

Here she is making a nice stop.

Then working to keep the ball in bounds...

Is there something ironic about the fact that in half of my pictures of her she's right on the line?  Does this mean something...                 

Something about her issues with BOUNDARIES, perhaps?

Could she test the limits anymore than this without actually crossing the line... technically?  See the inch of space between the ball and the ground? 

That's how good she is, people.  That's what I'm up against in this thing called parenting.  She's got mad skills.  it's exhausting.

But on a side note, isn't it SO cool that her jersey number is the same as her age?  (She thinks so.)

Here she is with her crush to the right of her- the tall one, with the hair- the coach's son.

She is only engaging the ball in these because he is watching.  I would place money on it.

Because he's tall and he's five.

So she gets possession of it and passes it where?

To Hudson.  Because he's tall.  And he's five.  And he has a cool, trendy name and good hair. 

And because she is totally cool with being aggressive and taking charge until she's actually in charge... then it's all oh no what do I do- pass it off, quick PASS IT!  (I know this because I functioned the same way under pressure in my high school soccer games.)

But the best part of this particular season has been watching these two on the same field.

They somehow stick close to each other and the ball.

(And sometimes, the bench.)

Madalyn has a deep admiration for Evan and his superiority that comes with having played two seasons before this one.  (Respects him on the field, that is... we're not talking about in general as she has to help him put his clothes on most mornings.)  No, I jest.  She totally thinks he hangs the moon in everywhere, everywhere.

But on the field she will break rules just to see him succeed.  Like in these shots.

And there is no one happier when he scores (an event we have yet to catch on video or camera because we get so excited and loud whenever he's scoring that it's downright pitiful of us- we are so NOT cool parents.)

But this is the ritual when he scores... we yell like dorks and Madalyn rushes to him, and squeezes him till his head nearly pops off.  He doesn't seem to mind as sometimes he picks her up in his own excitement.  Or vice versa.

Jack, in case you are wondering, sits like a little adult on the sidelines and yells "turn it around, Evan... be ready, Madalyn..."  (That is, when he's not taking a renewed interest in the parking lot and the danger that lies therein.)

Next year these two will be on different teams because Evan will move up a division- back to being one of the smaller ones on the field.

And not only will this be sad because it will mean two soccer practices a week and two games for me to wrestle two younger brothers through, but it will be sad because it will remind me of how fleeting these precious seasons are.  Nothing lasts.  Well, except- I pray- their friendship.         

Labels: adventures in sports, dumbhead parenting, Evan, Jack, Madalyn, siblings