Wha?

Recently overheard by Scott at soccer practice just after introducing a new kid to the team:

"Hi, I'm Colby. And I'm not Jewish."

Best Dance Party Song-Evah!

For a 6 year old and a 9 year old this is all about air guitar, air drums, fast feet shuffling and as much out-of-control-body-shaking-near-convulsions as possible. Crank it. Clap. And dance.

A big bowl of fun!

A while ago I heard a funny knock-knock joke that went a little something like this:

"Knock, Knock"

"Who's there?"

"Interrupting Cow"

"Interrupting Cow - "

"Mooo!"

"who?"

Oh, hahhahahahhahaha!!! Love that joke!


and then what happens when you teach that to a couple of 6 and 9 year olds is a) nonsensical knock-knock jokes galore or b) constant interrupting



with a simple and very loud "Mooo!" right smack in the middle of anything and everything you're trying to say.


It's a big bowl of fun. Trust me.

Yes. I am a soccer mom.

We own just one car. It's a minivan. We even have a nice, liberal bumper sticker on the rear bumper (01-20-09 Bush's Last Day).

And it's a Honda Odyssey. It's silver. It's as prosaic and pedestrian as possible. And the car takes us to a variety of Brookline soccer games-among other places.

(but my disclaimer is that when I'm in it alone I blast as much loud, kick-ass, rock'n roll as possible just to rid myself of the very square, middle-aged mom I've come to be. I might even dance while I'm driving.)

And both of my kids play soccer. And I go to their games and their practices. Really to chat and hang with my friends more than anything, to be perfectly honest. And since cheering or yelling isn't really cool here, this (insert air quotes here) soccer works for everyone.

And this year Scott is coaching Colby's soccer team (the Volcanoes if you must know) just as he coached Maia's team (the Asteroids) last year. Scott, former high school soccer star, takes a very low-key approach to coaching, which is very appropriate. I, however, when not analyzing childhood drama with another parent on the sidelines, want nothing more than to take a high-key approach to kids soccer. I'm all about yelling and cheering and acting like the real Midwestern sports fan that I've closeted for so long. But I don't. Instead, I hunt down another parent with whom I can chat.

But the other day at Colby's soccer practice I couldn't help myself. After I 'casually' asked Scott in the middle of an awkward soccer drill for 6 year olds if he were 'tired because he seemed so quiet' and after I 'casually' asked Scott if he wanted a coffee to 'wake up and get involved in the boys practice' I had just one. more. thing. to. say.

Colby's a lefty. Left-handed and left-footed. And Scott was showing Colby, by grabbing his foot-his right foot-how to properly kick and dribble the ball.


And so I yelled (shrill, loud) from across the field,

"SCOTT!
YOUR SON IS A LEFTY!"










First I got a look of squinty-eyed-pursed-lipped-rage from Scott. Now I think I'm banned from soccer practices.

Do you have flair?

Flair? Not as in style or panache or pizzazz or even brio or oomph. I'm talkin' flair as in accroutrement. Accessories. Fandangle. Extra.

While my kids don't exactly have their own specific style - yet. They do have flair. Evidenced by their back-packs and the load of stuff/junk/jangley-things/doodads they carry. Colby has emassed a collection of cars, McDonald's give-aways, and free conference hand-outs that Scott brings home, like treasures from the sea. Maia has a bunch of this and that. Snowy from Brussels, an empty plastic frame key-ring. Mostly random, but all so very special.

I don't have much flair. Not even on my own key chain. But someday......I just might. For that je ne sais quoi that I'm constantly searching for.

Sometimes I can make myself laugh

Standing in line at our local Starbucks. Standing in a line of about 6 people deep. Everyone has a very particular order: half-caff-semi-fat-no-cream-grande-in-a-venti-cup or pumpkin-loaf-heated-in-separate-bag-with-no-pumpkin or tap-water-freshly-tapped-sweetened or.....you get the drift.

and yesterday, while alone, and observing this all going down it appeared that one of the Starbuckians taking these hyper-particular orders was squinting, as if he totally did not approve.

and then I thought how funny it would be if I worked at this Starbucks and every now and then responded to an order with a simple look of total disapproval. That face you make when you smell something bad, all scrunched-up with a frown. Or a face of that you make before you think something's going to hit you. Or simply just squeezing your eyes really tightly. I wouldn't say anything, just make a I-really-think-that-is-so-gross face.

and then I started to laugh to myself. In my imaginary world of comedy.

Mud Pie anyone?

Today was the first real day of cold, cloudy, rainy weather. And it was the first Saturday in months that we weren't either traveling to some exotic European location or at the beach in Rhode Island - which means the better part of the day was spent with errands and whatnot. But the sun broke through around 4pm and I got a call from my friend Steph and out we went to Emerson Park. Our back yard. Our Brookline outdoor space. Our lawn of fun.

And one of the huge reasons we love Brookline so much is that there are tons of these spontaneous get-togethers that lead to happy, playing kids and parents connecting over the daily drama or child-rearing conundrum.

Today, Maia went out on her roller blades. She of the athletically skilled, well-balanced, energetically adept person was hunched over in a helmet that was too big, skates that stuttered down the sidewalk, and all knock-knee'ed like there was no tomorrow. And she could not have been happier.

And once we got to Emerson Colby found a pool of fresh mud. And I had this immediate reaction of "Noooooooooo!" "Get out of that muddddddddddd!" But then......

what kid doesn't want to play in mud? who has ever played in mud and thought, 'nope, gross, no thanks.' Who hasn't had that immediate visceral reaction to ooey-gooey mud? Okay, maybe some....but there was this total suck-the-morrow-out-of-summer and get as muddy as ya want reaction. And thankfully, my peers didn't disagree. Big bowl of mud fun. And in the midst of mud projects and mud droppings and mud bombs Colby's friend, River, yells with his black, muddy hands in the air, "Mud is life!"

Awesome.

Out of the mouths of babes

I have a pair of favorite jeans. Distressed, holey Lucky jeans. That I love. I'm not sure I'm lucky when I wear them but I love them just the same.

and today when I put them on my son, Colby, wanted to know if these jeans were supposed to look like I fall down a lot.



(yeah, 'cuz it's cool to fall down. Cool, like my jeans.)

Queen - You're My Best Friend

(Please see below)

Queen - You're My Best Friend

Schmaltzy, corny, over-the-top contrived...yet......oh, so sentimental.

Summer's over. It's done. Gone. Maybe one last swim in the ocean but that really depends on a very warm, sunny day that falls on a Saturday or Sunday. And for me it's like I'm saying goodbye to my best pal. You'd think as a New Englander I'd welcome Autumn but it takes me a while to warm up to these next couple of months. So, a little ode to my favorite season via Freddy Mercury, circa 1976.