Today marks my entry into the official world of Soccer-Mom-dom. I am a real Soccer Mom. I have to bring snack and everything. Behold:
That's Jack hiding under there. I was trying to keep him warm. I probably roasted his little butt.
Here's Mary Grace, in between the times she yelled, "Look Mommy! I'm playing soccer!!" while completely not watching the ball:
(Crappy pictures courtesy of Daddy's iPhone, via Facebook, because I'm too lazy to go out to the car to get the camera. Also I've had some wine. She's the one in the black pants with the ponytail - the only girl on her team tonight, but one more should be coming to the next practice).
It has become clear that she gets her athletic ability from me. Poor kid. Also, giving her the name of "Grace" was probably unkind. Perhaps it's not too late to change it to "Mary Alice." Her homework bin at school says that, anyway, so we wouldn't have to change everything.
The highlight of the practice was when the kid named Diego got the ball and Mary Grace yelled, "Go Diego, go!" Probably the first of many times he'll hear that.
Claire is very jealous and doesn't understand why she has to wait until she's 5 to play soccer. I told her that it's because most 4 year olds aren't as good at following directions as she is, and then I told her to unload the dishwasher. She's like Cinderella.
Someone needs to tell Indiana that it's in Indiana, and they need to move soccer season back a month. Seriously. No one should be forced to sit outside and watch kids kick a ball for an hour when it's 40 degrees outside.
Also, Jack has been completely fussy and a crappy sleeper yesterday and today, and I am most tired of it. I finally get him to sleep, put him down, and he wakes up again and is awake for hours. Maybe the wine will help. Or rum.
Also, when I've had wine I write like Junie B. Jones.
Sometimes I can't even remember who I was before I had kids.