The Trials of Big Brotherness

Sam: "NO-AAAAHHHHHH don't pull your pants down (heard from the bathroom)"

I am fighting the instinct to tell Sam to stop parenting his brother, while they are sharing the toilet. But if I'm going to go correct behaviors, where do I start?! I take the eavesdropping approach.

Noah responds with something inaudible from my perch.

Sam (in an exasperated tone): "Nobody needs to see your whole butt. That's gross."

points for relevance

Sam (again, exasperated, but with a hint of "oh alright, SOMEbody has to tell you): "Noah, what do you know that hole in your underpants?"

Noah grunts something of acknowledgement.

Sam: "What do you think its for??"

Noah obviously does not get the right answer when Sam's tone softens to guide him through this transition to big boy-hood.

Sam: "What about your barn door?"

Now, I am on the cusp of needing resuscitation from holding back the laughter.

Sam (with the tone of "hold on to your hat...this is gonna be big"): You poke your penis out of the hole and **just** out of the barn door."

Sam lets Noah absorb this for a minute, and for his big finish adds:
"What do you think you do when you go to work?"

Getting our game on!

It is sports central here at our house! We embraced it with full knowledge of the potential, almost imminent chaos.

Here's what we knowingly agreed to:

• Monday: baseball, for one boy and Daddy to coach
  
• Tuesday: soccer, for two boys and Mommy to coach; golf, for one boy
• Wednesday: baseball for one boy and Daddy to coach; t-ball for two boys
• Thursday: soccer for one boy
• Saturday: t-ball for two boys

It has been a sweaty, busy, fun, sports-filled summer. I hope they are getting some sportsmanship, learning some rule of the games, feeling proud of themselves and having a really good time. Scott and I are enjoying it, despite the sometimes frenetic activity. Typically, it is all said and done by 8pm anyway so it isn't like it is late night or excessively long. Soccer and t-ball as especially nice from a family perspective as they are an hour long and we are home pretty early. We have, I hope, yielded to the times it has been just too much like when the twins canNOT sit through whole game even if it is only 6 innings and when it is so freaking hot that the sidewalks are buckling. Summer isn't long enough and I'm happy they are playing lots.

I know that this is the profile that most families live with, but still I count it as newsworthy, that is to say, blog-able. Before I go any further, a shout out to allllll parent, grandparents, step-parents and various support in families' lives that help us all juggle the work and play. Especially my mom and who has filled in with rides and food and cheered them all on lots! And my dad who makes sure that there is always a cheering section for you even when you are the 0 - 372 LA Girls Soccer Team!

With the hours spent out there in the trenches, I have to share some of the gems heard from the various sidelines. This is one week's worth. A few of my favorite nuggets include:

• You can't pass in the baseline" "But he's stopped!"
• "NO-AH (from his brother), where the heck was *that* going?!"
• "Aidan! Pay attention!" (also from his brother)
• Coach Wee-ah, my wegs can't take it anymore"
• "Tell Mikey if he hits it good Gramma will give him $1." Brother runs off with the message and soon returns with "he says he wants $5"

About 1/2 way through the baseball season, Scott tells me that Sammy needs a cup. Oh-Kay, I'm pretty sure that this falls directly on his side of the gender line along with condoms and tie tying and I get maxipads, training bras and birth control. But since I'll never be called to task, I can pick up the protective gear.

There I stand in (no pun intended) Dick's in the cup aisle. "Protective gear aisle" as there is also a bull's eye looking item apparently for catchers chests to "prevent serious injury and even death". Yikes. Back to the less scary injuries. Sizes, shapes, styles. Mental note, send Scott for next box of tampons. I decide to go with the boxer shorts that come with the insert. The logic is that truly that last thing that I want to do I deal with strapping him into a garter belt. Mission Accomplished! I continue my shopping and realize that there are 17 awkward ways to carry this business. Now I am shopping with it hanging from my finger as if my finger were a hook.

Now I'm done.

I get this thing home and later when we are chatting. I say to Sam, "I got you something at Dicks today. It's called a cup." I'm locked and loaded for this conversation. And go!
Sam: Oh Thanks.
(silence)
Me: Do you know what that is?
Sam: Yep.
Me: How?
Sam: Guys on my team wear them.
Me: How do you KNOW this?
Sam: At the beginning of every game, Coach Keith says 'raise your hand if you are wearing a cup?' and if you raise your hand then you can be catcher.

I fought my urge to take it back.


Now all summer long we've done really well managing the schedules and all that that entails, including uniforms and gear. They are very good about keeping cleats, mitts, hats in relatively reachable condition. Right up until last Wednesday when I left work early enough to squeeze in a bike ride around the park with all the boys. We had a lovely afternoon and really enjoyed our time together.

We got home, ate and geared up. Only to realize that for three boys, we had exactly one mitt. I figured that I'd get them there at least and run home to scour for the others. Scott called during the three minute ride and offered to bring Sammy my mitt. It's pink.

Actions-Consequences....sportsmanship ain't the only thing we're learning this summer!

Fine. Sammy's got the pink mitt.

Then the league director's wife passes us, looks down at the twins and says,"do they have a game? I don't think they have a game." Shit. They had only one bye week. This was it. I've geared them up for nothing.


And finally we get to play off week. Sammy's team is IN! We are having a typical week at home and I say to him on the morning of his game, "do you have your stuff ready?" "yes." he firmly tells me. Great, off we go to the day. I've got dinner planned. The getting home/getting out should be easy.

He heads out the door to the car and on my last glance around before leaving, I see that he has laid out what his 9 y.o. mind has prioritized as "his stuff": his glove, his hat and his cup all laid out on the dining room table.

Game on!