Blue-Footed Musings

Dear Kids,

You played soccer for the first time this fall. Games started on the first Saturday after the first practice, so you were in the game before you really knew how to play it. You were confused at first (and no wonder), but you figured things out.

My favorite memories of Marshall’s soccer season are the moments when he seemed to be in his own world during the games. He once spent most of his stint as goalie hanging from the crossbar of the goal. So, before the next game, I kept saying, “No hanging from the goal!” And he didn’t hang from the goal during the next game. Instead, he lay down on the field whenever there was a lull. So before the following game, I kept saying, “And no lying down during the game!” To give him just due, he didn’t love soccer, but he went to every practice and game without complaint. He had fun, just maybe not in the same way as the other kids did.

Livia really enjoyed playing. She scored several goals over the course of the season, but she seemed equally happy to be simply running up and down the field with an aggressive, I’m-gonna-get-that-ball look on her face. My favorite memory of her soccer season was the time that she was pelting down the field when she suddenly stopped, bent down, and picked a dandelion. It was also cute how, after discovering that her coach would pick her up if she fell, she would occasionally throw herself to the ground on purpose.

After playing in the hot sun, you deserved a cool reward. So sometimes on Saturday afternoons, after you had both finished your games, I took you to the ice cream shop. The nice thing about doing stuff with you kids is that there’s almost always something in it for me. Not only did I enjoy watching you experience new ice cream flavors for the first time, but the ice cream shop makes a delicious, decaf, low-fat pumpkin ice cream coffee drink. Yum. So a good time was had by all.

Livia wants to play soccer again next year. Marshall isn’t that interested. I think we might sign you both up again, though. Marshall might not have loved it, but the fresh air and exercise were good for him. Plus he liked the after-game ice cream, and so did I. Soccer is a great excuse to go for ice cream!

Love,

Mom

Dear Kids,

Here are some stories about you.

One day Daddy told Marshall that he could understand Peeps. When Marshall mentioned Daddy’s amazing ability to communicate with cats, Livia agreed, exclaiming, “One time we were under the table and Peeps told Daddy where we were!” Since then, Livia claims to have learned to speak Cat herself. Marshall and I are now the only ones in the house who can’t.

One day Marshall told me to get back to work because it would make my brain smarter.

You each have a couple dozen stuffed animals, but you’re always fighting over my stuffed crocodile, who is named Crocky, and my stuffed ray, who is called DoReMi. Livia often asks, “Can Crocky sleep over to me?” In return, she sometimes brings me one of her stuffed animals to sleep with.

Livia is a picky eater. She often refuses to eat food that she ought to like. For example, she liked butter, bread, and cheese, and yet she wouldn’t eat grilled cheese sandwiches. She also didn’t like French toast, which I thought was crazy. So one day I decided to trick her by offering her “Special Cheesy Bites,” which was, of course, grilled cheese cut into small pieces. I told her that they were made with extra love. She was skeptical at first, but then she tried them, and she liked them! A few days later, I offered her “Special Frenchy Bites,” which were not only made with extra love, but which came served with a little pool of syrup on one side of the plate and a dollop of whipped cream on the other. The Frenchy bites were a huge success, but Marshall wasn’t fooled for a second. “Tell Livia the truth about Special Frenchy Bites, Mommy! And tell her about Special Cheesy Bites!” he demanded. He was determined that she should know the truth, and I’m pretty sure that she does now. That’s OK, though. Yesterday morning, when I was mixing eggs for French toast (and Special Frenchy Bites), she asked if she could add some love, too. I gave her permission, and she waved her hands over the eggs and said, “LOVE!”

I pick Marshall up at the bus stop every afternoon. He is impatient and has to be reminded almost every day to stay behind the white line until the monitor tells him it’s safe to cross the road. When he finally gets the go-ahead, a huge smile blooms on his face. He shouts “Mommy!” and runs across the road to hug me.

Marshall is a slugabed. (I wonder where he gets that from?) He wraps himself up in his sheet like a mummy and refuses to get out of bed. I’ve tried all sorts of tactics to roust him. None of them work particularly well or reliably. This morning, though, I told him that I had built a zoo in the backyard overnight and that the animals were playing on his swingset. I apologized for the broken slide (which the lion had shredded with his claws), and told him about the trouble that the monkeys were making. Marshall got out of bed, because he wanted to know more. Over breakfast, the two of you elaborated on my story. Suddenly it was raining hippos! I was concerned that if a hippo hit our house, it would crash right through the roof. But you explained that our roof was made of rubber. The hippos all bounced off (BOING!) and landed in Paris! Marshall knew that this was just a story. And yet, before he got on the bus, he checked his swingset to make sure it was OK, and then reported back to me, saying, “There are no animals in the yard, Mommy!”

Thanks to you, I live in a world where people can speak to cats, and love is an ingredient of French toast, and hippos can bounce to Paris. I love that world. And I love you.

Mommy