Soccer Sock Trick

It's soccer season again and I thought I'd pass along a trick that we've learned over the years. Soccer socks are really really long so that you can put them on, put your shin guards on, and flop the socks over the shin guards. They're pretty cool. The hitch is that they don't really make them in small sizes. If you're four or five and have tiny feet, it's very hard to put on the socks and then cram your feet into your shoes without having some sort of wrinkle or bump or other sock irregularity that causes discomfort and whining. We've discovered that you can simply cut the foot portion of the sock off and use regular socks in your shoes while still using the top portion of the sock to cover your shin guard. Happy feet makes for happy small soccer players. As an added bonus, they make excellent arm and leg warmers and work well for all sorts of dress up.

One on One

My daughter and I had fun at the motorcycle races last weekend. The track was great and the racing was great. I missed my wife and the other three kids, but by taking only my daughter, the whole event was much more relaxing. I didn't have to yell at anyone to stop hitting, yelling, wrestling, or not being nice. I didn't have to try and watch four people at once to make sure that they weren't wandering off. I could just sit and watch the races and keep my daughter in the corner of my vision and it was good. When it was time to eat, I asked her what she wanted, she decided, and that's what we had. Nobody complained that they wanted something else. Bed time happened when she got so tired that she was falling asleep watching the TV in the hotel room. It was nice.
Probably the most fun we had all weekend centered around the fact that our hotel room was a "suite". I put that in quotes because, though technically a suite with a microwave and a fridge, the hotel was a bit of a dive and in my mind suite is usually associated with something nice. It wasn't very nice. It did have that microwave though and we put it to use.
The races for the weekend are on Sunday, and Saturday is reserved for practice sessions and qualifying. We went to the track both days, but left a bit early on Saturday to avoid some of the hot day and to not get too tired out before Sunday. This found us cruising back to town at 2:30. Too early for dinner and not wanting to go out again, we decided to hit up the grocery store for some microwave food. I bought two microwave burritos and my daughter picked out some Hot Pockets. We chose popcorn for desert. I taught her how to rip the Hot Pocket box in half and use it as a plate (college style) so there were no dishes and no clean up. We found a few TV shows and eventually Raiders of the Lost Ark and we ate popcorn and talked and had a great time. It was a really nice weekend.

COTA

I'm not much for watching sports. When my wife turns on college football I usually remember that I have something to do in the garage or some pressing yard work. It's just not something that I usually enjoy. With one huge exception, I'd rather go do something than watch other people do something. That one exception is MotoGP.
For those of you who live under a rock, or in North America, MotoGP is the top level of motorcycle road racing. It's like Formula 1, but with 240 horse power motorcycles piloted by men with otherworldly abilities. It is, bar none, the best racing in the world. If it weren't for the fact that I really hate breaking bones I certainly would have followed these gentlemen onto a track at a much lower level. Maybe that's why I love it. Motorcycle racing is the one thing in my life that has eluded me, and it continues to hold my fascination. 
A decade ago the only way you could watch MotoGP live was to visit Europe or Malaysia. Then China built a track. In 2008 a deal was struck and the circus that is MotoGP came to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. It took every bit of willpower and not a few dirty looks from my wife to not go watch the races up at Indy. Last year though something changed. A couple of rich guys who wanted to become richer convinced the state of Texas that we needed a new road course. Not just another track, this was to be a world class venue that would hold Formula 1 races. A little chatting back and forth and it was decided that the track should be built to accommodate MotoGP as well. Circuit Of The Americas, or COTA, was built.
On Sunday will be the first running of MotoGP at COTA. My wife bought me tickets. Two tickets. I would have loved to take her, but someone has to watch the kids. I decided to take my oldest daughter instead. Hanging out with her is pretty easy. She has quick humor, good taste in music, and isn't too flaky. It's a little like bringing along a small adult that can't drive and is easily confused reading maps. We're going to have a good time. Maybe next year I'll go again and bring another one of the kids. Maybe I'll bring the whole family, I don't know, I need to see what it's like. 
I'm glad my life still enables me to have adventures and that my wife supports them. I'm also glad that I get to share them with my kids. Anything fun is always more fun when you get to poke someone with your elbow and point and yell "did you see that!"

Painting

Just an old picture of painting on a rainy day. Only two kids. No school yet. Nothing to do and looking for ways to kill time. Those were the days...... of course there were diapers too. Don't necessarily miss the diapers.

Stung

Yesterday was a nice day and I had a bit of time to kill while my youngest was in preschool, so I went for a run. As usual I ran barefoot and, as usual, I had a very pleasant time. After the run I did a cool down walk and some stretching, and then cut across the lawn of the preschool to get back to my car. That's when I stepped on a bee. It was unpleasant. I've been stung quite a lot in my life and I hate it every time. It's something that you never quite get used to. 
Later on I was telling my wife about it and she held little sympathy. I run barefoot, what do I expect? It was just a matter of time! I pointed out to her that in all my many years barefoot upon this planet, this is the first time I've ever been stung in the foot. I argued that stepping on a bee was a pretty low occurrence thing. To back up my claim I put forward the fact that I've been stung in the lips three times in my life, and only once in the foot. Perhaps we should worry less about wearing shoes and more about wearing full face helmets?
Sometimes I think we spend a lot of parental energy worrying about the wrong things. We talk about how to stay safe around strangers, but it's far more likely that a child will be harmed by a person they know than a stranger. We worry about school shootings when most children who are shot are shot accidentally in their own homes. We tell them that drinking, using drugs, and having premarital sex are bad, but we don't admit that it's the consequences that are bad, while the actions themselves can be quite a good time.
I'm not sure what my final conclusion about all of this is. My foot is incredibly itchy and that makes it hard to concentrate and type. I think we spend a lot more energy on things what we're worried about than the things that our kids should be worried about. We feel like we know the people we know, and that we have control over the guns around us, but what other people might do and what guns they might pick up are scary. We worry about what would happen in our lives if we let vices in, especially when we see them destroy the lives of those around us. Maybe the next time I'm warning my kids about walking barefoot though the grass I'll start to worry more about their lips than their feet, and I'll realize that even the simplest parts of parenting aren't as simple as they seem.

Acceptance

On my way to drop the kids at school the other day I passed a group of kids waiting for the bus, rather, I passed two groups of kids waiting for the same bus. They had clearly segregated themselves into the "us" and the "them" and each group stood on their own side of the road. It got me to thinking.
When my kids started preschool at age three there were no groups. Everyone was a kid and everyone played with each other. Sure, the rowdy kids played with each other more and the quiet kids played with each other more, but for the most part, this was the class and just being in the class was enough to be friends. Nobody was looking to find their place in the world because there was nothing to find. I'm a preschooler, you're a preschooler, we're all preschoolers! Let's play!
Sometime between then and junior high, the whole idea that we all fit in everywhere falls apart and they start to tear the larger group into smaller groups. They split by sex and by personality and by ability and in my kid's school, language. They fragment into small groups and they stand together with their faces turned inward to their group and their backs to those that don't belong. I saw it at the bus stop and I see it when I'm at any school function. Already I'm seeing a lot more back and a lot less face myself when my older kids are around their friends.
I know that this is all normal. They're deep in the process of becoming themselves. From now on it's the interaction with their peers, and the acceptance of those peers that will largely determine who my kids become. If they're a boat at sea, I know I'm not the rudder that steers them, or the wind that pushes them along, I'm merely the ship builder that hopes he's built a straight keel for them to move forward on. I want to help my kids, I truly do, but with each passing day I can see that who they become and what successes they have in life increasingly depend on them. I can't make their friends for them. I can't do their work. No only can I not fight their battles, but most of the time I can't even see them if they don't want me to.
Before we had kids a lot of people told us that the hardest parenting was when they were little. They needed you to feed them and change them and take care of pretty much every aspect of their existence. Their neediness was exhausting, physically and emotionally draining, and it was hard. They get bigger and they get more independent and things do get easier. That much is true. I'm starting to think that maybe there are two hard times though. The first part when they need you for everything, and the second, which is starting to happen now, when they might not need you for anything at all. Acceptance of that will be hard.

Teamwork

With as much bickering and fighting as there is around the house on a typical day, it sometimes surprises me to look back at pictures and see the kids going about jobs with excellent teamwork. I like to look at the pictures and remember an idyllic time when they were getting along and solving problems with conversation and compromise instead of screams and insults. Then I remember that the reason that I took the pictures in the first place was because it was so cute and unexpected for them to be cooperating like that. This wasn't normal behavior, it was odd enough and special enough that I needed to take a picture of it so that I could remember a single moment of cooperation. Someday I'll forget the fighting and these pictures are what I'll have left. I'll like that.

Diabolical

The Easter bunny is a diabolical fiend. Don't get me wrong, the guy's awesome, but he is not a kind and gentle bunny when it comes to hiding eggs. It is fun though.

Mugs

We have a box in our garage that is completely stationary for 364 days a year. It sits and collects dust and is never moved or opened. The day before Easter each year, I pull it down from the shelf, reach inside, and grab as many coffee mugs as my hands can carry. I call them coffee mugs because that's what they originally were made to be. If you judge an object by it's use, then they aren't coffee mugs any more, they're dye mugs. 364 days of hibernation for one vinegar fueled bright and cheery dye session. If mugs could be happy, these would be happy.
Click through the jump to see the rest of the pictures.