WWD (What We Did)
So after days of soul searching J, Bear, and I have come to a decision. We are ending the foray into the world of soccer. J and I discussed it, recalling our days spent on the field and it was revealed that we both HATED soccer and can't think of one time we said, "I'm really glad my parents forced me to play."
What we do remember (rather painfully) are the bruised shins, the groans that rose when when we missed a pass or got the ball stolen from us. Also, Shannon Poty's dad yelling, "SHANNON!! GET. THE. G'DAMN BALL! SHANNON!!" So yeah, we learned not a whole lot from our YEARS of forced soccer play. The first opportunity our parents gave us to quit, we did so jubilantly, with much relief, and never looked back. After that I stuck with softball, piano, drama and writing clubs until college and after. J became a swimmer, a scout, joined the school band , and started tinkering with computers. (NERD!! OHMYGAWD WHAT A NERD!) All things he still persues.
Quitting soccer did not set a precedent. (Neither did quitting the accordian [c'mon. Ma, the accordian???} Or quitting ballet. Or Rainbow Girls.) Once we found something we loved and were truly good at, we stuck with it. It reminds us of the Mastercard commercial where the Dad freaks out with joy when after trying all the other sports, his son finally does well in chess. Soon we will find her chess.
Next order of business...
Sex in the shower.
There, I said it. And at 36 years old I'm wondering about the logistics. Especially when one partner is over a foot taller than the other. Things just don't line up and... well... holding the partner up while engaging in the act? Yeah. That's not gonna be a possibility. So, short of building a special waterproof, non-skid kinkstep, any suggestions?
Next...
Keeping Rosie out of the fireplace.
Swear to God the girl can't help herself. She loves eating the pepples in our fireplace. It's a gas fireplace, so I'm assuming they special rocks we put on the floor are specially treated with something that will give her some sort of disease or illness. I've moved the couch in front of it - a lovely designer touch. For a few hours she was fooled. Now she merrily contorts herself and slithers about until she gets where she wants to be: on the hearth, wedged between the (not very effective) safety screen and the couch, munching chemical infused rocks. Suggestions? Cigars? Cigarettes?
Finally...
Dee loves soccer almost as much as she loves basketball. It confuses her why her sister would want to give up something as MARVELOUS as running and sweating and mixing it up with the other kids. Dee understands being on a team, working as a team, and the role competition will play in her life. She will also never have to actively worry about weight. She doesn't worry about friendships. She assumes - and not in a stuck up way - that she is entitled to friends, and as a result people are drawn to her. She seldom pouts, seldom gets her feelings hurt. If she has a problem she brings it up, insists we talk about it until it's solved, and then it is filed away and she goes on with her life.
How did we create such different children? I wonder what birth order has to do with their differences. I wonder what the two year's between their birth has to do with their differences. I wonder if their differences are going to bring them together or tear them apart.
Oh, and uber-finally...
The Office. Funny, funny, funny show. You should watch.
