Put me in, coach!

Hey kids,

Sorry about the hideous state of blog updates recently. I just feel plain NEKKID without my camera, and the awful pics that I take with your dad's sub-par camera just embarrass me. And without photos, I feel at a loss as to what to post. So yeah, I realize that the photos have become quite a crutch when it comes to me blogging.

So. Too much to catch up on, so I'll just call it a wash and concentrate on soccer. The above pic is soccer opening day, when you and your teammates took to the field to run your little victory lap. 700 soccer kids got to run the lap that day, and their respective families got to melt and ooze in the 90+ degree heat as they looked on. But yay!

Jakob, you're about a month into the season, and have played three real, honest-to-god games so far. And have lost two games and tied a third. But that's okay. You're a real go-getter, a champion dribbler, and you haven't cried once. You've even scored a GOOOOOAAAAAAL!

You're not exactly THE smallest boy on the team. You share that honor with another little boy who is exactly the same size as you, but you're both quick and lithe and sneaky. You're Wudy da Wabbit. Wudy da Wabbit. Say it: I'm Wudy da Wabbit.



Also keep this in mind: "It just doesn't matter! It just doesn't matter! It just doesn't matter!"

Meanwhile, the off-field drama is palpable. The coach, who is four months pregnant, is a darling gal, but she is already friends or acquainted with a couple of the other team mothers. And they have meetings and stuff WITHOUT ME. Hellooooo? How am I supposed to bust into THAT good ol' gal network without seeming desperate and lonely?

Plus, during the last game, one of the kids was horsing around and squishing you. I muttered loudly, "Hey, get off my kid!" and of course when I turned around, the kid's mom was standing right behind me, and she gave me the stink-eye and stalked off and gave me the silent treatment for the rest of the game. What-EV.

Oh, and there's this one kid on the team who's really good. He's a natural-born, talented soccer player, and the rest of the team pales in comparison. And of course his parents are aware of this. When he is rotated out in the course of the game, his dad kneels there with him at the sideline and points out the remaining players' foibles, and tells him, "See? There. What he just did. That's what you DON'T want to be doing." Nice. I shouldn't let them get to me, but THEY are the parents that make me edgy throughout each game.

You're an awesome player, Jakob, but you DO have a tendency to stand in the backfield, cross your arms, rock back on one heel and daydream up at the sky when the ball gets away from you. Normally, I would find this endearing and funny, but when I've got frickin' uber-soccer dad bellowing out orders from the sidelines beside me, I get angsty and start shouting at you to get with the program in a way I promised myself that I wouldn't.



Daddy can practice drills and such with you, but how do we practice "paying attention" and "focus." You know... without beatings and starvation and such.

Oh well. It's a whole new frontier for the both of us. We'll both get much better, I promise.

Nana and Papa are already back in town for the next couple of weeks. We'll talk about that next time. Interesting stuff.

Love you both! Sleep tight out there in the RV with them. Again, I pretty much cease to exist when they are here.