Spy Club!

In late winter, in spring, in fall, and [when the weather cooperates] in summer, our kids have a hide-out in our backyard. It's their Spy Club! They meet in the abandoned hard plastic shell of a former neighbor's pick-up truck. Why he took the truck but left the shell is beyond me. However, it serves as a nice base for our kids and their friends in the neighborhood. They put down blankets. They ditch shoes and coats. They haul all sorts of toys and sporting gear out to it. 

And then, the kids break off into separate teams and spy on each other. As simple as that, and it can entertain them for a long time, right there in our backyard. Isn't that every parent's dream?!

In the photo above, Our Baby Grouse is sitting in one corner, still wearing his pajama pants. Goose has her back to the camera, in her bright pink fleece. Mouse is also wearing pink, with her trademark cut-off leggings now serving as shorts. 

And who is that menacing presence with his back to the camera? That is Darth Vader! Except, sometimes it is Kylo Ren from The Force Awakens. Moose loves to imitate Star Wars baddies. When he is in full bad-guy mode, he pulls on his plastic Vader or Ren mask, dons this home-made black cape, wields a plastic lightsaber, and menacingly and silently parades around our home or our backyard. He doesn't say a word. His lips are fixed in a tight drawn line. He stares off in the distance. His cape billows, either by force of the wind or by him flailing his arms. 

It's endearing and awesome to see Moose in character like this. But he is usually the first one to bring Spy Club excursions to a crashing halt, whining that someone on the other spy club or clubs has been cheating. He is most content when everyone plays by his rules. How very Vader-esque, no?  

End of Pre-School for The Moose

Our Mighty Moose's last day of pre-school was last week. Here he is, sprinting across the school walkway toward where he and his classmates line up each Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday at noon-time for pre-school to begin. He's had a very fun year, with the same two teachers (Miss Amy and Miss Karen) as his sisters had, at the same school. Moose was a little dismayed throughout the year that there were only 2 or 3 other boys in his pre-school class. He loves having boy buddies. 

And soon enough, Moose will be on to Kindergarten! He is very excited about that. His new school is installing a brand-new playground structure over the summer. We think he's going to love the routine of school and the many social aspects of it. 

I loved being able to read to Moose's pre-school class once a month. He got a kick out of picking which books he wanted me to read each month. I didn't get to go on his field trips, which I was bummed about, but I look forward to being more involved once he starts Kindergarten. 

And in just a few weeks, Becky is going to have 3 of our 4 kids out of the house from 8:45 a.m. until 3:15 p.m. each weekday! It will just be her and Our Little Grouse rockin' the casbah at Chez TimBeck6. It feels like last year (instead of 5 years ago) that we started on the many years-long route of schooling, when Our Dear Goose started pre-school. Now here we are, with most of our kids about to be in school full-time. Scary how quickly time goes!      

Brexit

Incredibly, voters in the U.K. (well, really just England and Wales; voters in the other two U.K. constituent countries of Scotland and Northern Ireland were much more in favor of remaining) decided that their nation's future is better off not being part of the European Union. I was stunned watching the first reports Thursday evening, and doubly stunned the next morning, getting up around 5:30 to catch the latest on Brexit.

There are tremendous geopolitical, economic, military, humanitarian, and progressive challenges and countless missed opportunities now without the U.K. part of the 28-member trans-national organization. 

Yes, the EU is, like any international body, full of bureaucracy and its attendant tendency to get bogged-down by policy wonks serving national self-interests. Yes, the individual states and EU leadership as a whole responded far too late, with too much ambiguity, foot-dragging, and in-fighting, to the massive humanitarian refugee crisis. Yes, the EU demonstrated a stunning lack of cohesion around the Greek debt crisis and spent too much time staring at its shoes while Russian and Russian-sympathetic forces carved up eastern Ukraine and took over Crimea.

Yes, but...Not all of those reasons are what ultimately led a very slight majority of U.K. voters to go for Brexit. In fact, if anything, the EU without the U.K. is a geopolitical win for Russia, at a time when Russia is trying to re-exert covert and overt control over their former empire and weaken western alliances such as the EU. In this case, the U.K. voters handed Putin a victory, without him needing to do anything to foment discord.

Instead, pro-Brexit voters were swayed by appeals in tone (if not in content) much like those heard in post-WWI Europe, where nationalist xenophobes sought scapegoats in the dis-similar peoples among an otherwise homogeneous populace to blame for their country's ruin. There were specific appeals to a Britain and an England that is now in the past and is not coming back. 

There were appalling descriptions of first- and second-generation British citizens not being British "enough," tied to accusations that more like these not-enough persons are on their way to England's "mountain greens," to quote William Blake's poem Jerusalem (which contains the phrase bring me my chariot of fire, which more than a century later inspired the title for the brilliant 1981 movie Chariots of Fire). 

No, Brexit voters by and large were swayed by appeals to national -- in particular English, which is different from British -- pride. A longing for the distant past. A conviction that it can be obtained again. Fear of others. Fear of the future. Contempt for others. A strong desire to control one's own affairs, instead of shipping them off to Brussels and Strasbourg.
  
Oh, and actress Elizabeth Hurley didn't help matters. Neither did apathy among younger voters. 

Why do I care? How would I have voted? I'm glad you asked. Ha!

I care because I love Europe. I've been fascinated by this continent for most of my life, first being drawn to it because it's where my immediate ancestors came from. I watched the Olympics (starting in 1980, when I was 5) and was hungry to learn more about the histories and cultures behind the many different-colored faces competing, available only through TV in an age before cable TV (at least in my town) and the Internet. I was curious about the Soviet Union in the late 1980s, both convinced that the USSR would kill us and that it would somehow change from enemy to ally. 

As my mind expanded through reading, I was drawn to European history, which too often and for far too long was mostly flavored by mayhem. Maps of Europe covered my bedroom in high school. Seeing the Berlin Wall fall in November 1989 was surreal. Standing next to me that night in our living room was my dad, who first saw the Berlin Wall in-person for himself wearing the olive-green fatigues as an enlisted U.S. Army soldier in 1966. 

He never thought he'd live to see that damn wall come down. I couldn't imagine what people with much closer proximity to (and much deeper impact caused by) the Wall felt. In college and beyond, I met people from Europe. I met people whose parents were born in Europe. I was fascinated and eager to hear tales of life behind the Iron Curtain. I wanted to know more about each of these friends' countries. Languages have always fascinated me, so those, too, were a draw toward Europe. I lived in Germany for one year (1996-1997), about a year after the last U.S. soldiers left a base in the university town where I was studying. 

I became a Europhile, in love with Europe and in awe of its open borders. Within half a day or a day at most (by train or car, which are the ways to really see it), you could travel across time zones and be in a different country, with a different language, customs, food, identity, history, view of the United States, view of the world, view of their country's place in the world. If my life's circumstances were vastly different than they really are (and, for the record, I am blessed for how they really are), I would want to live and work in Europe again.

A Time magazine international edition from my year abroad proclaimed it, in German: Europa ist Zukunft. Europe is the future. 

To me, there at that time, it felt like the future. I struggled leaving a place I had grown to love. The European Union felt like a long-term project (which it was, and still is), an experiment to bridge long-standing divides and differences to ensure a more prosperous and peaceful future. I was attracted to that vision of it being an experiment. Had I a vote on Thursday, I would have unequivocally voted for my country to remain a part of that experiment. 

It may sound idealistic or pie-in-the-sky, but I strongly feel like Europe as a whole has much more promise and opportunity when knitted through the European Union than those countries have without it. I would have also voted, out of fear, to remain. I realize that voting out of fear is something I chided the exit voters for. 

My fear, though, is borne out of what Brexit may now give birth to: a break-up of the United Kingdom (with Scotland and Northern Ireland wanting to stay in the EU), a stronger foundation for national parties in individual countries to become more belligerent in pressing for national over trans-national goals and visions, more countries holding referendums on their EU membership, a weakening of a continental sense of identity, a weakening of the trans-Atlantic alliance, impetus for Russia to even more aggressively assert its role in Europe, and, eventually, the death of the European Union through national referendums egged on by politicians stoking fears of immigrants, hatred of bureaucracy, loathing of super-national goals, emphasis on national concerns at the expense of collective concerns.  

I am pro-European Union. I am pro being labeled an idealist consumed by the promise of a united Europe and a future far different from its past. Of course the EU has challenges. Of course it doesn't do everything right, the first time or ever. But what country or governing body does? Of course national identity should be emphasized, not erased by a sense of being "European." 

I wish Brexit had not occurred, and I wish that we won't now have to deal with its untold consequences in number, depth, and degrees of urgency and peril.  

Under the Umbrella

As you can clearly tell from our backyard, it's been a pretty dry spring and early summer in New England. Every year, I plan to re-sod our backyard. Every year, something else comes up. Believe me, our lawn looks much worse now, just days after we took this picture of Mouse and Grouse. 

Our kids occasionally love to tote their umbrellas around the house or outside. They sit under them while watching movies in our living room. They fight over space next to or behind them or over them, since some umbrellas in our stash are larger than others. But it's a cute sight to see when our kids can get along and sit quietly under an umbrella, even on days when there's brilliant sunshine and not a hint of rain on the horizon. 

But please, can we get some rain?

Mouse, her teacher, and soccer

Two things just this week came to an end for Our Little Mouse: School and soccer. Her first-grade year zipped by. I wonder if her terrific teacher, Mrs. C., felt the same way about this year. I wonder, in fact, if the retiring Mrs. C. felt this way about her decades of teaching, which drew to a close on Tuesday. 

Recently, Mouse's worlds collided (to quote George Costanza). She ran into her teacher at Mouse's soccer game. 

In a cute moment afterward, Mouse said, "Seeing my teacher was the best part of today's game!" Mrs. C. was very thoughtful toward Mouse this year. Not only did she let me read to her class once a month, but she also e-mailed me a bunch of times to update me on Mouse's day, including letting me know of a recent time when Mouse was very sad over missing a deadline to order a book, Duck! Rabbit!

Any wild guesses as to what awaited me in a manila envelope from Mrs. C. on the last day of school? A copy that she had purchased with her own money, for Mouse. Now that is a wonderful teacher and extremely thoughtful person. We were so glad that Mouse had Mrs. C. this year, and we hope that our paths cross in town again soon.  

Brothers Bonding Better

It's finally happening: Moose (age 5) and his little brother Grouse (age 2) are bonding more. I have been admittedly worried that the nearly three-year gap in their ages would result in these two dynamos not having much in common in play and interests. For example, Moose can throw a baseball really well, run fast, and hit, whereas Grouse isn't yet coordinated enough to keep up, catch Moose on the base paths, or hit a ball with our yellow plastic bats. 

And yet, they're in a good groove right now. Moose doesn't instantly react to Grouse's near- constant encroaches on his turf with a frustrated Pavlovian impulse to yank all of Moose's toys away from his brother's reach. They're now sleeping in a bunk bed in their bedroom, which is Grouse's idea. Up until last week, Grouse was still sleeping in his own crib on the opposite side of their bedroom. This, I think, has been a key factor in their bonding.

It also was the sole reason our boys were still wide-awake, chattering to each other, at 9:15 last night. Becky checked in on them and found that Grouse had scaled the wooden ladder that leads from his bottom bunk to his brother's top bunk. Moose wasn't thrilled about this, and Grouse didn't know how to get down.

This warms my heart, to see our young boys becoming friends. It's been helpful for Moose, who didn't have pre-school on Mondays or Fridays and thus felt deprived of consistent interaction with friends. Now, he has a more-able buddy right at home. It's been helpful for Grouse to learn how to play up, how to try to keep up, and how to talk more. 

The only down side? Lets not kid ourselves. It's a big one: They'll only have this full-time interaction for two months. In September, Moose starts Kindergarten. Like many things in life, just when something finally starts clicking, inevitably life throws a curveball. 

So we are going to encourage and enjoy this phase for our boys for as long as we can.  

Crush

Today is Our Mighty Moose's last day of pre-school. He's had a really fun year, and his class capped it off this morning with a before-last day of school graduation ceremony at a nearby spray park. They ran around in the splash-pad, ate cake, and got a diploma. 

Moose's overly excited drill-sergeant-esque voice boomed over the cascading waterfalls as he marshalled his classmates to run through the sprinklers with him, over and over. They had an awesome time.

Today is also a potentially big day for Moose, tied to it being his last day of pre-school. He has a crush on a classmate named Daisy. He wanted to tell her about this today. On the car ride to pre-school, Moose told me and Mommy, "Yeah, [Goose, his eldest sibling] said I should tell Daisy today. Maybe we can hang out this summer?" 

It was so cute and innocent. We're wondering, as the clock ticks down -- he only has 60 more minutes left of pre-school -- if he has told her. We'll find out soon. We also could not help but think back to our own schooldays crushes. The one for me that most quickly comes to mind is my crush on a girl named Wendy, in most of sixth grade and some of seventh grade. Such simpler times. 

It's a joy to see our own children go through these experiences now, too. Thank goodness, at this point, they're all still young enough where their crushes are both harmless and fleeting!  

From a Daisy to a Brownie

Our Little Mouse has had an eventful weekly schedule this year, with soccer practice on Tuesdays, soccer games on Saturdays, and Girl Scouts on Wednesday nights. She was in a Daisy troop this year, and Mommy was one of her leaders. I'll just leave it at: Girl Scouts seems like a stronger draw for Mouse's skills at the moment. She herself basically admitted this observation, telling Mommy earlier this spring:

"I love playing goalie in soccer. I don't have to run!" Ha!

So, we're thrilled that Mouse has found an extracurricular activity that she loves and that suits her skills. We'll certainly keep her on some athletic course, too. She has told us often that she'd like to take horseback riding lessons this fall. 

In the two photos above, Mouse crosses over a tiny wooden bridge, signifying her bridging from Daisies to Brownies for the upcoming year. And there's Mommy waiting to greet her.

In the first photo, we see Mouse and her friend M., who was also in Mouse's first-grade class this year. This night was a separate Daisies event from the bridging ceremony, but still a lot of fun. Yesterday was Mouse's last day of school, and her teacher, who officially retired after yesterday, had all of the kids in her class sign cards to each other. M. signed her card to Mouse by adding, "Best Friend!" 

They are good friends, and we hope that their friendship can continue next school year, even though -- due to re-districting -- Mouse and M. won't attend the same school anymore. But re-districting doesn't affect Girl Scouts, so they'll be in the same troop at least. Sure, it's not an everyday thing, but we've tried to stress that new changes bring new friendships. 

I'm reminded of the friends I had in first grade, who I felt at the time would be my friends for so many years of school thereafter. And without switching schools, by second grade, almost all of my friendships had shifted, and better friendships arose. I've told this to Mouse as a way to make her feel better about this transition. We'll see what September holds, both with school and friends and Girl Scouts, a troop that transcends school and strengthens bonds of friendship!

Saturday, June 18th

A recap of how crazy this morning and day have been. It was 1:38 p.m. when I started to write this, but was forced to hit "save" without posting because yet another activity called for my attention. I should note a big thank-you to my parents, who took our boys Moose and Grouse over-night. It was Grouse's first time sleeping without us at my parents' house, and he did terrific -- until bedtime! Moose was a kind champion at trying to comfort his little brother.

6:00 a.m.: Becky and I wake up to start the morning. Usually, as of lately, Our Baby Grouse is our alarm clock, coming down our upstairs hallway. We do our separate reading and journal-writing.

6:45 a.m.: Goose wakes up and heads downstairs to hang out in our kitchen, where we are. She and Mommy read a bit together.

7:30 a.m.: Mouse wakes up and joins us all in our kitchen. 

8:00 a.m.: Mouse practices her piano lessons for her recital this afternoon. Goose reads. I do the laundry. Becky prepares her healthy breakfast.

8:30 to 9:15 a.m.: I play "School" with our girls. Mouse is the teacher, Mrs. Walther, while Goose and I are her students. My name is Hubert Ignacio. It's a new nickname. For years, my nickname for pretend-play had been Alphonse Bustamante. 

9:15 a.m.: We're late, of course, to get Goose out the door for her Girl Scout troop's adventure at an indoor trampoline park. By the time I get home from dropping her off at 9:30 a.m., Mommy and Mouse have already left for their adventure: Mouse's Girl Scout troop was going to Build-a-Bear. 

9:30 a.m. to 1:00 p.m.: I had three-plus hours to myself! And it felt like 180 minutes got compressed into 60 minutes. I did laundry and dishes. I cleaned our house. I read a stack of newspapers that have been collecting dust in my attic office for weeks. I journaled. I blogged. I ran a 5K (not an official race, just my own thing). I walked around our home nude. I went shopping. I talked with our neighbors. I deliberated what I should be doing with my time while actually doing other things, like "Should I really be on Sporcle? Shouldn't I exercise more? Shouldn't I read?" I wished for more alone time. I had a salad for lunch. I reveled in the quiet. 

1:00 p.m.: Becky and Mouse return home. I completely forgot that, after Build-a-Bear, they were going to squeeze in some time at Mouse's last soccer game of the season. Mouse ended up playing the entire second half. They're home for about 15 minutes before they leave for Mouse's and Mommy's piano recital.

1:20 p.m.: Mouse and Mommy leave, having found a last-minute mom who can watch Goose after her Girl Scout activities end, since she won't be home in time for the 2 p.m. recital.

1:30 p.m.: My parents arrive with Grouse and Moose back from their overnight. The four of us drive in my dad's mini-van with no functioning A/C to the recital. We get lost. Our boys shout over us as we try to find our way. 

1:55 p.m.: We arrive for the piano recital. Just in time.

2:15 p.m.: Mouse refuses to play her piano songs. On-the-verge-of-sobbing refuses. Becky jumps up to calm Mouse down and encourage her to play. Cute girl. Sad scene. Fun songs.

2:35 p.m.: Becky's piano numbers are done beautifully. Time for snacks!

3:10 p.m.: Late to leave to pick up Goose. I head back home with my parents and kids. 

3:30 p.m.: All 6 of us, plus my parents and our niece, are at our home on this beautiful, very warm afternoon. We're outside, riding bikes and running around.

4:20 p.m.: Our kids joyfully hear the ice cream truck's siren-song chiming through our neighborhood. They plead with us for an ice cream cone. We give in. We race to find the truck. We're going to be late for our first game of a 3-game soccer tournament. Ahh! 

4:45 p.m.: My parents and niece leave. We lightning-quick get our four kids and me ready for the soccer match, which starts at 6 p.m. but we need to be there at 5:30 at the latest for check-ins, etc.

5:10 p.m.: Our caravan arrives at the soccer fields. Lots of games going on, with loads of players, fans, and referees. Our kids need to find a Port-a-Potty stat because, hey, it's like a tourist attraction for them at their ages.

5:30 p.m.: Our team of 10 registers. They're all excited and nervous. We're up against a team that scored 51 goals and didn't lose a game all season. We scored 38, lost once, and tied once, with 8 wins. 

6:00 p.m.: Game #1 begins. I'm on the sidelines coaching, handling all substitutions among our players. We're quickly down 1-0, then 2-0. But then we mount a come-back: 2-1. Each time we score, our opponent finds a way to quickly counter-strike, so we are never tied and we are never in the lead. 2-1 becomes 3-1 becomes 3-2 becomes 4-2 becomes 4-3 becomes 5-3 becomes, finally, 5-4 by the end of the game. 

6:45 p.m.: Game over. We lose, 5-4, against a very tough opponent. Our girls played their hearts out, and scored the most goals that their opponent had allowed against anyone all regular season and in the tournament, so we're proud of that. Italian ice cups for everyone!

7:30 p.m.: We arrive home, exhausted. The most exhausting part of each day looms before us -- bedtime! Make. It. Stop. Late dinner of cereal. Books. Brush teeth. Wash hands. Hit the potty. Get a drink of water. Baths for our youngest three kids. Goose is wiped-out. 

8:30 p.m.: Becky is done putting our boys to bed. I'm focusing on our girls' bedtime. They get to read for about 20 minutes before we get involved, with books and a prayer, sometimes maybe a story, too.

9:00 p.m.: We're done. Becky is soon asleep. I catch up on today's news and sports, then Sporcle, and blog, and laundry. 

10:30 p.m.: Nighty-night.

Uncanny Disappearing Act(s)

Being the baby of the family comes with privileges. Your parents are older than when they first started having kids, so they're more tired, juggling more demands, less tolerant of whines, and less willing to resist certain demands from those in the terrible-two stage. Well, I don't think Becky is less tolerant of whines or less willing to resist certain demands. She has a strong back-bone for house rules, whereas I fall in to the sad-sack category of "I'm in my forties, I'm exhausted too, let's just give the kid the keys to the house if he'll stop screaming for 10 minutes."  

Case in point: Grouse and his numerous binkies' abilities to disappear. This winter, we stocked up on binkies because he was losing his stash with alarming frequency. Becky would have been quite nearly perfectly content with letting this little dude go to bed without a single binky. Me? Not even close. I've been known to leave my house, with relatives in town, on a Sunday evening, to purchase more binkies when we were faced with the prospect of a single, blessed night without a binky for Our Baby Grouse.

I'm embarrassed by my boorish behavior of that night.

That was a year ago.

So again, after we replenished his binky supply a few months ago, a sort of Murphy's Law logic hit Chez TimBeck6: Grouse's old binkies were gone, and some of the new ones we purchased were also disappearing, with alarming speed. So, like any true, red-blooded American parents, we hid a bunch of the re-stocked binkies in a place Grouse can neither see nor reach. We also left a plastic bowl in his bedroom -- the exact kind you get when you're discharged from the hospital to bring your baby home -- so that, each night, we'd know exactly where to find 2 or 3 of his binkies.

Yes, 2 or 3. He likes a binky for his mouth, and at least 1 for a hand. Maybe with his other hand he is working some black magic, because our stash is again getting uncomfortably low. 

Desperate times, desperate measures: We now keep 1 binky in Grouse's car-seat at all times. It doesn't come in the house with him, to the park with him, into church with him. We also keep 1 binky ensconced in our diaper bag, with the same rules.  

And, if our other kids are a reliable metric, we have about another year left of the binky shenanigans with Our Grouse. That's enough anxiety to make me need something to soothe my own frayed nerves!

Goose's Concert and Solo

Goose's elementary school had its annual spring concert last week, and Our Dear Goose got to play both of her instruments in it! This concert was in addition to a city-wide concert that she and many of her classmates had played in the week before, which was awesome to see. So many kids and teachers, hundreds and hundreds of family members. And Goose was also, last week, admitted to an honors orchestra starting next school year. 

Can you say, Cramming it in?! That's why we've all decided to skip soccer next fall, even though Goose enjoys it and has been improving. 

Anyhow, back to the school concert: Goose and her classmates played a variety of songs, including Frere Jacques. A bunch of her friends, like Goose, play the violin. They were wedged in a corner of the school's gym, but we could still see them and hear them well. It was a joy to watch Goose and so many of her classmates, whom we've gotten to know and love over these last few years through Girl Scouts and soccer, together. 

Then, in front of dozens of her 3rd, 4th, and 5th-grade classmates, as well as hundreds of parents and family members, Goose stood up and played her recorder to Frere Jacques and On the Bridge of Avignon (Sur le Pont d'Avignon). She was clearly nervous as she walked down from the raisers to stand before everyone, but Goose did a great job, managing to keep playing through some minor flubs and getting a nice round of applause after her solo. It's cute to see Goose when she's nervous like this; she doesn't make eye contact with anyone or anything except the ground right in front of her feet. But that approach lets her do her job. We were so proud of her! And we know she was relieved to have the solo over with! On to next year!

Field Day!

Our girls' most favorite day of the school year was last week. What kid doesn't love Field Day? In the days and bedtimes before their own Field Day, I told Mouse and Goose about my memories of Field Day from when I was their age. We'd be bused to a heavily wooded area of town called Leach's Grove, which had a huge field and a large wooden picnic area. The local McDonald's would donate huge tubs of their famous "Orange Drink," which we loved, and we'd play for hours, culminating in games of kick-ball. 

Simple times, and not a ton of detail to these anecdotes, but our girls loved hearing about this time of my life, when I was their age. Field Day for them this year dawned bright with clear blue skies. It's a departure from the last few years, when rains and wind welcomed Field Day. One year, Field Day was held indoors. Another year, we tried our best to cram as much outdoors stuff in to Field Day before it got too rainy. No worries about the elements this year, though!

In a first for our family, all four of our kids got to play at and participate in Field Day. Of course Mouse and Goose did all day, since it is an elementary-school day of fun. Moose is in pre-school at the same school as his sisters, three mid-days each week. His pre-K class was invited to Field Day for their regular pre-K time-slot, even though Field Day fell on a day when he's not in pre-school. Since both Becky and I were volunteers for this extravaganza, we got to bring Grouse along as well! He was in awe of all of the big-kid play structures and activities, like the bouncy houses and varieties of balls that kids were tossing, kicking, and bouncing around. He was in heaven!

Each elementary grade had a color assigned to them. Moose's was yellow. Mouse's 1st grade was purple, and Goose's third grade was red. There were hundreds of kids chanting and cheering and jokingly taunting the other grades once all of the school's classes were led out of the building and onto the playground. The 4th grade classes had a particularly fake- menacing taunt that I thought was hilarious. Whichever color showed the most spirit would win a popsicle for each kid in that grade. The reds (the third-graders) won the contest, and they're eager for their end-of-the-school-year treat. Trust me, we've heard about it every afternoon after school!  

Cheering Squad of One

He may not understand the intricacies of "The Beautiful Game," but Our Baby Grouse knows what having fun looks like. He's happy to cheer on Goose and her teammates from the side lines in her soccer matches. 

And sometimes, he's happy to cheer them on not from the sidelines, but instead from right on the pitch! During one recent game, I looked up from my squad of resting players to see Grouse joyfully wandering away from the sidelines and crossing onto the field, trying his best to sprint away from his sister Mouse, who was allegedly "helping to watch him," as she told me later. Ha! 

It will only be a short time before Grouse is running after the ball in a real game, with his own teammates. Maybe I'll be his coach then, too. 

Tough Loss / Change of Perspective

This hot, humid afternoon, Goose's U-1o soccer team suffered its first loss of the spring season. We entered this game with 6 wins, 1 tie, and 0 losses. Out of the entire 82-team U-10 girls league, our team had allowed the fewest goals. That would be 1 goal allowed, through our first 6 games. We were also tops in winning percentage out of our 6-team division within the 82-team league. It has been an awesome season so far. 

Goose, who only started playing club soccer this past fall, has been determined to score her first goal in a game. We're still waiting for that to happen. I'm confident it will, with 2 more games remaining in the season.

Back to today's game: We were away, facing a team with 2 losses (including one handed to them by us) and who had scored 30+ goals against other teams (though they didn't score a goal against us). We knew it would be a hard-fought game between well-matched teams. It would also be hard-fought because the other team, especially just one player, had exhibited a lot of unsportsmanlike conduct in our first game. Many of the parents of the other team's players were also unkind, violating our league's zero tolerance policy with their behavior on the sidelines.

All of our girls were both excited and nervous to be facing this team, with so much at stake (division standings, our unbeaten record, maintaining our 1 goal allowed streak, fending off the obnoxious player). For the first time all season, we had to give our team of 12 girls a pep talk/clear-your-head talk. It was clear that the other team was already in our girls' heads. 

I swear you could feel the tension in the air as the game began. More of our team's parents than usual showed up to cheer our girls on; usually, most girls just have one of their folks at our games, but not today. The air was cloudy with haze, dusty from the natural-grass and dirt field, and thick with humidity. These elements posed a challenge, because the girls quickly tuckered out and were zapped of energy, with 45 minutes left to play.

In a sign of how un-focused our girls were, due to their anxiety about this game, we gave up not one, not two, but three quick goals very early in the first half. The other team was on our end of the field for much of the entire time, though our defense (goalie and fullback) have always been strong (again, there was that fact of only having allowed 1 goal all season). So these 3 goals allowed by our team took the wind out of our girls' sails. However, 1 of the goals was an own-goal. In fact, it was the first goal of the game, and the first goal we had allowed in about 4 weeks, and it being kicked in our net by our own player was a triple-whammy that caused tears on the sidelines.

Turning around to face our bench and seeing our girls in tears, I knew our team was mentally cracking. Their focus was gone. It was very sad to see girls crying. I thought, "If this keeps up, we'll lose 10-0." I didn't want to be embarrassed against this team, though I was a hypocrite because all season long, the head coach and I have kept reminding our girls to have fun and that it's only a game. 

As sad as it was to see our girls crying, worse was hearing several of them verbally blame our score on their own teammate, sitting right next to them, for scoring the own-goal that started our descent. My job as coach is to monitor the game on the field and get subs ready to send in when girls start tiring. But seeing this girl crying hit me hard: Yes, she had made a mistake, but it can happen to anyone, and being constantly reminded of it by your own team must have badly stung. Taking my attention away from the field and the subs, I walked over to this girl and put my arm around her. I told her she had plenty of time to recover and help our team, that her shot just happened to take a bad spin, and that our goalie could have blocked the own-goal. I'm not sure if it helped.

What did help was sending her back on the field. Down 3-0, our girls were deflated, tired, hot, and sad. But then this girl got the ball, ran downfield, and took a great shot that went in. Our bench erupted in cheers. There would be no shut-out. I was thrilled for her! About a minute later, we scored again. We were totally back in the game and felt that we could win.

I was pleased to see another player -- one who had blamed this girl for "making us lose" -- apologize to this girl when they passed each other subbing on and off the field.

In those moments of a high-energy, hard-fought contest, I learned a more important lesson. Cue the cheesy music, right? It really was just a game. It was more important to comfort this girl, to reprove her teammates for their unkind comments, to stress that we had plenty of time to score and perhaps win this match, to emphasize that we are a team, to remind them games aren't usually won or lost by just one player or one moment on the field. Facts and shut-out streaks and standings and unbeaten records don't matter, not in the grand scheme of things certainly but also not in the heat of the moment. 

Hours later, I reached out to this girl's parents after the game to see how she was feeling. They reported that this girl, their daughter, spent hours after the game blaming herself for the loss. They thanked me for contacting them. 

I spent what felt like half of the night tossing, turning, and thinking about this one game, this band of teammates who showed the whole range of emotions, my own daughter who played her heart out more in this game than any game previously, my own little girl who didn't score a goal and who, under other circumstances, could have been blamed by her teammates, and this girl who was so sad and being held solely responsible for the mistakes and challenges our whole team was making and facing. 

And yeah, it is too bad that, as often happens in life, it takes a trial to re-shift my perspective from what I think is important (winning the game, not allowing a goal, beating this team so badly, not being embarrassed, giving the girls as equal amounts of playing time as possible) to what really is important: real people with real feelings. 

It's a lesson that, while I hope to always remember it, is one I'm sure to forget at times. But I am glad for the moments that changed my perspective and made me care much more for the individuals and much less for the outcome.  

20 Years Ago

Twenty years ago this month, I was in college at UMass-Amherst, about two hours from my parents' house. But two decades ago, my mind was not really on Amherst or my parents' place. It was on Freiburg im Breisgau, a beautiful little city in the Black Forest of southwest Germany -- a place I had never been before, but where I would spend the next year of my life. This twentieth anniversary of studying abroad in Freiburg will feature prominently on this blog over the next year. 

It was this time of year, in 1996, that I was mentally preparing to leave everything and everyone I knew behind, at least just for the academic year ahead. For someone like me who loves the familiar, this was a huge step, and I have no regrets about embarking on it. I didn't have any hesitations at the time, either. 

Coinciding with this season of change (wrapping up my sophomore year of college, leaving home, heading overseas) it was in the spring of 1996 that I realized something about myself that I hadn't been aware of before. It struck me out of the blue, figuratively, and it was shocking, discomforting, yet also exciting and revelatory. 

What I discovered was personal, so close to me that sharing it with others at the time felt out of the question. It felt like a new world was slowly opening up to me, one that I hadn't ever expected to enter.  

This self-discovery was in this tower, John Adams, my residence hall, on the 18th floor, room 1803. As an aside, I hated heights and initially dreaded being so high up in this residence tower, but it grew on me. On the afternoons when I chose to study inside instead of outside, I'd look out my 18th floor dorm room windows and see the Mount Holyoke Range of hills facing campus. The sun set behind those hills. I started a ritual of playing the Who's Baba O'Riley (you know, the song otherwise known as Teenage Wasteland) as I looked out these high-up windows at the scenery before and below me.

I think about this time, this location, this realization, the person I was and the person I was growing to be, a lot. Milestones and anniversaries tend to do that. 

Sometimes, yes, I wish I could go back to this season of life: to see what I'd do differently, to re-capture how I was so excited about living overseas, to get off my butt and do instead of just contemplate and give in to laziness and fears and status quos, to make dreams come true and not be beholden to other people's expectations, to live my own life. 

And now that my life is even less really my "own" than it was twenty years ago, I crave a slice of this period of time more. 

That's the blessing and the curse of having a mind drawn to milestones: Nice to re-capture and remember and write about, blessed to have experienced it, but sometimes trapped in a pattern of what-if's and re-do's that can't be done.