Soccer

I took some photos of Roan's last soccer game.  He's made a lot of progress from game 1, when he refused to step on the field, and even from the middle of the season, when he subbed in, but ran away from the ball, or ran in patterns that no one could make sense of.

The games were 3 on 3, so the kids would learn to play in the triangle formations that soccer is made of.  Not that that ever happened for our team, but that's what we were aiming for.

I grew up playing soccer on the west coast, where the temperature rarely dropped below 60 degrees. I wondered what we would do when it got too cold for shorts and a jersey, and here's the answer - you wear your warm clothes *under* your uniform.  I'm finally understanding why the uniforms are cut so enormously big.

Jay's college friend Kabir was the head coach, and I was the assistant coach. Though Jay ended up taking over my assistant coaching duties when it became clear that Ilan was going to follow me around the entire time and be a nuisance. Kabs had to miss 2 games, and so "Coach Daddy" was in charge.  The first game we got killed - the score was something like 14-0, which is impressive when you consider that the games are only 20 minutes long.  The second game the tables turned.  We were quickly up by 9 goals, and Coach Daddy tried to rein the kids in, making them pass a few times before they could shoot, but after the humiliation of the previous week, our team was out for blood.

We came up with a lot of names for our team, but the one that seemed to stick was the Black Thunders. Roan  misses the Black Thunders, and asks to play soccer all the time now. But the season is over and this week we had our first snow, then the temperature dropped into the low 20s.  The best we can do is dribble around the kitchen.

To everything there is a season.  Soccer, we'll see you again come Spring.

Kindergarten

Dear Roan,

You have been in kindergarten for about 50 days now.  NYC public kindergarten is a lot different from your preschool program, which you attended 3 days a week, had two teachers and an aid for 12 kids, and when you weren't in the play yard, you spent most of the day in the same room.  In K-206 there are 25 kids and 1 teacher, which is the ratio mandated by the state of New York.  Our class is lucky because we have a student teacher who comes three days a week to help out.  There are 6 other kindergarten classes in the building.  There are 925 kids in the school.  Half of them all eat lunch at the same time, in the same enormous cafeteria, and then they are let loose in the play yard for about 15 minutes of recess.  You spend most of your time in K-206, but you go to dedicated rooms with dedicated teachers for music, art, science, gym, and library.  Honestly, Daddy and I are still not sure about your schedule.  And every time we think we've figured out, there's a field trip, or a curriculum day, or that time when a British brass band came to school and spent the day following the kids around with horns.

You are kid who likes order, and likes knowing what to expect.  You have said to me, on many occasions, "mommy, I don't like things that I'm not used to." which I think is absolutely true.  You've also told me that you don't like new things.  I asked you once: "how many times before something changes from being a new thing to a thing that you are used to?"

"Um.... um.... at least 100 times, mommy."

We put you in a soccer league this fall, and it took 7 games before you really started to enjoy yourself.  Sadly, there are only 8 games in a season.

The first few weeks of kindergarten were terrible.  I dragged you up the hill, down 7th Avenue, and literally pulled you up the two flights of stairs to your classroom, where you screamed and cried and had to be restrained by the teacher (or whoever else happened to be available) when I left.  It was dramatic and I think, though you were clearly upset, that you were overplaying it.  Though the reports I got from the teachers were heartbreaking.  You spent entire days laying under your table, refusing to come out.  You wouldn't talk or even look at any of the other children or the teachers.  You brought your lunch home completely uneaten. A neighbor reported that he saw you in the recess yard, sitting alone against the chain link fence, staring morosely at the asphalt.  One day you cried so hard that you vomited.

Your Daddy and I disagreed on how to handle all this.  By the second or third week, he was ready to pack and up and move to the burbs, or enroll you in some private school for sensitive geniuses.  I think there is some value in you trying to find your place in this big ole machine.  And also, the very thought of moving makes me want to crawl into bed and take a long nap.

Now, 50 some odd days in, things are getting better.  I wouldn't say you are excited to go to school in the morning, but you don't give me any shit, and you are definitely a few steps above resigned.  On Veteran's Day, you were upset that there was no school, though I couldn't tell if that was because you like school or because you usually go to school on Mondays and you dislike changes in your schedule.  You said to me, "I'm used to 5 days of school and 2 days of weekend, so I don't like when it's 3 days of weekend."

In any case, drop offs are easy now.  From the feedback I get, you participate in small group activities, but not in large group activities that involve the whole class.  Sometimes, you go into the closet and put on your winter coat, zip it up, put on your hood, and sit silently at your desk, ignoring everything.  It reminds me of when I make Daddy watch a movie with subtitles, or engage him in some conversation he doesn't want to have, and he puts on this old gray sweatshirt, slides the hood over his head, and pulls the drawstrings tight, blocking everything out.

When we walk into school the other kids greet you with enthusiastic, "hi Roan!"s and you either ignore them, or, if it's been a bad morning, you scowl at them.  I feel bad for these kids, getting shafted by you day in and day out, and I want to pat their backs and say, "it's not you, it's him."  Or, "he really likes you, he's just grumpy and shy."  But despite your surliness, you seem to have friends.  I was surprised when you were invited to a classmate's birthday party - he could only chose 5 kids from class, and you were one of them. I dropped you off at the party and all the other invitees were the friendly extroverts who you'd expect to see... how did you make the cut?  In the mornings you go straight to your desk and sit down, and somehow this behavior results in several kids surrounding you and wanting to know what you're doing. A shy Chinese kid named Wilson has declared you his very best friend, though I've never seen you pay any attention to him.

You have a metal lunch box with a space ship on it that says ROAN in huge yellow letters.  Everyday you bring it home broken, and every day Daddy and I have to come up with a new way to fix it.  The lunch box looks as though it's been run over by a truck, and the handle and metal clasps have all been replaced with duct tape and string, which Daddy and I re-install every single week night.  What the hell are you doing to this lunch box?  Maybe I will ask Wilson for the truth.

The other day you came out for pick up without your backpack.  "Roan, where's your backpack?" I said.  You were nonchalant, and a little girl stepped forward to say, "we all told him 5 times to put on his backpack but he didn't listen and I just didn't feel like getting his backpack for him today."  Which gave me a glimpse into the group effort it must be to get you out the door and down the stairs with all your stuff.

More and more, you are starting to have a life that's independent from mine, and that I know nothing about. It's strange to just have a big question mark for what you're doing 5 days a week, between the hours of 9 and 3. Maybe it's just my mood at the moment, but it doesn't make me feel all schmaltzy and weepy sad, doesn't make me long for your babyhood.  I'm happy for you.  You're kind of a weird kid, but I think you'll be alright.

Trucks Take a Walk

7th Ave. Bike Ride

Curly Slide

A Long Winter

Lani Moo has some quirks.  Instead of saying "no" he says "mo."  Not because he doesn't know how to say "no" - he does.  He just seems to like the sound of "mo" better.

Hi favorite word is "yucky."  He says it constantly, and loves to say, "yucky momma," "yucky dadda," and "yucky ro ro." He recently learned "yucky la la," (la la is what he calls himself), and he likes to say "yucky doggie" to his Soft Doggie and burst into laughter.

He's a clothes horse.  Roan never noticed what he was wearing, and still doesn't, unless there's a train on it.  But Lani is different.  Every night he MUST wear his Thomas the Train pajamas to bed.  If they are not clean, or unavailable for some other reason, OH MO.  He also has strong feelings about many of his shirts.  Today I put him in a green and yellow plaid long sleeved button down, which he hated.  He screamed and head butted various pieces of furniture until I said, "Lani, do you want a new shirt?"

"Yeah" he said.

"Then come pick it out of your drawer," I said.  And he came over and carefully selected a shirt.  I put it on.  All was well until a few minutes later he started pulling at it and freaking out. He came back over to the drawer.  He wanted to change his shirt again.

This happened two more times before I shut it down and made him leave the room.  There's only so many outfit changes you can go through in a single morning.

But the worse thing about Lani Moo is that he hates sweatshirts.  I think it has to do with how they restrict his fingers and hands when he's pulling the sleeves on, but whatever the reason, he throws a tantrum every time I put one on him.  This is a problem, since he has to wear a sweatshirt nearly EVERY TIME we leave the house now.

I am dreading the moment when I have to introduce him to his winter coat.

Apple Picking

Last month we went apple picking at a farm in New Jersey.  We go there every fall, usually later in the year,  but this time we went the first weekend you could pick Honeycrisp, and oh my.  Those apples are so crisp and sweet.  We must have brought home at least two dozen apples and they were gone within a week.  I've never seen my boys eat so many apples.

Roan called the apples we picked "tree apples" to distinguish them from the apples we buy in the store (and which don't taste as good).  Whenever I asked if he wanted an apple he'd shout "yes!"  And then he'd say, "only if it's a tree apple Mommy."

Sports Camp Drop Out

It should have been perfect.

We signed Roan up for Sports Camp with three other boys he knows from preschool.  He'd go swimming three mornings a week, which he loves.  They would also play soccer, basketball, and baseball, and we prepared by buying Roan his very own left handed baseball mitt, kicking around the soccer ball more than usual, and hanging the basketball hoop back up on the back of the door.  We bought him an extra large water bottle, which the parent pamphlet recommended, because Sports Camp takes hydration very seriously.  The pamphlet also informed us not be worried if our child lost weight over the course of Sports Camp, or experienced an increased appetite.  I half expected Roan to end the summer totally ripped, with super defined calf muscles, or maybe even muscled pecs and broader shoulders.

What I didn't expect was for Roan to tell me repeatedly that he hates sports.

"Mommy, I just hate sworts," he would tell me at the breakfast table, when I'd ask him why he didn't want to go to Sports Camp.

Or, "Mommy, it's too long," which was his most consistent complaint about Sports Camp.  And he had a point.  Sports Camp was long.  It lasted from 9am until 4pm.  And, it must be said, that Sports Camp was incredibly cheap.  It was such a great deal, especially for the son of such athletic parents.  Jay and I really wanted to make it work.

"Why Roan?" I would moan, "why do you hate sports camp so much?"  Because the very idea that he wouldn't like a camp that I so carefully chose for him and put so much effort into preparing him for was pretty irritating.  But for Roan, what happened at Sports Camp stayed at Sports Camp - he's never been a kid who reports much about his day.  He kept quiet, and left me repeating, "why, Roan, why?" as if I were the 4-year-old.

He whined and moaned every morning at drop off, but at pick up, we would see him smiling and laughing with his friends, walking around like they owned the place.  Reports from the counselors were mixed - sometimes he had great days, and sometimes he spent the day sitting in the corner, refusing to participate.  I don't think Sports Camp was as bad as Roan made it out to be,  but once my son declares a position on something, he rarely changes his mind.  And the word on Sports Camp was that it was no fun and he hated it.

Admittedly, I could have handled the whole situation better.  I was so frustrated with Roan's refusal to answer any of my questions, or say anything at all about Sports Camp that I finally said, "if you tell me a story about Sports Camp, I won't make you go to Sports Camp."  I made this "offer" for nearly two weeks before he finally started telling me brief stories, many of which I suspect were not true.

One day I really abused the power of Sports Camp.  I had kept Roan home because I just couldn't stomach the power struggle that morning, and he had been bratty all day - starting fights with Ilan, tearing apart his train tracks, flinging toys around.  That afternoon we were gardening in this abandoned lot, and Roan kept trying to get Ilan to climb this rusty fire escape despite me telling him repeatedly that it was off limits.  I said, "Roan Michael if you touch that fire escape one more time I'm taking you straight to Sports Camp!"  He spent the rest of our time there sitting obediently in the corner, scowling at me.

Three weeks in I threw in the towel.  Every morning had gotten worse, to the point where I nearly had to drag him up the hill to catch the bus.  It was official.  Roan was a Sports Camp drop out.

I try not to be too discouraged by this.  Just because he hated Sports Camp doesn't mean he won't like sports.  We will keep trying.  I signed him for soccer this fall on a team with one of his friends.  His friend's dad is coaching, and I'm the assistant coach.  The uniforms are black, his favorite color, and I let him pick his jersey number. He has new shin guards and new shoes.  We'll ride our bikes to his first game on Saturday.

Hopefully, our son will find a "swort" that he likes.

Grandma Mac at the Beach

Grandma Mac doesn't like the beach. She doesn't like the sand, or being dirty.  She doesn't like the water.  She must really love her grandsons, because she went to the beach every day with them, sometimes twice a day.  One day I noticed her sitting on the sand.  Just directly on the sand - no towel, no beach blanket.  She got up and there was sand stuck to the butt of her bathing suit and the back of her legs.  I'm not sure I've ever seen my mother like that.

Later, I mentioned this to Jay, who is also not a big fan of the beach.  I described how my mom just sat on the sand and he cringed and made a sour face.  "I would never do that," he said.  My husband will not come to the beach without a chair.

This is the deepest I have ever seen my mother wade into the ocean.  The water is half way to her knees!  You can see she looks kind of worried about it.

Grandma Mac seemed to worry more than most about the sand bars quickly disappearing when the tide was rising.  She would fret and call us all back, saying how the tide was coming in fast and we didn't want to get stranded.  (My tidal app came in handy during these times).

Ilan at the Beach

At the beach in Plum Island, Ilan liked to...

Drag Grandma Mac and Popi into the water

Destroy sand castles

Explore the tidal pools

Fly kites

Drag the boogie board around (just like Roan)

Jump in holes

Put sand in the big orange bucket (which I fill full of sea water so we can wash our hands)

Walk the path to the beach

Roan at the Beach

This year in Plum Island Roan invented something called The Crawly Race, which, when he said it sounded like, The Trolley Race.  It started when we were swimming in really shallow water, and Roan and I would army crawl through the water and race each other.  

Then we tried catching waves in our crawly positions. And then it just became a really silly version of body surfing.

The other thing Roan liked to do was drag his boogie board around.  He caught some waves on it, which was hugely exciting, but dragging it around seemed to be the more popular activity.

Roan also spent a lot of time building sand castles, digging holes, and making roads for his trucks to go on.  We also dug a lot of holes at the water's edge, when the tide was coming up.  (This year I bought a tidal app on my phone and was obsessed with knowing where the tide was - it fluctuated over 10 feet, since we were there during a full moon!)  We would dig a hole and then half an hour later the water would start rushing in.

These were all of Roan's favorite things to do at the beach in Plum Island.