World's Okayest Soccer Mom

My son graduates in June and is in his last season of school soccer. Henceforth,  any team he joins will be his responsibility--all fees/half-time snacks/purchasing countless pairs of that special kind of socks.  On one hand I am rejoicing (at home, warm and dry in my
comfy sweats, adult beverage in hand), and on the other hand (the one without the drink) I realize it's the end on an era.

My husband and I have attended countless soccer games in the cold, sideways-driving rain. We have spent entire weekends shuttling wet, muddy children between games and home and one more game. There was one soccer season when all three kids were playing, all on different days, and my husband was in an adult indoor league, so we had soccer 7 days a week. We have put in our time and paid our dues.

With our son's recreational soccer league we attended every game, but for some reason we've never bothered to go to any of the school's away games.  Maybe because he always had to ride the bus there, anyway, and it got to be a habit.  Maybe because it was a weeknight and we were tired and we had two other kids at home who needed dinner and homework help and our presence.  Maybe we just aren't as good of parents as we thought we were.

After the last game at the high school I was talking to some of the parents in the stands when they asked the inevitable question: Was I going to the next game in Granite Falls?  I panicked a little and tried to come up with a good excuse (Important business meeting in Poughkeepsie?  Emergency surgery on my big toe?)  The best I could do was :  Umm, probably not--we don't usually go to the away games.  "Really??  We try to go to all the games!"

Soccer in the rain

Let me just point out that because our school district is so small (2A) we don't play many local teams, but have to go to Sultan and Coupeville and South Whidbey.  That, my friends, requires a half hour drive to Mukilteo (in good traffic) and a ferry boat ride (after waiting in a long line-up of cars, all undoubtedly trying to make it to their kid's game).

I don't do away games.

I was feeling a little guilty, however,  about missing this game.  It's his last year, after all, and the odds were in favor of our team winning.  But it was an early game (Granite Falls recently built a huge, beautiful high school, but then couldn't afford stadium lights). And there was no covered seating (the Pacific Northwest is not known for dry, sunny springs).  And I was coming down with a head cold.  That afternoon I told my son we probably wouldn't be making it to his game.  He gave me kind of a confused look and asked "Why would you be making it to my game?"  Um, because we wanted to see you play?  "But it's an away game."

Now, there are a few ways I could take his response:
  A)  He has learned to expect so little from us as parents, that he wouldn't consider the possibility of us putting forth the effort to go a game more than 15 minutes away.
  B) We are parenting geniuses and have raised children who do not see themselves as the center of the universe, therefore not asking any more from us than we have time to give.
  C)  He never really wanted us to come to any of his games.

I have chosen option B because it makes me feel better.

Soccer in the snow

I started thinking about all the other things I don't do for our kids, all the late night rides to the roller rink I refused, or the slumber parties I've vetoed.  All those things that my kids swear every other parent in the known universe is happy to do.  Was I really short-changing them? And then I thought about all that I have done for them--like teaching them to read, oh and that little thing called giving them life.  When they are grown and gone, I'm sure there will be at least one way they'll feel we've failed as parents.  I figure skipping their away games is pretty minor in the grand scheme of things.  I mean, it's not like I called them "Sweet Pea" in front if their friends, or insisted on coming to 5th Grade Camp.  (Oh wait, I did those things.)

As it turns out, the weather conditions for the game in question were near perfect (read: no rain) and my son's team won 5-0.  I still stand be my decision to forgo this game, if only because he personally did not score any of those goals and I spent that time with our other two kids, watching a movie on the couch after a home-made meal.  And sleeping.

Home games are the best games

The Circle of Life

There's a post I've seen on Pinterest that says "The real problem with reality is the lack of background music."  Wouldn't it be great if life were more like the Disney movies, where all the hard lessons were accompanied by a catchy tune and everything is resolved in the end?

Some of you know that my father has been suffering from Parkinson's Disease for several years now.  He's been slipping away from us bit by bit--his memory, his balance, his sense of humor. Oddly, his voice is just the same as I remember from childhood.  Last time I visited him I saw before me a frail old man who didn't really seem to know who I was. When he spoke, however, out came the voice of my Dad, the same one who used to give me piggy back rides and laugh at my jokes.

Dad is getting worse.  His body is starting to give up on him and his doctor feels like his time has run out.  This weekend I will be heading back to my hometown to say goodbye.

I couldn't help but think that death in real life is not quite like it is in the Disney movies.  Never once do they mention Parkinson's; no songs were created about nursing homes or adult diapers.  In "The Lion King" Mufasa dies in a dramatic scene while trying to save his son, Simba. The background music magnifies the feelings of danger, loss and guilt.  Songs are sung and lessons learned and the circle of life moves us all.

I decided my father needs a soundtrack.  Some musical score that I can hum along to while I say goodbye.  A simple tune that reminds me of the man he once was, not the frail body that is slowly giving up.  Not being musical myself, I needed to find a song or lyric already out there that somehow captures the person my father once was.

Then it hit me:  Johnny Cash.

One of my earliest memories is my parents playing an LP of Johnny Cash and my father singing along in his deep voice.  I used to think he'd actually recorded those songs with the man on the album.  "I Walk the Line," "Ring of Fire" and "Folsom Prison Blues"-- I can hear him now.  My father's life was not as bleak as those songs, but I didn't understand the lyrics back then, I just knew his voice.  That was my my dad I was hearing, not some man named Johnny Cash.

So I leave you with a clip of "Ring of Fire."  Whenever you hear a Johnny Cash song, please think of my dad, Bud Alvick, and know that while his circle may be near it's completion, we are still singing his song.  (And thank you to the incomparable Johnny Cash, for accompanying my dad in his soundtrack.)

Facebook Fasts and Lenten Love

Those of you who know me might be familiar with my slight Facebook addiction.  My brother complains about how much I post on my timeline; I say he needs to contribute more.  Whatever.  For the past several years, however,  I have proven that I can stop anytime I want by giving up Facebook for Lent.  Lent, for those of you not schooled by Catholic nuns, is the time period before Easter in which one prepares for the holiest of the holy miracles of the Bible, the resurrection of Christ, by giving up chocolate.  The idea, as explained to me by Sister Judith (my second grade teacher who forced kids into submission with a Vulcan death grip), is that you give up something you really like to remind yourself of all that Jesus gave up for mankind.

This year I have decided that I will not give up Facebook for Lent for the following reasons:

1. I don't want to.

2. Instead of a Lenten fast, I have decided to put forth more effort to take care of myself--my body is my temple and all that--and am committed to getting at least 30 minutes of exercise a day as well eating my 5-a-day servings of fruits and vegetables.  Forty days and forty nights.  (Just accidentally typed "farty" instead of "forty"--extra fiber will do that to you.) It's nice that Lent coincides with our annual anniversary trip to Las Vegas so I will have a little less muffin top in my swimsuit poolside.

3. Last year during my Facebook fast I, in boredom, turned to Pinterest.  There, while perusing my daughter's pins, I discovered that one of her "bucket list" items was to meet and have a book signed by her favorite author. (Can I point out that she was 13 at the time and in perfect health--I'm not sure she understands the significance of a bucket list.)  Her favorite author of the moment, Cassandra Clare, was just releasing a new book and. I learned upon further investigation, was appearing at a local bookstore.  I scored big time Mommy Points all because I was off of Facebook.  Lesson learned, time to move on to a new challenge.

4. As I mentioned, my husband and I are planning our anniversary trip to Las Vegas for the end of April,. Facebook has game called myVegas Slots where you can earn reward points for comps in Vegas, anything from free buffet passes to show tickets.  I am this close to having enough points for two tickets to Beatle's Love (a Cirque du Soleil show) and Easter falls three days before we leave.  I feel the Heavenly Father wants me to see Beatle's Love.  I think he may have spoken to me in a dream.  I can't quit now.

So come Easter expect to see a slimmer and healthier me, getting ready to jet off to Las Vegas with two Beatles' Love tickets in my hand.  I'm sure Sister Judith would approve.

(It occurs to me now that not giving up my Facebook addiction because of my gambling addiction might be a cause for concern. But then I think "Less muffin top and Las Vegas show tickets" and I think the 12 Steps can wait till after I get back from our trip.)

To-Done List

My mother is a list maker. She's always planned her day down to the minute, carefully crossing off tasks completed.  I apparently did not inherit her organizational skills--I'm more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of person. (Or more likely, "Oh sh*t, was that today?!")  I've always envied her sense of accomplishment and thought maybe I should give it a try.  Seeing all those tasks spelled out quickly became overwhelming, however, so I added some stuff  I'd already done and then crossed them off to make myself feel better. 


Perhaps that's how I should go about my day, marking down all my accomplishments as I go so I feel like I haven't frittered it away.


I give you my "To-Done List."


1.  Made coffee.  This is obviously the most important step of the day, without which nothing else will be done--or if it will, it will be done slowly, with a small headache and a lot of whining.  It's ironic that this crucial activity is done when one is least able to perform tasks.  One morning my automatic coffee maker didn't start and I just stood there, at 5 am in the half-lit kitchen, for what seemed like hours trying to figure it out . (But then non-caffeinated minutes are longer than regular minutes--something about the space/time continuum.) It was a nightmare--which I couldn't wake up from because I had no coffee! 


2.  Annoyed my children.  This is the easiest task of the day, as I need only to speak to them.  It is important to annoy your children every day or they may never move out. They have informed me that I excel at this, which is good as I'm planning a cute little office for myself in one of their bedrooms.   My daughter claims that her friend's mother isn't annoying, but I assured her to her own daughter she is.  It is the natural order of things.




3.  Yoga.  I twisted my body into positions it was not meant to go, and for which I will pay tomorrow.  This is not your yogi's routine of balance and meditation, but Jillian "I Make Fat People Cry" Michaels' Yoga Meltdown.  And yes, I have a occasionally had a melt down after one of these workouts.   (Okay, sometimes I cry.)  She reminds me of a mean little poodle, but she's a mean little poodle with rock hard abs, so I fold myself into camel pose as I curse her under my breath...If I can still breathe.

4.  Pretended that I know how to be an accountant, payroll specialist, human resources representative and an office manager.  Sometimes I succeeded, sometimes not so much.  It's all good--I'm sleeping with the boss. (Okay the boss is my husband-- I'd never be hired for this job if I didn't have connections.)

5.  I whipped something up for dinner.  This is a phrase that my boss/husband likes to use, infering that I can take the year-old frozen chicken nuggets, wilted lettuce and two hamburger buns and create a nutritious and delicious meal for five.  HA.  Every meal choice I offer elicits a groan from two or more children (I only have three, mind you).  But family dinners are essential to a child's self of well-being and their place in the
world, so sit down and please stop making those gagging noises.

6. Made sure my children were in their bedrooms at a decent hour.  Proper rest is important to young bodies (as well as middle-aged ones).  That and I just want to be done being a mom early enough so I have some time to myself.

7. I wrote a silly blog post about my not-so-organized life.

There, look at a ll those accomplishments.  Maybe tomorrow I'll add "End World Hunger" or "Figure Out Where That Weird Smell Is Coming From."

Only the Lonely

I have a confession to make:  I don't like football.  I will probably be the only sentient being in the state of Washington not watching the Seahawks playoff game this weekend.  I do not own a jersey, I have not invested in any face paint, I could not name a single player on the team.

Don't get me wrong, I think it's great that a local team is doing well and I see why everyone's gone all 12th Man, but I just don't get football. It's quite possible that it's a birth defect as the rest of my family are all fans:  my brothers who played in high school, my mother and sister, even my father in the nursing home who sometimes doesn't even know his own name.  I've tried watching.  I sat and looked at the TV screen and tried to connect everyone's cheers or jeers to what just happened on the field.  It's clear, however, that I lack the enzyme/chromosome/gene that can distinguish a tight end from a safety, or even care what a first down is. (I just had to Google "football terminology" to get that much--didn't bother to read the definitions.)

Just. Not. Interested.

I'm not anti-football--I don't care about all sports equally. The only events I enjoy watching are the ones that my kids are in, like literally suited up and on the field.  My son played basketball for many years and I went to all his games, even learning (most of) the rules.  Now that he's strictly soccer, I don't have the patience to watch basketball, even if other kids I know are playing.  I don't really even like going to to my daughter's school track meets, but that's mostly because they're so darn long . She's usually in the first event and then the second to last, three hours later, as I sit in the cold and don't get dinner made or retain feeling in my toes.  I will occasionally attend professional baseball if there's beer and hot dogs involved, but definitely not football, not even with margaritas and nachos on the side.
.

So come Sunday I will be sitting alone, curled up with this stack of books. I will cheer on the main character as he defeats the forces of evil and boo the antagonist's attempt to slip through the defensive line. You all enjoy yourselves.

GO HAWKS!

A Christmas Letter

I was doing Christmas cards the other night and wondered if I really needed to do a whole "Christmas Letter"--you know where you brag about the wonderful things you did this year (or make stuff up so people think your life is perfect). Most of those on my list I stay in touch with through Facebook (and I'm on Facebook a lot) so they're pretty much up to date on the sitcom that is my life.  What more could I possibly have to tell them? But then I felt guilty--I'd gotten the pre-printed cards that already have our names signed to them and only had to address the envelopes.  So, because of pre-printed cards, and a small helping of Catholic guilt, here is my Christmas Letter to you:

Dear (Friend/Family/Person I haven't talked to in 5 years because you've gotten a little creepy since high school),

This year has been a busy one at the Graf household!

Husband is working hard and growing his company. When he started this he hoped someday to be the kind of boss who takes off whenever he wants.  If only our employees would play their role of indentured servants a little more diligently, but they insist on having lives.

Our son is in his last year of high school and will be graduating in June.  I go between being totally freaked out (Surely there's some essential skill we forgot to teach him?) and relieved that I am almost done being personally responsible for lost socks and missing school books.  Mostly I am freaked out (okay, and a tiny bit sad).

Our older daughter started high school this year and is a little disappointed that it's just like middle school, but with bigger kids. I tell her that one day she will be through with all this and off to college--where her classmates will be just like they were in middle school, but drunk.

The baby of our family turned 12 this year.  She now declares that I am no longer her favorite parent.  She went on one hunting trip with her father and decided that he is also no longer her favorite.  I guess she has yet to find a parent that will let her peruse One Direction videos and funny cat pictures on the internet to the wee hours of the morning.

Last March our older dog developed a cancerous tumor on his mouth and, after some creative financing (to the tune of $2,000), had it successfully removed. He is doing fine now, but I'm afraid to let him do so much as cross the street--we have too much invested in him.

The younger dog continues his quest to capture that spot of light reflecting off my watch face. 

Working from home allows me to lead a very full and exciting life. I now have an encyclopedic knowledge of Washington state sales tax laws and have perfected a technique that allows me to silently chastise the children while on hold with customer service. Giving up on my dream of being Rapunzel, I got my hair cut very short and can now pass off full-on bed head as a chic, contemporary hair style.  In my spare time I write blog posts about a bunch of silliness.


Here's hoping your Christmas Season is devoid of any Black Friday fist fights and your New Year is filled with unicorns and rainbows.

Love,

Kristin

Off With Her Hair!





Me, Before

Today I got a hair cut.  Not just a trim or a little bit off the top, but a hair cut.  My younger daughter told me it was the weirdest hair cut I'd ever gotten.  My older daughter said it looked too messy in back.  My son just silently looked at me and smirked. 

 

Ah, sweet words of praise from my loving family. 

 

My husband asked:  "Do you like it?"

 

And you know what?  I love it.

 

Super short hair has never been a dream of mine,  If I had my choice, I'd have long beautiful, flowing locks.  I'd spend thousands every year on special shampoos and high end styling products.  I would sob inconsolably if the stylist didn't give me just the right cut.

 

I would be Mudder Forking Rapunzel

 

Exhibit A: Me in 5th Grade

Unfortunately, as the angels were forming all my earthly parts, they apparently misunderstood when God said to give me thick hair and thin thighs.  Sigh.  My tresses are straight, fine-textured and thin. (Please see Exhibit A.)   I have tried every thickening product known to man.  I have moussed, I have permed, I have highlighted.  My hair simply isn't my crowning glory.  (I'm just lucky I don't belong to one of those religious sects that don't allow the women to cut their hair.  It would not be pretty.)

So when I went for a cut today I was ready for something a little different.  I was ready to give up the Soccer Mom hairdo.  I was ready to leave behind all the hairspray and unguents and limp, lifeless locks.  I was ready to let the world see my ears.

And, voila!  With a little help from my fabulous hairstylist, Marielle of Crown Creations Hair Design I now have a cut that says I have cheek bones and ears and more important things to do than mess with my hair.  This hairstyle is generally known as the Pixie and I am feeling genuinely impish.

 Off with her hair!




The "After" Shot