One of my random afternoon treats is to watch a movie that isn't animated with Jordan during the boys nap time. Today had just we settled down to our one and a half hours kid free bliss when we hear a crash, followed by another and two more by the time we burst through the bedroom door. The room is in complete disarray, and there's Mitch balanced on the arm of the chair, holding a horseshoe in his hand and looking surprised to see us. I guess he assumed that horseshoes was a silent game outside a 2 foot radius. Man, was he upset to be put back to bed. I think he would've got 3 on the next throw, but his parents are rude and uncaring. Not everyone has a baby who plays horseshoes at nap time, but as I recently had pointed out to me, not everyone keeps horseshoes in their bedroom. Point taken. I don't know why Jordan has a pile of horseshoes on his bookcase, they've been there for months and I've never questioned his collection, I just dust around it. So I guess I should blame myself. I look at them and see a pile of rusted metal. Jordan sees treasure, and Mitch sees Chinese throwing stars.
Because he had destroyed our room, the car keys were missing (they WERE on the ironing board, but since that was tipped over onto the bed, the keys ended up under some clothes under the chair- literally the last place I'd have thought they'd be) and Jack and I were late to soccer practice. We only got a 15 minute practice, and we have our first game on Thursday. I'm not at all concerned that none of the kids like the idea of only using one ball. Or the fact that no one can remember which direction they are aiming for to count for their team. Or that everyone keeps asking me to play sharks and minnows instead of plain old boring soccer. All of those things will be sorted out by the time November rolls around. We have games three times a week for the next six weeks (Does this seem a little excessive to anyone besides me?) and I'm sure that at the end of the season they will either have talent scouts on the sidelines or they will hate soccer forever. There is no middle ground when you are three years old. Jack is already burned out on the idea of sharing the ball, only to have some random kid run up and take it away. Instead, he spends his time sorting rocks and moving the cones. He also alternately raises and lowers his socks every five minutes, depending on climate and moods. Jordan worries that Jack isn't getting the idea of soccer. I've had to remind him that for the last three years of Jack's life we have drilled it into him to "SHARE!" and have followed up that directive by taking whatever he just swiped and giving it back to the other kid. Now we are yelling at him to get in there and "TAKE IT AWAY FROM HIM!". No wonder he stands mid-field with a look on his face that is part revulsion-part fear. He has no idea what happened to the people who raised him, and instead has to deal with this blood thirsty couple who LOOK like mom and dad, jumping up and down and screaming. Five minutes off the field and we are back to "You better share with your brother, or I'll take it away." I bet he's wondering where that sense of fairness goes when he puts on his funny shoes and tall socks. I can totally get where he's coming from when all he wants to do is put blades of grass down the inside of the orange cones. Sometimes that's all I want to do during practice too.
Mitch had the most frustrating drive home from school today. It's an hour drive and when I drive the kids alone on Jordan's work days, Mitch can get away with a lot more than when Daddy is driving because I am shorter and can't see him in the rearview mirror over my headrest. Mitch usually uses this opportunity to do quick double taps on Jack's arm with his fist, and still has plenty of time to turn huge, innocent blue eyes to me by the time I can glance over my shoulder to see what's going on. I know they are double taps by the distinct slapping sound, but I can never catch him the act. However, Daddy was onto him. Jordan was wearing his dark sunglasses while he was driving and he had the mirror tilted so he could see what Mitch was doing as he was doing it. Mitch couldn't figure out HOW Daddy knew what he was doing without looking behind him and it ticked him off. Jordan would say Mitch's name in his your-in-trouble voice just as he would make his move, and you could feel the frustration level rise in the car as the miles sped by. Just as we were pulling into town, Mitch forgot about his brother, took his sandals off and started chewing on them. Conversationally, Jordan started to tell him that mommy doesn't like it when he chews on his shoes, but as soon as he said his name, Mitch flipped out. He threw the shoe across the car with a growl-yell and hit the back of his head into his car seat. It seems he couldn't catch a break because Dad saw everything. Score: Parents; 3, kids; 152, 743.
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