Kids say the darndest things part...whatever

Last night we were watching Survivor, which has become the only show on TV we all watch as a family.  Kristina was lamenting her horrible existence as a mom, which was played out to her exact script moments earlier on The Middle, when the mom eats some of the teenage son's toenails, thinking they were a snack, then runs away.

As she parlayed that episode into affection for the elder stateswoman Diane on Survivor, she mentioned she could do something if it were for a million dollars, which prompted this little commentary from Niko...

Niko: What do you need a million dollars for?  Daddy has a million dollars. (clearly he doesn't see my paystubs).  And if you needed money you could always just ask BahPoo, anyway.  He's a Selectman.

Yes, Niko.  Bahpoo IS a Selectman in Acton ME, where I am sure if it isn't a volunteer position, they probably pay a few scheckles per year.

Cracks me up...

Mud , sweat and tears...

I had tears in my eyes and goosebumps in 85 degree heat loading bags of cement into the mixer, as I looked up at Rick Snelgrove smiling in the sunshine, racheting in bolts, watching over all those people from all different neighborhoods and backgrounds grind out the playground.  We took a patch of dirt behind the school and turned it into Torie's Place V.  V as in Roman numeral five, as in the Snelgrove's and Mike from UtiliPlay have done this four other times. 

The most unimaginable tragedy you can imagine as a parent is the untimely and tragic passing of one of your children.  The remarkable (and for me spiritually uplifting) thing the Snelgrove's have done is to somehow morph that into a positive LEGACY of caring, passion, understanding, and giving.  Hundreds of people showed up to dig holes, get dirty, pour cement, and assemble what can only be described in our inimitable Massachusetts way as a 'wicked cool' playground.  

As near as I can tell, the recipe is this: Gather some space, time, money, people and positive spirit.  Remove any egos, pity, sorrows, regret, roots, rocks and other 'obstacles'.  Add together and mix until done.  It works. 

Until now, the Brookfield School's biggest children's attraction was a big, white rock in the front yard, surrounded, as other rocks in that neighborhood are, by fencing.   But in the back courtyard there are trees and sunshine and - thanks to the Snelgrove's desire and ability to propagate joy, hope, togetherness, caring, remembrance and just about every other positive human emotion - an enduring symbol of love, compassion and fun.  

After the cameras, politicians, helpers, trucks, equipment and rubbish were gone the kids 'tested' it, and let me be the first to tell you...it...is ...AWESOME!

Thanks for sharing, Torie.   <3

Technology

It's a beautiful sunny day, and the kids ask if they can play Wii.  Me: No, it's too nice out. Gunnar: BUT DAD! CAN'T WE HAVE ACCESS TO ANY KIND OF TECHNOLOGY!!!!?

Worms

Last night was the first soccer practice.  Kristina is dead set against anything soccer related, and personally it is number 9 or 10 of sports I can even tolerate.  But it is easy to get kids involved, Gunnar has already had some experience with it, and Nick-Nock from down the street was enrolled, so I signed the boys up and volunteered to coach.  And with youth sports being what they are these days, I can't pull up to the curb, let my kids out, and come back an hour later, or worse, have them catch a ride home with another player or coach.  It used to happen more than you'd think when I was coaching basketball.  What are parent's thinking?  He'll be alright?  I hope the coach isn't a child molester?  I'll catch his games another day/time when I don't have so many things to do? How about we make a rule: if you aren't going to watch every practice and game possible (yes, I have a job, too), then don't sign him/her up.

So Kristina's maternal instincts (and peer pressure from Dena) outweigh her distaste for a game involving much running back and forth and, unlike her chosen sport of basketball, too little of the ball hitting the net.  She comes to the field.  Which is great because the kids don't give me nearly enough grief, so she is there to help with that, along with trying to set up Dominic's old klugey soccer nets.

Six kids can cause a small bit of chaos (hell, we know from experience that 4 can, right?) and I have a modicum of soccer chops, so practice is s bit 'furry'.  One kid called me "Gramps", which I thought was a bit uncalled for.  Although my gray is showing, my waistline isn't nearly up to my shirt pocket, I did not have black socks with my sneakers,  and not once did I call anyone "sonny", even though 2 of the players are in fact my sons.  I called him on it with a loud "whadja say?" and he backed off, although his dad heard from the sidelines, and of course knows his son is a punk.  

We have 3 Nicholas', which makes learning the names easier, but directing practice harder.  "NICHOLAS!"
"Which one?"
But all in all, I think everyone had a good time, the kids got tired, and, as an added bonus for 8 year old boys but not so great for some of their moms, Walker Playground is a hotspot for big huge slimy worms.

A quick one

I try to write these down but life goes by so quickly you can't.  Yesterday morning while in the bathroom, I can hear Niko and Gunnar in our bed.  Niko says "Gunnar, we have to talk.  When we're asleep you push me".


Of course Gunnar is less interested in Niko's sleep comfort or wearing pants (he prefers to sleep au natural), and he knows I give them grief for climbing into our bed.  So he's yelling "DAD! WE"RE IN YOUR BED! AREN"T YOU GOING TO CLOBBER US?"