The boy’s school has the 1st graders perform a “Talent Show” at the end of each year. A number of parents we know have older sons and daughters who have already done their time, and they all said it’s a lot of fun. And I have to say, it actually was.
The boy declared he wasn’t going to school this morning. He justified it thusly: “I’m not going because 7 year olds don’t have to go to school.”
I told him “Yep, you’re right. 7 year olds stay home and work doing the dishes, mowing the lawn, washing and folding clothes, vacuuming, dusting …”
He cut me off “Oh fine, I’ll get my backpack.”
In addition to the physical, the boy’s martial arts instructors also teach the students a little Korean. The younger kids learn to count to 5 as well as the Korean words for “block” and “kick”- stuff like that. The older kids are taught more and are tested on it regularly.
We were trying to help the boy out last night and the Wife was going over some of the words with him when she asked him to count to 10. Having only been in the new class a couple of times, I expected he might remember only a couple of the numbers from 6 to 10.
Well, darned if he didn’t remember them all. I was so surprised that I started joking with him about it “I didn’t know you knew all those numbers! Are you learning stuff without us knowing about it?”
He quipped back “That’s OK Dad, I didn’t even know I knew how to do it.”
The boy had a rough outing yesterday with his coach pitch team. In fairness, he had a better game than some of his teammates, but they win as a team and lose as a team. His roughest moment was when he was out at 2nd. There was nothing he could have done- the batter hit the ball right up the pipe to the second baseman. But he still took it hard, convinced that he had messed up somehow. He didn’t want to come off the base- luckily the other coaches were able to handle the situation. I tried to explain there was nothing he could have done; but like I said, he was taking it hard.
After coach pitch, he had his Spring Campout for Scouts. It was a great time and the game was long forgotten by the time he got there. He and the rest of his den mates were presented with the Tiger Badges they’d earned over the course of the past 9 months or so. It was a nice ceremony conducted by Boy Scouts. The most interesting observation was their snickering at the Native American garb the Boy Scouts wore, followed by the solemn silence as the came to understand the “tone” of the ceremony, even if they didn’t understand everything that was said. It was nice to see.
The overnight portion was tough. Not being a seasoned camper, I was more sensitive to all the night noises and the change in scenery than I anticipated. The boy slept out of shear exhaustion- he’d been running around the whole afternoon and well into the night with the rest of the pack playing every game you can imagine. He fought it at first; the wind was making too much noise; every plane that went by sounded like thunder; he wanted to go home where it was safe. Then he fell asleep.
We threw a birthday party for the boy today as well. We got home from the campout and I went right into prepping for that. Fifteen or so 6 and 7 year olds running around. Luckily, we’d hired a professional who was fantastic. The gentleman for Mad Science had no problem dealing with the kids and kept them occupied for well over an hour. We sugared them up with some cake and apple juice and then they were on their way. The boy has very generous friends, by the way. Hopefully, someday he’ll comprehend that.
After the birthday party, was the “after” party. Some friends stayed over as well as the Wife’s parents and aunt. It was a nice time to relax and unwind. Nothing like a little grilling to cap off the weekend.
The 4 gin and tonics didn’t hurt either. I’m looking forward to a good night sleep.
I went in to help the lass and her class cook up a snack yesterday morning. It was a fun hour or so. We cooked up a variation on Rice Krispie treats. Instead of putting it in a pan, we gave the kids a wad of the mixture to shape into a ball which they then put a popsicle stick to make a treat on a stick. Because everything tastes better when it’s served on a stick- like hot dogs, or ice cream.
Well, that’s what I’ve been told anyway.
My job was just to help out and provide a little light comic relief. Probably about the most I’m capable of handling. The lass was so overjoyed at having me there, she went into show-off-for-my-friends mode. Luckily, the teachers love her so it was no big deal. That and they’d had other parents in before to help out on other Cooking Fridays. They’d seen the act before.
Luckily, I got to leave before the sugar started to do it’s work. With the potential for 10 kids all getting a sugar high simultaneously, I was happy in the knowledge I wouldn’t have to deal with them.
If there’s one word I’d use to describe how to manage a group of kids, it’s “vigilance.” The second one I’d use is “exhausting,” which is a consequence of the first one.
I’ve actually been fortunate enough to both participate in managing groups of kids and watch other people manage the feat. Even more fortunately, I’ve had the opportunity to watch people who are very effective at the task. So I’ve been able to apply things I “think” I’ve observed and see how well they work. I believe it is a skill that is more natural to some than others; that said, I think anyone can learn them.
After the jump are my own observations, and experiences, in how to deal with a group of kids.
The boy helped me out a little this weekend laying mulch down in the flower beds. We did most of our work in the morning because it was supposed to rain in the afternoon. In reality, it didn’t take that long. The rain started, albeit lightly, while the boy and I were out working.
He had noted that he was sweating from his work. I think it was still on his mind when he exclaimed “Dad, I know why it rains!”
“Oh yeah, why is that?”
“I think it’s because God is sweating.”
I pondered this for a moment and replied, “Well, he must do a lot of work to make all this sweat.”
“Yep. He’s a busy guy,” he replied.
The lass’ T-ball game this morning was especially brutal. Don’t know if the weather had anything to do with it or if it was just one of those things. The kids just weren’t into it. Not by any measure. But then, it sure seemed like they had a good time.
Of course, their good time didn’t have much to do with fielding or hitting. Oh well, on to coach pitch.
On the way to his martial arts class, the boy was eating a snack. One of those crackers and cheese combo packages. The elastics for his braces were sitting on the center console of the car. He finished his snack about half-way to our destination.
The elastics were in a bad spot for me- no where to put my elbow. So when he finished I just reminded him about them so he’d put them back in. Since the car was still moving, I figured if he started then he’d have them in by the time we got to the school, what with the movement of the car and all.
So he picks up the first one and puts it in. And then the boy who spent a week in tears of frustration over his elastics; the boy who on a number of occasions declared he would not go to school because of the elastics; the boy who had declared he would never wear the elastics because they were too hard to install said something so remarkable and stunning that I still can’t believe the words issued forth from his mouth.
“Putting in my elastics is SO EASY!”
Once I remembered I was still operating a motor vehicle, all I could do was smile and shake my head.
The boy had a good game last night in his coach pitch outing. Apparently he clobbered the ball for a standup double and was the only one to do so. I missed it because I was working with the lass’ T-ball team since the coach there decided to schedule the practice for last night. Not terribly convenient, but what can you do? The Wife got to see the big moment anyway.
Unfortunately, the boy truncated his moment of glory. A couple of batters later, with the boy still on 2nd and another runner on 1st, the batter hit the ball right to the 3rd baseman. The boy, not totally understanding baseball yet, saw that he was an easy out so he chose not to run to third so he couldn’t get tagged. He was very upset to find out his scheming didn’t have the desired result.
On the way home, as I was trying to explain the whole “force out” thing, the boy got very defensive and, in a moment of clarity and insight rare for one so young, spat out “Well, then baseball is stupid!” I paused long enough to rejoinder “That’s a conversation for another day…”
I took the boy and his fellow Cub Scouts out on a hike for their final den meeting last night. We went to checkout a couple of historical landmarks here in the area. Well, one historical landmark and one quirk-of-nature landmark. That’s been one of the nice surprises regarding Scouting- being forced to do some thing we might otherwise not have bothered with.
The hike itself was probably a couple mile in total. It wasn’t the easiest hike because the trail was rocky and consisted of descending into a valley and then climbing the other side to get to our final destination. We got pictures of the kids along the way and everyone had a good time generally.
But the boy got a little more than he bargained for, courtesy one of his den mates.
The boy has moved up another belt rank in his martial arts training. The change moved him into another class and yesterday was his first time participating. It was a completely different class from either of his previous ones.
When he started a little over a year ago, the classes taught the basic techniques but the instructors didn’t demand much technically. Mainly, they wanted the kids to listen, follow instructions, and have fun. And not necessarily in that order. I had my doubts about what exactly they were learning, but having coached some T-ball and observed other athletically oriented activities I came to realize that, for the age, not expecting much was how it had to be.
In the fall, he moved up into a new class with older kids. This class was different. A little anyway. The instructors were less forgiving of silliness and worked on technique a little more. But still, the classes themselves were not strenuous and there was still a focus on keeping it fun. They also started learning Korean terms for the kicks, punches, and customs. Still, in all, it was clearly geared for younger kids.
The class he is now in is completely different from the others. The simplest way to describe it is it’s in line with the stereotypical martial arts class. The kids are worked harder and challenged more: to be faster, technically proficient, and to be smart. There is also almost no tolerance for silliness or disobedience. The younger kids were mildly upbraided for two slights yesterday- talking while the instructor was talking (before class had even officially begun) and not listening to a higher ranking student (by belt) who warned them to quiet down and listen. The other side of that coin is the instructors efforts to teach proper technique in that class were more than anything I’d previously witnessed.
So after all that, what was the boy’s impression?
“That class was hard.” Those were his exact words when the class ended. He then lamented about being the “worst one there.” Which I didn’t think was true, but even if I grant it was I told him he shouldn’t be upset about it. After all, a year ago when he started, he had no idea how to do any of this stuff. He’s steadily improved to the point where he’s now in the highest children’s class the dojo offers.
But his initial reaction wasn’t far off in many ways. The class was definitely harder than what he’d been exposed to previously. He’ll have to adjust accordingly. The Wife and I will have to help him through it. Just like we always have.
Supposedly, a 4-leaf clover is a genetic mutation that appears in every 10,000 clovers or so. Now, the growing season is still young so we don’t actually have that many clovers. But come the middle of the Summer, we’ve typically got plenty of patches around the yard.
Which made the boy’s feat yesterday noteworthy: he found not 1, but 2 4-leaf clovers. The Wife pulled the “It’s-OK-to-tell-Moms-Your-Wish” routine and he revealed one of his wishes to be a trip to Gamestop. Guess he’d like to get some new DS games or something.
The Wife was given a treat this morning. The kids presented her with cards and gifts they’d made in school and then the boy made her breakfast- he took a couple of donuts and put them on a plate, put the plate on the tray and presented it to her after she’d sat down to drink the coffee I’d made her. The lass also presented her with a card that she’d chosen while out with me. Earlier in the week, they’d purchased some flowers from the school and given them to her.
An amusing anecdote behind those flowers- they were on sale for 2 days during the week. The first day, we gave them each $5 to purchase flowers with. When the lass came home that first day, she brought along a box full of flowers and no change. She’d spent it all. When the boy arrived home, he’d purchased a single flower and brought home all of his change. He was immediately deflated when he saw all the flowers his sister had purchased, so the Wife let him return with his change to purchase more flowers the next day. He brought home more flowers and a quarter.
It’s an obvious point but I’ll state it anyway- without the Wife there’d be no SAHD around these parts. The path she’s taken is not an easy one, but she walks it with spirit and dignity. I’m happy to walk it with her.
Happy Mother’s Day dear- and many happy returns.
And I do mean a real circus, as opposed to the one the Wife and I run on a daily basis. I’ll simply refer to it as the B&B Circus and I assume that the reader can figure it out from there. Of course, B&B might quibble with that, given the number of times they informed the audience we were watching “The Greatest Show on Earth!” I still have some of the tunes bouncing around my head this morning- something about “fire it up,” or maybe it was “power it up.”
They did say “the show” was great, just not the songs.
During the mornings, I must confess to some amount of envy for one-child parents. After all, they don’t have to listen or deal with the following:
Multiple pairs of foot-stompers as the kids wake up and come down with bad attitudes because they aren’t ready to be awake. The stomping can be over anything: can’t get clothes on, brother was down before sister, dog looked at them funny. Anything
The turf war over couch space- “His foot is on my side of the couch!” and “She’s taking up more space than she needs to!”
The struggle for whose preferred morning cartoons are watched.
“When can we watch our shows?” spoken in a whiny tone. When one stops, the other picks up where the first left off.
“HEY! I was sitting THERE!”
“I want to sit next to Mommmmmmmmmmmmmmm!”
“He won’t let me use the bathroom!”
“She’s hogging the sink!”
“He spit toothpaste on me!”
“I was going to brush my teeth, but my brother is being DUMB.”
“She didn’t really brush her teeth, she just chewed on the toothbrush.”
“He put my shoes somewhere!”
“She threw my shoes when I went to get them!”
“He threw my jacket on the floor!”
“She got to the car first and I wasn’t racing!”
I think the dog has the right idea. She typically goes upstairs and disappears until they’ve been delivered to school.
The boy’s mouth is now fully outfitted with gear. He has wires on the top and bottom and rubber bands for tension to start correcting his cross bite. It only took the orthodontist 10 minutes to get it all done- not knowing what to expect, I was surprised how quick it was.
The boy was OK with it at the office, but the reality of it has been settling in since then. He has to learn how to attach the rubber bands himself because he isn’t supposed to wear them when he eats. One of the implications hit him when we got home- eating lunch at school. For the moment, he doesn’t want to go to school. Although he’s also bemoaning his getting the elastics in the first place.
Growing up I remember the old mantra “It builds character” (Not that it was used on myself a lot, but it’s a pretty familiar parental quip). I’d say the boy is experiencing that sort of thing now.
A seemingly annual spring activity for me is building compost bins. I started with one, which got filled easily over the course of a Spring/Summer cycle. So I built a second one and harvested some of the compost from the first. Unfortunately, the second one also got completely filled and I also filled the first one again. So I needed a third bin, in addition to trying to harvest compost from the other two.
Understandably, I wasn’t to keen on getting the job done because it’s messy, unpleasant work. There are bugs everywhere and even if the temps were below freezing, I’d be perspiring like it’s the middle of Summer. I finally did the deed yesterday and, while I was moving compost between the new bins, the lass decided she was going to help. So she fetched a small pitch fork the Wife typically uses for spreading mulch.
Unfortunately for the lass, and myself, she isn’t tall enough to toss the compost over the fences that make the bins. She was only able to get at the compost because I’d fashioned a rather crude gate for the front. So she did her best to scoop up compost as I was. Then she’d ask me to do something with it. So I’d take the pitchfork from her, toss it into a bin and hand it back to her.
Well, that happened exactly 3 times. Because on the 3rd time, as I went to hand the pitch fork back to her, I felt the unmistakable impact of the pitchfork handle on her nose. It also made a soft combo smooshing-crunching noise that actually had me initially concerned I’d broken her nose.
I dropped everything and went over to tend to her. She was crying pretty hard and she exclaimed that her nose was bleeding. She’d cupped her hands beneath her nose. I got a quick glimpse of her face and there was no swelling, so I was relieved that I hadn’t actually broken anything. So I pinched her nose and walked with her back up to the house. By the time we reached the house, the crying had downgraded to soft whimpers, and by the time on got her on the counter she had settled down completely.
She looked in worse shape than she actually was- blood was caking on her lower jaw and had soaked into the sleeves of her shirt. The Wife came down to see what had happened and we started cleaning her up while making sure we get her nose pinched to stop the bleeding.
While we were cleaning her up, she asked only 1 question: did she get any blood on her shirt? It was a “Hello Kitty” shirt and was her favorite. The Wife took care of soaking the shirt sleeves to get the stains out.
Good to know she was worried about the important stuff.
One thing this past weekend’s experience with the boy has me wondering is when did I learn how to play baseball?
I’m wondering this because it’s clear that the boy has no idea how the game is played. He doesn’t understand being out, or how to play in the field, or how to run the bases. None of it. And the thing of it is I can’t find fault with his ignorance. When I sit and think about it I can’t really think of any reason why he should know any of it. Last year was the first time he’d played any organized baseball, and the version we played was so far from actual baseball rules that it can only be considered a primer in the sense that we got to bat and play in the field.
The thing is, I’ve never played organized baseball either. I didn’t play in Little League or high school or any rec leagues. Never. I played ‘catch’ with the Father (as he is now so dubbed for blog purposes- I briefly considered “the Patriarch” but; however amusing to myself, it didn’t seem like a good fit) a plenty growing up. He also used to pitch to me in our backyard. I even remember having a black, Pete Rose baseball bat that I beat to death. I remember practicing batting by hitting rocks across the road with it. That did a number on the bat.
But I don’t ever remember having baseball explained to me, and yet I also can’t remember ever not knowing how to play baseball. For that matter, I don’t really remember having any games that we played explained to us. I can only assume that I just learned by watching other kids play, or by jumping in and figuring it out on the fly.
So how to relate to the boy? Initially, I’ve been assuming that he’ll figure the game out by participating and observing. The catching, hitting and throwing(the physical aspects of the game), he’s picking up on just fine. But he isn’t picking up on the rules of the game at all. He’s not alone either as a number of his teammates’ fathers have also related similar experiences with their boys. Yet all of them also understand how to play baseball. But this isn’t the case for all the boys- some of them definitely understand how the game is played.
Perhaps it’s a result of him not watching a lot of TV generally, and sports in particular. But I can’t really remember sitting in front of the TV watching sports other than football; though, perhaps my memory is failing me here. By the same token, the couple of times we’ve tried to sit and watch a game, he hasn’t really shown much interest in watching. Not that I can blame him- regular season baseball is tough to watch. Plus, most times the games are on at bad times- like after his bed time, or during the afternoon on a beautiful day.
Given his game schedule (two games a week), I’m confident that the situation will be largely rectified by the end of the season. But I can’t help but feel like I failed him in some small way here. Sure, baseball is hardly the most crucial part of growing up. But at the same time, it was clearly a part of my growing up and understanding it is crucial to being able to appreciate why football is a vastly superior sport.
A final interesting thought- will he find himself in a similar situation some day? For that matter, perhaps I don’t remember my own childhood correctly and the Father was wondering similar things while I was growing up. If that’s the case, then it isn’t a kid thing. It’s a parent thing.
We survived opening day. I could snarkily claim that it’s taken me until now to recover; but, that wouldn’t be accurate. I’ve been trying to reestablish our grass. Which is threatening to become a yearly chore.
But I digress. Opening day is a somewhat drawn out affair. There are 6 levels of play: T-ball, coach pitch baseball, coach pitch softball, the minors for baseball, minors for softball, and finally majors for baseball. There aren’t enough girls to field a majors team for softball. At least not this year.
For T-ball and coach pitch there are 3 teams a-piece, something less than that for the majors and the minors. On Opening Day, all of the players on all the teams get introduced and run out onto the field. Where they have to stand around and wait for the league organizers to thank all the sponsors, helpers, volunteers, politicians and who ever else might have tangentially contributed to something related to the Little League. Don’t get me started on the guy who decided to “sing” the National Anthem. Really- don’t get me started.
Wanna guess how well the younger kids are able to wait through all of that?