Saturday’s soccer game, despite its exceptionally promising start, turned out to be something of a bust. Mind you, it was a thousand times better than the soccer games we attended in Fall 2007. But it wasn’t entirely smooth sailing.
I guess the soccer player himself summed it up best.
‘What was your favorite part of playing soccer today,’ I asked when the game was over. Hoping to instill in him a habit of finding the positive in all circumstances.
‘Snack.’ He replied. Personally I’d been a little annoyed by ‘snack’ – as I watched my firstborn slurp applesauce from the little plastic container using his mouth as a utensil. I think he’d actually packed a spoon, he just didn’t want to use it. He was basically ‘como se dice-ing me‘.
‘What was your least favorite part of playing soccer today,’ I asked. After a while. Once I was sure the ‘positivity’ had sunk in.
‘Kicking and running’, he answered without hesitation – aka the ‘soccer’ portion of the soccer game.
Whatever tension I was feeling about the less-than-successful-soccer-debut, was exacerbated by our beloved car-van. Specifically the inside of the driver’s door trying to escape from the frame each time I opened the door. Which is something of a necessity in order to (a) drive the car-van or (b) get out of the car-van.
‘Dad, you really need to fix the car,’ the Gort beseeched his father. ‘Every time mom opens the door she says ugh, seriously.’ Which was true. But, to my credit, that’s a fairly ‘child-friendly’ thing to say when your door is basically splitting in two and virtually impossible to open. The situation had gotten so dire, I’d taken to crawling out of the van through the sliding door at school drop-off and pick-up.
The collective mood chez Johnson decreased another notch when it started snowing late Saturday afternoon. ‘Something strange is going on,’ my oldest mused in the back of the van en route to a birthday party. ‘This morning at the soccer game, it was nice outside…..and now it’s snowing.’
Welcome to Calgary.
‘I’m NOT shoveling,’ the professor grumbled as we watched the fat, wet flakes fall on the ground. And who could blame him – it is inhumane and cruel to expect anyone to shovel on the 24th of April. Luckily the snow had melted completely by Sunday afternoon. And a semblance of Spring had returned.
But instead of taking advantage of the blue skies and fifty degree weather, we huddled together inside. Listening to the charming sounds of one tired toddler and one stubborn Kindergartener fighting. All day long.
Finally at around 6, I’d had enough and prepared for my emergency exit. But the Hen saw car keys and shoes on my feet and announced his intent to join me: ‘I wan go on (ad)benture.’ Our six-going-on-thirteen year old declined to participate. ‘No, I’ll just stay here with Daddy.’
So two of us left in search of adventure. And three stayed behind in search of absolutely nothing. The Hen and I returned an hour and a half later. ‘What’s for dinner,’ I asked those who’d stayed behind.
‘Uh, toast?’ The professor asked-replied.