Kicks

This morning, Carter woke up clutching his stomach and complaining of owies. The real deal or a psychosomatic hangover from yesterday's drama? I wasn't taking any chances... and secretly, was relieved to have an excuse for a mommy-mupper PJ day. We built couch-cushion forts, danced around the house when we felt so moved, broke out some fresh jars of play-dough, even (gasp!) turned on the boob tube for a little bit.

Why do I hate children's television so? I can't rationally explain it without sounding like the lone village idiot walking around with a tin foil beanie and muttering things like "vast wasteland" and "subversive purple dinosaur." As my mother is fond of reminding me, I regularly watched Sesame Street as a kid and managed to survive without too warped a view of life. Of course, I also grew up in a time when seat belts and car seats were merely suggestions.

But the gigglefest that ensued when I turned on a Baby Einsten video that hadn't seen the light of day since I was a mother of one: well, it was well worth the half-hour flirtation with ADHD. My three chickadees piled onto Clifford, the big red couch, and collapsed with laughter as puppet animals danced across the screen. Katie provided a running narration of the action in her standard I'm-so-excited decibel level that only dogs can register. Periodically, they all burst into simultaneous cheers and applause.

For your viewing pleasure, we've selected a sampler of soccer pictures from last week's practice and Saturday's big game. Feel free to cheer, screech or giggle as you see fit.