Well, Frick.
(I'm going to bitch about my life for a bit here, in the hopes that it will calm me down slightly. Feel no need to read. Do, however, skip to the end to enjoy some spectacular examples of how children are wonderful beyond belief.)
Here, in a few brief words, not that there are every enough words to really get to the absolute no kidding bottom of such vague and nebulous things as what "the problem" is, is the problem:
I have this tendency to work extremely hard on certain things, and then when they are done, to reward myself with a little break from extremely hard working. This is a very reasonable approach in most circumstances. However, other circumstances demand continued perseverance, no matter how great the accomplishment in the rear-view mirror.
So.
What happened was this: Four doctors asked me lots of questions, at the end of which they called me doctor. This had been extremely stressful, the culmination of many years of hard work, especially in the last five months, blah blah blah, and so I took a little break which has stretched a bit into a combination of a medium-sized break and a full-on shut down of nearly everything that resembles any forward motion of any kind. Some items that might disagree with this approach:
April 20: Presentation of conference paper in West Virginia, requiring editing down of sixty-four-page dissertation chapter to ten pages. This was harder than you think.
April 23: Turn in program notes for The Lion In Winter, (Summer Studio Theatre 2007, Krannert Center for the Performing Arts), requiring substantial research on Henry II, King of England, and his various sons, wives, &c., &c.
April 30: Test out of graduate level French. No, really.
May 4: Turn in revised, approved, format-corrected, typo-free version of dissertation, complete with nineteen required title pages and changed to incorporate suggestions recommended by committee.
Before May 13: Return roughly ninety library books, hoping to Bob that none have been lost, stolen, or eaten by the various couches, car seats, trunks, shelves, boxes, and bags in and on which they've been living for quite some time.
May 13: Attach cap and gown to self, graduate. Oh, and Mother's Day.
May 15: Submit twenty-five-page version of West Virginia Conference Paper for possible publication.
May 18-20: Bachelor party, woods of Southern Indiana. Calamity, to be sure.
May 20: Submit four-page book review of 250-page history of Vaudeville book that I haven't started reading yet.
Also, during all of this: Send out various applications to various jobs with various locales and various deadlines and various degrees of desirability. Work helpdesk job so as to complete required assistantship hours. Look for some sort of part-timey job somewhere for this summer, hopefully one that is flexible, pays reasonably well, and is less than 70% demeaning.
I have thus decided today that my aggressive program of webstinence is going to have to be back in effect, or else my hair really is going to burst into flames, and nobody wants to hire a theatre professor with a smoldering cranium. So: farewell once again, fair interweb, I shall see you on May 21, with the exception of all aforementioned caveats, &c., &c.
So that's happening.
BUT!
So is this:
I am coaching, as I did last fall, my nephew's Under-5 soccer team, which is just about the most gigantic and wonderful fountain of delight that a human being could possibly imagine. It is also terrifying, since the parents are spectators for every minute of every practice and every game, but they are fun and great parents, so that is good.
(Background: we play three vs. three, no goalies, no keeping score, emphasis on fun fun fun)
(Also: Because I am paranoid about web-stalking parents and child-stalking creeps and me-stalking lawyers, I will be referring to all midgets with made-up names.)
This spring, my sister Hillary and I have got five hilarious midgets, three boys and two girls. Our team jerseys, coincidentally, are banana yellow. We asked the kids to come up with an idea for our team mascot, because calling out "Go Yellow!" is no fun.
Coach Tyler: Okay, guys, our jerseys are yellow, so what do you want our team to be?
Miss Muffett: Do we get to keep these forever?
Coach Tyler: Yes you do. So what do you guys think of when you think of yellow?
Miss Muffett: Forever?
Coach Tyler: For ever and ever, Miss Muffett. So what should our team be?
Smiley Beanstalk: The Lions!
Miss Muffett: The Steelers!
Coach Tyler: Miss Muffett, I don't think we can be the Steelers, this is Colts country.
Miss Muffett: (Not remotely phased) The Ladybugs!
Coach Hillary: How about something yellow?
Carrotnoggin: The Mustards!
El Nephew: The Yellow Masters!
Supergirl: The Yellow Rock-and-Rolls!
(Total chaos ensues)
We really very nearly were the Yellow Rock-and-Rolls, but my conventional nature took over. In the end we settled on the Lions because Lions are yellow(ish), and fun, and not a condiment, and also because being Lions necessitates copious amounts of growling in all pre- and post-game activities.
It is important to note that when "teaching" soccer to four-year-olds, there must always be games. Drills are bad. "Dribble between the cones and kick it in the goal" is bad. "Snakes in the Trees" is good. "Catch the person with the ball and take it away" is bad. "Cops and Robbers" is good. "Sharks and Minnows" is good, but "Sharks and Nemos" is better.
Also, because children are just unspeakably fantastic and see the world with eyes and brains that the rest of us have forgotten about, you literally have no idea what's going to happen next at any given moment. After a good game of Sharks and Nemos, the following exchange happened:
Coach Tyler: Okay, good job Lions! Let's all growl!
Lions: Grrrrrrr!
Coach Hillary: And high-fives all around! (Haphazard smacking of hands, sometimes of faces, accidentally)
Miss Muffett: Can I give my mom a high five?
Coach Tyler: Uhhhh...sure! (Miss Muffett tears off to her mom on the other side of the field)
Supergirl: Can I give my mom a high five?
Coach Tyler: Of course! (Rest of team repeats the question.) Yes! Absolutely! Everybody go give your mom and dad a high five! (To coach Hillary) So, that's a new one.
Also:
(Supergirl and Carrotnoggin arrive early to practice and are kicking their soccer balls around on the field. Supergirl kicks her ball right up to Carrotnoggin's)
Supergirl: My ball and Carrotnoggin's ball are going to be boyfriend and girlfriend! (She makes her ball kiss his, complete with smooching noise)
Carrotnoggin: I don't think so! (Runs away, kicking his ball with him)
Supergirl: Oh yes they are! (Pursues. Long chase follows. Coaches Tyler and Hillary are laughing too hard to intervene.)
Also also:
(Coach Tyler and Hillary have gathered the team into a circle in preparation to play keep-away. It is not called keep-away, of course, it's called Monkey in the Middle.)
Coach Tyler: Okay, does everyone know how to play Monkey in the Middle?
Miss Muffett: My brother spit up today!
Coach Tyler: (Laughing, but trying to continue) It's like keep-away, so -
Miss Muffett: He threw up on my tiger!
Coach Tyler: (Shaking with laughter, unable to speak, gesturing to Coach Hillary to take over)
Also also also:
Coach Tyler: Okay, everybody get your ball and line up, we're going to play Cops and Robbers!
Lions: (General rejoicing, begging to be a cop or robber, etc.)
Miss Muffett: I climbed up in my basement window today! There were two beetle shells and they were squashed and there were other bugs up there too. Oh! (Sees a bug, wanders off chasing it.)
So the moral of the story is this: Coach midget soccer, for crying out loud. Joy joy joy.
posted by Tyler @ 4:09 PM
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