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Sitting with a client and my cell phone rings. I pick it up and I hear Eric’s voice.
“Mom, you need to come home because Angelin is going to kill me. She is really going to kill me this time.”
“Eric, I’m busy. She’s not going to kill you.”
“Oh yeah she is.”
“What did you do?”
Silence.
“Eric? What did you do?”
“Why is that important when my living is in question?”
This is our third summer with at least two of our kids playing soccer at the Boys and Girls Club. Jacob, whom you may remember, used the incentive of getting a goal as a reason to walk off the field to rub on his young female coach’s legs. He is now playing T-ball and his father is one of the coaches. I’m happy to say that Jacob plays when he is supposed to and never leaves the field to rub on his father’s legs.
This year it is Eric and Eden playing soccer. On different teams, on different nights and have very different playing techniques. Eric is all about passion, while Eden is more of what is the ball going to do for her? Is it going to compliment her beautiful hair? Her nice uniform? If not, she is naturally torn in thinking does she kick the ball or just pick up the ball and keep it away from anyone else kicking it? It is something she really struggles with, as you can imagine.
Tonight, Eden Marie did very well before the game. Kicked the ball. Did what her coach said. Was all excited about the sport and was cheering herself on whenever she kicked the ball to her coach. When it came down to game time, I was giddy with excitement. My little girl was going to kick some soccer butt. She’d show that other team what’s what.
What my little girl did do… was what some would call a reenactment of her mother after a few too many tequila shots, minus the removal of clothing. Eden would run a few paces, then swirl around to make herself dizzy and then dramatically fall to the ground, exclaiming, “My ankle! My ankle!” The coaches would then run to her to make sure she was okay to which she would engage them in conversation. “I love ice cream. Do you like ice cream? You wanna see my elbow? I’m wearing Barbie underwear. Wanna see? My dad has a ponytail. Only girls should have ponytails, but my dad is not a girl. He’s a boy. He doesn’t wear Barbie underwear.”
Other times she would just walk off the field to give me a hug, to make sure I still loved her, to tell me her hair was blonde. I would try to reason with her and say she should run back out there. “Your team needs you!” She’d look at me with this look of pity as if to say, “Silly woman. Everyone needs me. It is the burden that I bear.” She would then stomp off, cross her arms and stand there. In the middle of the field. Arms crossed. Slightly annoyed.
She obviously gets her attitude from her father.
The final highlight of the game? The ball comes right to Eden. Right there at her feet. Her teammates are hurdled together with the other team, tripping over each other, no where near the ball. My daughter, ignoring the shouts of the other parents to kick the ball, to shoot it in the goal! Eden just sighs heavily and shouts, “Hey guys! Your ball is over here! Come and get it. I don’t like it touching my feet.”
And then dramatically falls to the ground. “My ankle! My ankle!”
The drive to Ninilchik, Alaska from Anchorage is truly the most magnificent view of scenery anyone could possibly imagine. It is a wonderful display of artwork at every angle. Mountains, so glorious with a touch of melting snow and covered with deep green. Water glistened in the sun, and men with their fishing gear laughed, with or without catching fish.
We arrived in Ninilchik, Friday about 7pm. My husband goes on this clamming/fishing trip every year with a group of Asians from his company’s bodyshop. For Father’s Day, he wanted all of us to go. There were only two women besides myself in the group and they didn’t speak English. When we arrived they were all sitting around the camp, drinking and eating. When they saw my husband it was like this loud applause from everywhere. “IAN! IAN!” The kids jumped out of the truck as if they knew exactly where they were and I just sorta stood there. Not sure what to do.
We pitched the tent…well, Ian and his Asian posse did and they took him into their group and bestowed drinks and food upon him. I watched, and seeing how I wasn’t going to be introduced, I wandered off to a bench to read my books. Oddly enough, one was The Art of Positive Thinking.
The trip started pretty rough, with me being somewhat of a crab. And I say that in a nice way. I downloaded Joyce Meyer sermons on my ipod and a couple of inspiring songs that would tone down the crabiness…when for whatever reason my ipod froze. It wouldn’t work. Well, of course I complained. Because EXCUSE ME??? Why can’t things ever go my way? I mean, really. I was a little annoyed. Being that I was going to be holding my poop in for two days and sleeping on the ground wasn’t exactly my idea of a good time… I needed encouragement. I needed wisdom. My wisdom downloaded from the Internet was gone. I was of course, very upset.
But I got over it.
So there I was at the campground, feeling a little out of place, watching my kids run around with their new friends, kids from the group… and there was my husband. The white man, looking adornedwith his drumstick.
It wasn’t like I didn’t try to fit in. I sat down with the group, I tried making idle chit chat, but it was like I was talking to air. So after a while, I had enough and told my husband I was going to the tent to get some sleep.
That was midnight.
At 5am, I was still awake. The party was going strong and they got louder and louder. My husband came in a half hour earlier and fell into a coma. The kids were sleeping soundly, but the guys were rapping and laughing. I’m all for having a great time and getting my party on, but they were just getting louder and I was getting more and more irritated from lack of sleep. I wasn’t the only one bothered because a state trooper stopped in for a visit and told them to knock it off.
My husband slept through all of it and that irritated me. So I woke him up. First, gently with a nice little pat. When that didn’t get a rise out of him, I patted a little harder. When that still didn’t work, I pinched him hard on the butt and then knocked on his head with my knuckles.
That worked.
Words were exchanged and it was decided that he was a selfish jerk who cares only about himself. With those words of truth spoken, all was forgiven and we cuddled in each other’s arms for a few hours of sleep.
We left around noon and headed into Homer, looking around. I had never been there, but was surprised to see what a quaint little town it is. We drove back to Ninilchik and drove down to the beach to camp. Ian went out clamming but because of the heat and the crowds of people, he came back empty handed.
The beaches in Alaska are not like what one has in the lower 48. There are no sandy white beaches, but black sand and tons of rocks. We found camp on a grassy cliff and got things ready for the night.
There isn’t anything like going to sleep with the roar of the ocean as your music. Ian cooked us hotdogs and chicken for dinner. It was something seeing the kids so happy, skipping about the ocean’s shore, daring each other to jump in.
Jacob left his shoes on the beach and this morning when we woke, they were gone. A squirrel we had heard chattering about in the night, got in our trash and ran off with chicken bones.
We packed up and as we were leaving, Jacob looked out at the ocean. “I wish the ocean would bring back my shoes.”
Eric put his hand around his brother and said rather matter of fact, “Oh Jacob. Your shoes went to a much better place than your stinky feet. They are now in shoe heaven.”
And to end our first Chase Camping Trip of the summer, in what could only be described as typical in my life, when we got back I checked my ipod.
It worked.
What. What is this? This couldn’t be a ChaseNKids’ blog entry. After a long departure with absolutely no explanation, here I am. Writing. Again.
And you thought peace was on the horizon. Silly optimists.
I could tell you a million and one reasons why I stopped blogging. Excuses like Rosie’s exit from The View got me so torn up inside that the thought of writing anything other than Elisabeth is a whiny brat wasn’t an option. I could blame it on the Bush administration. (Actually that is somewhat true.) I could say that the season finale of LOST had me in a whirlwind and writing an entry wasn’t going to say anything other than, “We got to get off this island!” Sadly, my reasons aren’t at all exciting. I just got busy, which I know is unheard of. I only have four kids, one husband and one job. It isn’t like I have five kids, two jobs and two husbands. Where are my priorities?
I didn’t stop writing all together. I’ve been working on my book, CHASENKIDS which I’m feeling really good about. It’s been fun going back in time to when I started motherhood and reliving those days. It’s also been a kick living in the present. This time right now? It is all I thought parenthood could be and more. Soccer games, T-ball games, dance lessons… that’s our life. And I love it.
Not as much as I love Eric’s mohawk spiked with red hairgel. And his younger brother Jacob with his skateboard shag laughing hysterically at Eric whenever he comes in to his view. That is brotherly love right there. And Eden Marie on stage at her dance recital with her Shirley Temple curls pulling up her tutu and checking to make sure she was still a girl, because you know its easy to forget. I even love Angelin’s newfound pre-teen attitude, equipped with martyr attributes and the constant reminder that without her, well, nothing would ever get done because she has to do everything!
On that note… I’m back.
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