It all started on a positive note. She loved her outfit:
She was a bit afraid she might get cold, so she brought a sweater.
I love that kid.
(I had not brushed her hair yet. Not that it looks much better when I do. Poor thing.)
The beginning of practice went well. (She ditched the sweater when she realized it was hotter than Hades by 9:00 a.m. in Texas.) They started by running to warm up their muscles. Reese was happy.
After the running, we had to kick the ball back and forth a little. We were still good, at this point.
The only negative moment during all of this was Firstborn Child's breakdown over being "bored, tired, hot," which, as you probably know, is code for "I'm not the center of attention and I can't handle it!" Here she is, after I reminded her how many events Reese had been to for Avery and that it was now Avery's turn to support Reese:
Is there anything more pitiful than when the Firstborn Child realizes they are not, in fact, the only important, valuable member of the family and that their events and activities are not the sole reason for this family's existence? (I've been there and it hurts. Hurts bad.
I told her to move on until she could be supportive, because this was Reese's day. As if on cue, Reese announces that she doesn't like soccer and she's not going to do it anymore. Great. This is the first stinkin' day and we paid for a whole month.
We tried being nice, we tried being firm, and then we turned to each other, wondering if we should force her to finish out this month or let her quit. This all happened in a matter of 5 minutes. Almost as quickly as Reese decided that soccer was the most vile activity every created, Avery decided to grace us with her presence again and offered to take my place as Reese's helper. She had offered 10 times before and Reese said no, but this time, Reese wanted her help.
Avery was proud to be be the big sister. She gave up the pouting to be Reese's personal, I've-done-this-a-thousand-times, all star coach/partner.
I could just die over this picture. Don't be surprised if I get a 20"x24" of it framed above the fireplace.
They did really well together, for the most part. Avery had to be reminded a few times not to hog the ball or be too bossy, but that's to be expected from a Firstborn. (I should know.)
Are you wondering where Rhett was during all of this?
He was running in the adjacent field, kicking and playing soccer by himself. The Third Child may have it worse than anybody. Nobody even knew where he was half the time. He's a survivor.
He did this for almost the entire 45- minute class. This is what he looked like after:
Poor guy. He got Dad's red cheeks and Mom's Atterberry-Sweat-Head gene.
(Sidenote: The sweaty head thing is MUCH cuter on him. I've been at clubs before, dancing so much that I looked as if I had just showered. I'm shocked it took me so long to find a husband.)
I'll end with my favorite picture of the day.
Is there anything better, as a parent, than when you see your kids getting along and having fun together?
(OSU beating Georgia was an extremely exciting moment on Saturday too, but since OU lost and my husband has sobbed uncontrollably since then, I'm trying not to make too big of a deal out of it.)