Flora is officially a “student of soccer”. “Just like I’m a student at school,” she told me. I’m pretty sure that this term was introduced by one of the many coaches at the U6 (under 6) soccer clinic we attended on Saturday. Although it is possible she came up with it herself. She is smart.
I don’t really know what else she learned on Saturday. She looked like she was doing very well out there, although she has to learn not to touch the ball with her hands.
I spent the hour+ chasing Kate on the sidelines. Er, “playing soccer” with Kate on the sidelines. And, man-o-schevitz, am I out of shape.
Dan, when he saw I had purchased two soccer balls from Dick’s Sporting Goods (one is purple), asked, “Why two?” Because I can’t walk into a store and just buy for one. The crying/whinging would not be worth it.
Kate “helped” me wash dishes the other day. (Score: Mama, 15; Kate, 1 Glass.) I put on Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance” to help make it fun.
Kate knows the whole intro. You know, “Whoa-hoa-hoa, caught in a bad romance; whoa-whoa-hoa, caught in a bad romance. Rah-rah, ah-ah-ah, roh-ma roh-mama, ga-ga ooh-la-la, want your bad romance.” Sings it shaking her little hiney, bopping her head.
She is so totally my daughter. (Although she thinks the song is about bad robots.)
I am still trying to figure out what “grudgingly” pooping looks like. I’m sure I’ll get an up-close and personal demostration real soon.