Finding a Niche

Zach's soccer game was a thrill to watch on Saturday. For one thing, he played in it. For another thing, he had a very clearly defined sense of mission. In the first half, he seemed to view himself as some sort of self-appointed paramedic. He would hang around on the outside of the mob of kids, and then whenever someone fell down, he would rush over and help the kid get up off the ground.

In the second half, there was one brief moment when he seemed to have some real clarity about the point of the soccer game. He was hanging back, and then the ball was open, and Dave said to him, "There's the ball, Zach! Go get it!" and Zach really went after the ball, and charged down the field with it toward the goal. Then other kids got in the mix and he never quite made it into the goal (he was a little sad) but we were all elated to see him with such a sense of purpose.

He hung back again for a while, and then the ball came close another time with only one kid from the other team on it. Dave said to him, "The ball's right there, Zach! Go get him!" Here the key difference is the word "him" because Zach went ahead and charged the kid and body-slammed him into the ground. Er, right idea, sort of. But a little too literal. Give it a few more weeks, and some more specific directions, and we may be on to something.

Luke and Zach have a new activity that involves heavy pillow fighting and tossing socks at each other. It drives Dave nuts, and I try to respect his preferences, but deep down inside I'm just so happy to see them doing something together voluntarily and enthusiastically. That's what brothers do, right? Yeah, somebody invariably gets hurt, but it's different when it's a choice. I don't have a picture of that but I do have a picture of them (literally) climbing the walls together. They have to keep themselves entertained, you know?

Tonight I had a Mad Men/1960s-themed blogger party, and I knew I had to get my hair just right, so I went to my hairdresser and got all curled and teased and poofed.  I had to get my hair done early in the morning (hairdresser's timing on her day off) so I went through the whole day with this enormous helmet on my head.

How did people live like this? (Luke saw me and wanted to know, "How long is your hair going to stay like that?") And more importantly, how did people use this much hairspray AND smoke cigarettes? All I know is that I was feeling simultaneously glamorous and flammable all day long. Please keep me away from candles and fireworks until I can get all of this stuff out of my hair.