Entries from April 2008 ↓

10. I have to go pee pee (Even tho he went about 10 minutes before that. Please note this is THE ONLY time my camel like child willingly asks to pee.)

9. There is a sound on my dresser. It sounds like this “bbrrrrrrrrrr…..”

8. What are you watching on TV?

7. I want to say sorry for when I didn’t listen to you today that one time (cue fake tears, doe eyes and head hanging with shame).

6. My brain is in 5th gear and it won’t go into neutral.

5. My tummy says that sleeping makes it not feel so good.

4. I need to find something for “show and tell” tomorrow.

3. I am weally weally WEEEEAALLLY firsty.

2. I need to know what time “Wheel of Fortune” is on tomorrow. (And as we walk to bed, “Do you think they will win the bonus round tomorrow night?”)

1. I need some snuggles really bad because I love you. And I need to go pee pee too.

My name is Caroline and I am a coach’s wife.  That’s right, my husband is a head coach of a division II college lacrosse team. If you are familiar with coaching life, thank you for your sympathy and appreciation. If you are not as familiar but you love sports, you probably think my husband’s job is the coolest, smartest career move ever and why didn’t you think of that before getting stuck trading commodities. You commodity traders are right. It IS a reeeally cool job. He* is outdoors and away from the four walls of his office 75% of his day, he truly lives his sport in every sense of the word, he gets exercise just doing his job, he makes a significant difference in the lives of 40 college aged men and he is proud to admit that he does not own a suit.

But if you are considering changing professions to become a coach, you might need to know a couple things about life in the coaching fast lane. So, after 12 years of being on my husband’s sidelines, I am happy to share with you what I have learned about this very unique career choice.

·        YES, coaching is absolutely a full time job. In fact, it is a job for about 3 or 4 men in my husband’s case.

·        There is never a “down” time for coaches, whether the sport is “in season” or not.

·        So, when he is not technically “in season”, what IS a coach doing?

o       Recruiting: traveling to watch, meeting with or calling prospective players

o       Planning practices, viewing films of other teams playing and writing up scouting reports for his team

o       Coaching fall ball (or “off season”) practices

o       Doing one-on-one individual work with players which can often take an entire day.

o       Spring break planning; that means shipping and handling 40 men plus coaches and trainers

o       Managing scholarships and following up with a prospects college application

o       Coaching and recruiting at lacrosse camps nationwide for weeks at a time

o       Trouble shooting high maintenance parent issues

o       Trouble shooting “diva, I need more playing time” players, “did something drunk and stupid” players and “soul searching, maybe I want to transfer” players.

o       Acting as guardian, advocate and disciplinarian to all 40 men

·        Coaches have a uniform. It may not be a suit, but every shirt my husband wears has the schools colors and logo on it. (Never put those “breathable” coach shirts in the dryer however, it may just be grounds for divorce.)

·        Coaches regularly work late nights (evening practices or games) and weekends (games or tournaments); days that he works 9 – 5 are few and far between.

·        Coaches are always traveling: to games, recruiting tournaments, scouting other opposing teams, coaching at camps, you name it.

·        Coach’s cars are perpetually foul. They are traveling locker rooms filled with stanky equipment, stacked orange cones, grass clippings and clumps of dirt, balls, clip boards, whistles, bunches of camp or college brochures, super stanky shoes and endless food wrappers and coffee cups.

·        Coaches need a variety of athletic running shoes: mud shoes, nice recruiting shoes, practice shoes and shoes that match each coaching outfit.

·        Coaches are highly affected by the elements being outdoors daily; they must invest in quality sunglasses, value sized bottles of sunscreen, and multiple hats. Coaches up North need every sort of cold weather gear possible.

·        Coaches are kind of “into” coaching fashion and get very excited ordering new duds every year; my husband has a hankering for sweater vests and has deemed those “couture” coaching gear. Sure thing, hon.

·        No matter how hard a coach works and fights for his team, the bottom line is his job performance is based on the team’s number of wins and losses.

·        Coaches are “stand in” parents for each player: They go to the emergency room when a player’s arm is broken. They advocate on the player’s behalf during disputes with campus housing. They get the call at 1am from campus safety when something “bad” (usually involving alcohol) goes down. The coach is held responsible for their players in every way.

·        Coaches often plan their families around their game schedule. My children were born (luckily) in late May and June for a reason.

·        Coaches perpetually miss their families

·        Coaches gossip. A lot. They are always in the “know” about open positions and then call other coaches and chatter endlessly about if this guy goes to that job, that position opens up then “so and so” might try for it but would never stand a chance… And then they all get online and see what the chat rooms are saying.

·        Coaches obsess. All the time.

·        Coaches are manic, but there is at least a predictable pattern:

WIN = “happy, rah-rah, even shaking hands with the refs, I love my job” coach

LOSS = “dark, brooding, seething, kicking the orange cones and throwing water coolers” coach.

·        Coaches are psychologists: When do you yell at your team? When do you cajole? When do you pump them up? When do you scare them? When do you feed their egos? When do you let them cry? When do you kick them out of your office?

·        Coaches are excellent public speakers; they have to inspire their teams before every practice, every game, at half time and after the game is over.

·        Coaches lose their voices. A lot.

·        Coaches don’t always sleep very well.

·        Coaches can act. You will be amazed by a game of charades like you’ve never seen before when you watch a coach on the sidelines of a game. So that he isn’t penalized, a coach can tell a ref to put that last call in place where sun does not shine without saying one single word.

·        Coaches are never happy with one win for longer than a day. One win is not good enough. A perfect season is good enough. Bottom line. Until then, work harder.

·        Coaches don’t pursue this career to make money.

·        Coaches are teachers, mentors and make tremendous differences in the men they work with everyday.

And finally, a little bit about my life as a coaches wife. As I write this, I am listening to a podcast of my husband’s team playing in North Carolina. They are up 3-2 and I want this win so badly, I can barely stand it. Of course I want a win for all the reasons anyone wants a win. But truly, I want a win simply so that he is happy. I want him to have that moment when he realizes his players really “got it” and he can feel like all of what I have listed above is really worth it. And during that immediate high after a win, I want him to grasp what a strong and successful leader he really is.

So now the commentators are reporting its half time. During the first half, his team came out excited and ready to play. But the second half they have fallen flat. One commentator just reported that he’s watching Coach run off the field to go speak with his team and he can only wonder what he has to say to get that team back in the game. My heart goes out to my husband at this very moment. So many people ask us both what coaches really do. And hopefully, this about sums it up. Are you thinking up how you’ll write that resignation letter yet? While you are still deciding, truthfully, I hope this stands as more of as testament to exactly what kind of strong, committed human being it takes to coach for a living – as he offers his players his time, his life, and his heart every day on that field. Go Lions.

It was a beautiful day today, so I went for a walk with my sons. And I brought my camera. These are some examples of what is happening in my neighborhood, to beautiful perfectly good homes. Many of these homes are also standing absolutely empty.

Friends who work for home builders and realtor companies are on the cusp of losing their jobs, large sections of land being built on stands vacant, gas prices are soaring, food prices are soaring, health insurance costs are soaring. Are we in a recession? Nahhhhhhh….

Bush’s view of the economy was decidedly rosier than that of many economists, who say the country is nearing recession territory or may already be there. “I’m concerned about the economy,” he said. “I don’t think we’re headed to recession.”

Before you have got me all summed up and figured out, it seems about time I share with you the fact that I am having an identity crisis. Its one I’ve been having for awhile – 20 years in fact. Now be warned. This will not be the first time you’ll hear about an identity crisis of mine. Like many women my age, we are always checking and rechecking our titles (mom, wife, employee, what have you) trying to determine which door the real “me” is behind. But I have this very extraordinary point of reference, and it seems only fair to go back in time and revisit it. My most transformative identity crisis surfaced during that lovely time of all our developing lives: high school.

Now most of you are probably cuing up “The Breakfast Club” soundtrack as you think back to those days. That could work, but I might also play the “South African National Anthem”. Between the ages 14 and 19, I lived in Swaziland. You’re probably nodding like you’ve heard of it. In case you’re honest and admit you haven’t, it is a very small kingdom located between South Africa and Mozambique. My father worked for the State Department and plonked my family there in 1987.

I really don’t want to have to go on about how “no, we did not ride elephants to school” so please don’t expect that sort of explanation right now. It was not like that at all. Mbabane was a very peaceful town with everything any rural American town would have: a pizza place, a grocery store, a small mall, a movie theater, a bank and even a KFC. My brother and I attended Waterford Kamhlaba (WK), an international school with a British based curriculum. It was an excellent school, its academics were rigorous and the student body was as diverse as one could possibly imagine. And it was there my identity was sent into a tailspin, yet to be corrected.

I arrived at WK 14 years old and a bit chippy, thinking I knew how the world turned. I did not. And I came to find out fast that being American was not going to act as an advantage either. In fact, the other students had some serious issues with us “Damn Yankees”. Now don’t get me wrong, I had wonderful friends and some amazing experiences. But there was no doubt that the wrongs of the world were often the American’s fault, and even the teachers agreed. So, I tended to back down from my American identity. I tried hard not to have too much “twang” in my accent and did all that I could to do, as most kids in high school do, to try and not be too noticeable. But being blond, advantaged, female and American meant I got a slew of dumb blond, dumb female and dumb American jokes hurled (usual with harmless intent) my way. And the final nail in the coffin was that I talked a lot (shocking, I know).  With an incessant bull’s-eye taped to my back, I could not avoid the fact that I was American to save my life. But what a great lesson to learn about being a minority, huh? Touché, privileged white woman, suck it up.

But there was an interesting flip side to all of this. After a couple years in Swaziland, I was hardly very American either. During my visits home, my clothes were weird, my music taste was weird and I had an accent. (I did?) What… was I trying to act like I was better than my American friends now? And DO you ride an elephant to school? Talk about a blond out of water, I wanted to get back “home” to WK as fast as I could.

After I left Swaziland to go to college, I needed to find a new home where being a talkative American was hardly something unique. But I also knew I would crave that diverse, intelligent community I came from. I found what I was looking for in every way at Mount Holyoke College. But those years in Swaziland, at a school with such an extraordinary political and cultural affect on its student body, have left me with a responsibility to remain true to the person I became there. I think back and wish I had grown up, further explored other cultural identities (rather than hide my own) and appreciated everything more than I did. And, today, I am extremely frustrated that I rarely live or discuss those lessons I learned long ago in my current life on a daily basis. Let me explain further.

After arriving in the U.S., I eventually assimilated right back in very well. So well, in fact, my “African-ness” was completely invisible. I mean, who are we kidding – no one would spot me walking down the street in Washington D.C. and think to say “Sawubona” (“How are you”, in siSwati). And being so “American” just got too easy. I didn’t tell the stories and lessons I had learned there to people here often enough. In fact, I was leery about sharing too much for fear it came across as pretentious. Again, I just wanted to be like everyone else. Ugh, what was wrong with me?

And now, it has been 12 years since I was back “home” in Africa. Apart from my cherished collection of WK friends that I have found again online, I have so little connection to that world before. I honestly feel as if I don’t have the right to claim those 5 crucial years of my life. But am I 100% through and through the American I look like? I don’t think so. I won’t forget what I learned. My classmates were NOT handed the kinds of rights or advantages I had as an American. My classmates lived in a perpetually violent world back in their homes. My classmates have now probably lost endless friends and family to the AIDS epidemic. My classmates know first hand what corruption does and what anger breeds. My classmates, I never comprehended half of it the way I should have, but I was by your side.

Anyway, so there lies one portion of my perpetual identity crisis. I guess, I am what I am (no Popeye jokes, please…). I can’t entirely blame myself for wanting to hang out and just watch movies with friends, and act my age in high school – rather than always discuss politics and human rights. We were all just kids, dressing badly, flirting awkwardly, and ungracefully coming into our own. And back here in the U.S., I suppose I can’t expect to find many people that would really get the significance of June 16^th (the anniversary of the Soweto uprisings). So I need to make peace with that. But every once in awhile I find myself asking “who the hell am I?” when a friend balks if I refer to Swaziland. “You lived in Africa? What was THAT like?” and all I can think is “please don’t ask about riding elephants to school.”

Fear is really at the core of parenting, don’t you think?  We parents are huddled in our own brains peering out at the world, scared of everything. Everyday. The possibility of sudden illness, haphazard injury or worse seems on our minds, just under the surface, hidden behind our relaxed laughter and comments like “kids will be kids” when they pile drive each other on the couch. My post about soccer moms being natural history’s worst enemy certainly lines up with this theory. And can you blame us? Snakes are really out there! (Even if it was a harmless Rat Snake.)

So I have a fear issue today. I am debating whether I should go up to the community pool with my boys. Seems awfully silly, doesn’t it? And a total no-brainer. It’s a lovely pool and it’s going to be hot this afternoon. I am still stubbornly holding on to my practical New England ways and have yet to turn the A/C on. So the pool seems like an obvious choice during the worst part of the heat in the afternoon. But here’s the thing. Neither boy can swim, both are wildly insane and I would be the only adult in charge. YEEEEKS!!!! My hair stands on end at the mere thought! But how the hell is my (almost) 5 year old ever going to trust himself in the water if I don’t just suck it up and get in there? If I am to assume they will drown as soon as their toes touch that pool, how will they possibly want to get in there too, feel confident and actually someday swim? And that confidence is really at the core of swimming. And my own confidence is at the core of effective, relaxed parenting, right?

And let’s not forget the words of Yoda:

“Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.”

Ok, so that’s a little dramatic. But what I will take from my man, Yoda, is that don’t let fear get to you. Or else all kinds of over the top ridiculous will ensue. Get it together. I am their example. There is plenty to be scared of in this world but I need to keep my wits about me, be rational and just jump in head first. (WOW. This pool thing is becoming quite a “state the obvious” kind of metaphor, isn’t it?)

“Do or do not, there is not try.” Go Yoda.

When my second son was only a few weeks old, I found myself in the baby aisle at Target trying to wrap my head around the cost of baby formula. (Yes, yes, I was breast feeding 95% of the time, but formula allowed a little something I knew very little of now and again… freedom.)  A large can of Similac was going to cost me $25. It just seemed outrageous. But suddenly, there it was. Propped up against all of those blue cans was a $5.00 coupon for a can of formula. Someone had just left it there and now that can was going to cost me only $20!  I looked around, was there anyone to thank? I really was so grateful, every dollar counts and this counted for so much.  From that moment on, I have sworn to and practiced something I like to call “Coupon Karma”. 

So now, every Sunday, as I pour through the coupon section of the paper, I clip madly away. I have all of my coupons sorted out. Coupons for me, coupons for my friend down the street that I promptly drop off in her mail box, and the “good” coupons (especially for baby supplies) that I don’t need that are saved for donation. As I go about my shopping later in the week, I pull out coupons and then place them accordingly. If I am organized, it hardly takes any time. And then, if I get lucky, I even find coupons for items I need that I didn’t have a coupon for! Maybe Coupon Karma is catching on! The most rewarding part of this practice is actually handing over a coupon to an unsuspecting fellow customer. They are, of course, surprised. But then, they are really truly remarkably grateful someone took the time to help them save 55c. I know, its just 55c. But its 55c I know I’d want back in my pocket in the same situation. No need for thanks ma’am, just doing my job. Coupon Karma – try it out yourself… 

Anyway, here’s the deal. I really don’t have a whole lot to give, being home with my two boys. But this silly little practice seems like something I can give back to the universe and offer as thanks for that $5.00 I saved a couple years back. And maybe this idea appeals to you too. Whatever it might be, pay it forward. We could all use a little good karma (of any sort) now and again.

Biologist EO Wilson says Soccer Moms are Natural History’s Enemy

I read this article about soccer moms protecting their kids from their natural environment, and it struck a cord. I live in Florida and have two young children, both under 5. I am frequently surprised to see that moms do in fact guard their kids from the outside world. I know I do it too. And I just don’t feel ok about it. 

If you are not from here, you are probably thinking that balmy, lush, never ever cold Florida is the perfect place for children to enjoy the wide wonderful outdoors! This is the argument that my fellow soccer moms have down here, and I do follow this logic also. We have endless creatures roaming around that we happen upon regularly. Primary concerns being alligators, snakes, bobcats and even numerous piles of dirt which are home to very painful fire ants. Even the grass in most people’s yards can give many children a fairly irritating rash, mine included. The other argument is that it’s just plain too hot to do much outdoors for as much as 6 months of the year.  

But this fear of the outdoors down here seems to go well beyond that argument. Many Florida homes have lanais which are protective “bird cage-like” screened in porches. Pools are often built inside the lanai, as are the children’s play areas. Indigenous trees and plant life are bulldozed to make way for neatly planted palm trees and grass that needs regular visits from the True Green truck. Playgrounds are fenced in and awnings hung over them to keep off the blazing sun. Home owner associations send monthly newsletters reminding parents not to let their children play in the protected conservation lands that border most gated communities. Sprinklers spray reclaimed water, so you meddling kids better stay out of those too. And let’s not forget about the high number of sexual predators that make Florida their home state. Bolt those doors, we aren’t going anywhere. 

It goes further. So few moms host simple birthday parties at the local park anymore. Remember what we grew up with? A playground, a picnic table, about 6 or 7 of the neighborhood kids, a cake, a couple balloons and maybe a piñata if you were extra fancy. Today, birthday parties are held at large carpeted indoor air conditioned facilities with endless playscapes and various kinds of government regulated climbing apparatus (although we often sign waivers upon arrival). Countless games and activities are hosted by energetic pony tailed camp counselor types and the birthday child is made to feel like royalty for the day.  As for daily life around here, routines for children absolutely reflect the over-scheduling this article critiques us moms for: dance classes, swim classes, karate, music, gymnastics, soccer (of course)… on it goes. 

So I have to reconcile this issue for myself. While I can’t just let my kids into my backyard unsupervised at this point (I have indeed witnessed an alligator, 3 bobcats and water moccasin in my yard over the past year alone), I can go with them – expect some grass rashes and possible bee stings – and just let them get dirty. And if we see one of the above listed animals, I will continue to teach them safe behavior and respect – not fear – around these creatures. Both of my sons have birthdays coming up. Sure it could rain, sure it could be too hot, sure a pile of fire ants could attack everyone and destroy all the fun, but I honestly need to consider hosting a party at the park. Consider it my political protest, as a soccer mom. Way to go out on a limb, huh? As if my kids actually climbed trees…