Posts Tagged ‘preschoolers’

Out of the blue in the car:
Jake:  We should get a pig.

Me:  What would we do with him?

Jake:  Your choices are: We could ride him, or we could use him as a sofa, or have him for dinner.

(personally, I’ve always wanted a pig sofa.  NOT.)

Dave: Would he come sit at the table with us.  Generally speaking, your mom doesn’t allow animals at the table.

Jake:  No, we’d get the meat out of him.  Yum!!!

Me:  Where would we put him?

Jake:  Under a tree, with a stone on top of it.  And a cross.  He’d need a cross.

(Yes, I was thinking pig pen.  He was thinking grave yard.  Angel of darkness, pig graveyard, maybe I should be worried…)

Me:  No, where would he live when he was alive?

Jake:  I don’t know.  It doesn’t really matter, we’re just going to eat him.  Maybe the chickens would like to share their home with him.


Nate:  listen to me whistle.

Dave:  That’s a nice whistle.  Maybe you could practice until you are very good and then you could whistle while you work.

Nate thinks for a moment:  No, I think not.


Me:  Jake!  Get down!  My couch is NOT a jungle gym.

Jake (dejectedly):  I wish it was.

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photo circa 2010

During a drive to an All Star game, Marshall learned an incredibly fun car game.  He then brought said car game into my car.

The rules are easy, if you see a yellow car, you scream “CHICKEN!”.

They are so easy, that you don’t even have to explain the rules, you just start playing.

Driving down the road in the middle of Seattle.

Marshall:  CHICKEN!!!!

Me:  Where?  I don’t see a chicken.

Marshall:  It’s a game.  If you see a yellow car you say Chicken.  I have one point.

(a cacophony of “chicken”, “chicken”, “chicken” starts from the back seat.)

Marshall:  No, I already got that one.  Find your own.

What I have learned from this game:

My family is creative.

Dave:  Duck!  Yellow boat!

Marshall: Rooster!  Construction vehicles!

Dave:  Chick!  Mini Cooper!

My children are creative with rules.

Marshall:  CHICKEN!!!

Me:  That car is not yellow, it’s beige.

Marshall:  It’s kind of yellow.

Me:  No, it’s not even close.

My children will argue to the death about whose chicken it is.

Mike:  CHICKEN!!!

Nate:  CHICKEN!!!

Mike:  I saw it first!

Nate:  No, I saw it first, you just said it faster.

bicker, bicker, bicker.

Me:  We are now playing the quiet game.  On your mark, set, GO!

My children don’t hesitate to find an advantage.


everyone:  What??

Jake:  That’s what you call the black cars.  I’m not looking for yellow cars.  The Angel of Darkness beats a chicken.  I’m winning.

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I can not even begin to tell you how adorable T-ball is.  It’s even more adorable than it was ten years ago when McKayla was in T-ball.  I didn’t think that it could be possible to get any cuter than a little girl with pig tails.  Somehow, following a week of major games, minor games and multiple practices, perspective starts to sink in.  It’s adorable, and all that matters at the end of the game is what kind of snacks you got, not who won or loss or if the umpire was fair and there isn’t even a small amount of self flagellation.

Nate was first to bat.  He swung and missed.  Loud clapping and cheering was still heard from the stands though.

Then he swung again.  He didn’t miss this time, his aim was just a little bit too low though.  “No highs! No lows! Wait for the perfect pitch!”

The third time, he didn’t exactly miss the ball.  He swung the bat so hard that he swung around and hit the ball on the second time around.   He’s an amazing bunter.  We might as well let him play up next year, just skip a second year of t-ball altogether and play farm.

There are no outs in t-ball.  I’m not sure if it’s because 4-6 year olds will cry uncontrollably if they get out or because it’s near impossible to get a group of 4-6 year olds to play as a team.  Either way, he made it to first base.  Do you know what else I love about t-ball players?  I love how willing the players are to pose for the camera.  I can’t get the older boys to even glance at me in the stands let alone pose and wave.

As a side note, don’t you just love how tiny those little cleats are?

Jacob waited patiently for the whole team to bat.  He was the last batter, this means that he gets to hit a grand slam (by default, but still a grand slam)  Someone has to bring all those runners home.  This may look like some serious strategy talk.  It’s not though, it’s really a consoling.   Jake was upset because the helmet was too big.  Near tragedy when you’re four.

After the pep talk, he approached the plate with determination.  He hit the ball on the first try.

The importance of a grand slam was a little lost on him though.  Or maybe, he realized that speed isn’t really necessary when you’re the last batter in t-ball.  They’ll wait for you.  This is him leaving third and moseying his way to home.  I particularly love his hands in his back pockets.

Sometime during Mike’s first t-ball game, he whispered to me (in a very audible volume), “Baseball is stupid.  All you do is sit on the bench and wait for your turn to bat.  Then you sit on the base waiting for everyone else to bat you home.  Then you sit in the outfield waiting for the ball to come to you.  Which it never does.”  Out of the mouth of babes.

It also seems to be a sentiment held onto by his younger brothers.

What should you do while you’re doing all that waiting on the field?  Pick up all those rubber pieces from the turf field, of course.

Or, maybe you should stoicly stand in the outfield day dreaming.

That is, of course, until the ball comes your way and all the parent’s hear the Peter, Paul, and Mary song in their heads.

The second inning was even more adorableness.  I’m really sorry that you couldn’t be there to be part of it.  It was much of the same, batting, hitting, running, walking, complaining.  Then there was Nate pitching (which really only means he stands in the general area of the pitchers mound, with a helmet on because I’m guessing one daisy picking kid too many took a ball to the head.)

And when you’re the pitcher, what position is the perfect compliment for your twin brother? Of course, it’s the catcher.

When Mike was old enough for t-ball, he did his classic fist pump and said, “YES!  NOW EVERYONE WILL HAVE TO COME AND WATCH MY GAMES! IT’S MY TURN NOW!”

Nate and Jake don’t seem to have that kind of drive (or egoism), they really only care about the snack. It was the thought of the snack that got them through the game.  At the between inning slump, it was the enticement of rice krispie treats and cheese sticks that made them don their batting helmets with as much determination as a tired four-year-old can.

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