It’s Hard Work Being His Favorite.

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“Mommy, You’re the Best.”

“Hey Mommy………..I love you.”

I hear each of those phrases at least forty-eight times a day.

Noah likes me. A lot.

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And by a lot I mean he really prefers to be with me at all moments.

It’s utterly precious until it’s not.

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All the honest Moms out there say “here, here.”

“Not” starts somewhere around 10am in the morning when I need just a second or two by myself.

But that is an unreasonable request, he quickly lets me know.

And I have to ask…

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So to have a tiny second to myself, I try gifting him with the lovely bonus of a break from school. And I steal away to my room for just a second of silence from his incessant talking and questions and talking and questions.

But he comes and finds me.

During break time.

It’s as if he doesn’t understand that break times are for Mommies.

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So I do what any normal mom would do.

I take a shower.

Thinking that this is the one place I can have a moment alone.

Until I start to get out of said shower.

And notice a tiny set of blue eyes peeking from the other side of the cracked door.

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I scream.

Naturally.

Because my brain doesn’t immediately compute that it’s the stalker I birthed from my own body and not some other more nefarious stalker.

Which makes my tiny stalker cry.

“Mommy! You scared me!”

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Yeah. Because I wasn’t scared at all.

So we get in the car to do errands.

Where it becomes most apparent that he can only process thought if and only if he thinks out loud with the preface of “Hey Mommy….?”

After which he’ll wait 3 seconds for an interested answer.

I don’t give it. Because I only have so many interested answers a day and he’s already used them up before I get out of bed.

So he continues without feedback.

“Hey Mommy….did you know I once forgot to put my goggles on when I went down the slide at the pool?”

“Hey Mommy…I really like Pokemon.”

“Hey Mommy…you should really see mine and Ali’s city on Minecraft.”

After the first few Hey Mommys my brain feels like Louis C.K.

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After ten more Hey Mommys (and we haven’t even gotten out of the neighborhood yet) I feel like Klum.

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At Hey Mommy number 25 (we might have made it to the interstate by now) my insides are full-on Snape.

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Halfway through our 20 minute trip we reach Hey Mommy number 53 and all I hear and see and feel and am is Schwarzenegger.

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It’s rough being so thoroughly loved. But it’s precisely why we become Mommies.

The Super Bowl of Homeschooling.

To a homeschooler, there is nothing more thrilling than standardized achievement tests.

…Okay actually this is way too blanket a statement and is vastly over-applied.

To myself and my daughter and perhaps a few other homeschoolers, there is nothing more thrilling than standardized achievement tests.

I adored them every year when I was a kid. I looked forward to them with much excitement. I loved that my Mom took me to the store and let me pick out whatever snack my heart desired – she said I needed as much brain power as possible to help me to do well during my tests.

(10 out of 10 kids do best when they get to pick out their own snacks.)

And oh, the random snack I chose every year.

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Potato Sticks.

I don’t know why I picked these – I actually don’t remember eating them at any other time except for achievement tests, but they were my standardized snack of choice.

(Maybe it was peeling that plastic seal off that allowed the metal ring to pop off in such a satisfying way. Maybe it was the film of oil on every surface of the inside of the can. Maybe it was the closest thing I could get to Fries in a Can.)

Anyway. Between my beloved Potato Sticks (do they even still make those?), the delight of filling in rows and rows of bubbles, and having a few days in a classroom with other homeschoolers, testing season was the best.

And it thrills my heart to see my daughter find the same joys as I did.

She asks me at least once a month, “How much longer until achievement tests?”

And, with much excitement and glee, they arrived this week.

I of course let her pick out her own snacks. She went with these attractive looking creatures:

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Just as her mother before her, this is not something she normally eats, nor is it something she’s asked me to buy at any other time.

Also? They look like literal dog biscuits. So at least we share extremely questionable standardized snacking taste.

Anyway. She’s taking tests this week, and I’m proctoring tests (for a different grade), because if I’m not allowed to take standardized tests anymore, proctoring is second best. At least I get the joy of seeing other people scribble in beautiful little bubbles.

Right?

As such, I’ll be back next week, fresh off the oh-so-addictive high of helping little minds compare their smarts to all the other little minds out there in the world.

In the meantime, let’s discuss:

1. Did you love/like/hate standardized testing?

2. What unusual snack would you pick out today if you had a week of blissful multiple choice bubbling?

I think I’d go with Potato Sticks. For old time’s sake.

Trading Professional Snacking for Soccer.

Last year when Ali started back in gymnastics, I asked Noah what he might be interested in doing. We had not gotten him involved in any organized sports yet, and even though I didn’t at all want more commitments in my life, Mommy Guilt was getting the best of me.

But he quickly said, “I’d like to eat snacks.”

A fine sport if I’ve ever heard one.

But this year, he was very much wanting to play soccer. And even though two practices a week plus one game a week screamed against my very soul (OH the horrors of commitment!!), I signed him up. He was especially excited to play because he would be on his cousin Andi’s team, who happens to be his current favorite cousin.

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I mean. How cute are they? This was right before their first practice and right after I googled “Where do shin guards go?”

I’m a pro soccer mom. Obvs.

The first practice consisted of Noah giddily running up and down the field, playing with Andi, and turning quite deaf from excitement when, the one time he did kick the ball, the coach kept yelling “Stop!! Stop!!! STOP!!!!”, as Noah kicked the ball off the field, past the bleachers, and to the back fence of the complex.

We had a talk about learning how to actually *play* soccer – it takes some seriousness, but that the game would be fun.

The next few practices went slightly better, although he was still at moments distracted by the pure joy of his situation.

The morning after he received his jersey, he came in my bedroom and whispered giddily, “I’m number 24!!!!”

There’s really nothing more thrilling than knowing that you’re important enough to be a number.

Finally, the first game arrived.

It was a beautiful night, the skies unseasonably hot with anticipation of what would go down beneath them.

Before the game started, Noah made sure to…inspect the nets. While Andi silently judged her cousin’s sports prowess. She is a soccer beast, after all.

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He started the game on the bench, taking his job as Chief Gatorade Guzzler quite seriously.

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By the time Andi needed a break from her ferocious playing, Noah had nearly finished his bottle. His bladder was going to LOVE it when it was time to play.

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And soon enough, Noah got his chance. It took a bit of coaxing from the sidelines to remind him to follow the ball. And watch the ball. And kick in the right direction. But he got there.

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And you may not be allowed to use hands in soccer, but his blue-Gatorade-tinged-tongue got FULLY INVOLVED.

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Let’s look at that face of determination a little closer.

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Their team played hard and lost significantly.

But you know who didn’t even realize what the score was?

This guy. Because he was in soccer heaven.

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Thankfully, he had his cousin there to keep him grounded. And to inform him that they lost. And to make his happy heart swell with even more soccer pride.

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