Photo Bomb

I'm going Auntie Heather style, folks.  Grab a drink and a comfy chair...

That MIGHT be a froyo mustache Rocs is sporting...

Swinging with Ollie:

Cheeks, oh my:

It's a tough life:

Waiting for the train:

So excited he insisted on standing the whole ride:

Visiting my sweet friend Katrina and her Maxwell:

Cruising the hood:

Rocs' favorite park:

She wears her sunglasses at night:

Pedi:

Dueling pianos:

Duet:

Roscoe was here:

Got her mama's teeth...

Lazy Sunday picnics in the park:

I'm a cow!  Mooo!

I know this face well :)

Lu's first french braid:

After Ray asked me, "whose eyebrows do you think she has?":

Splish-splash (sorry, folks, I won't share the one of him running through the sprinkler naked after he stripped down in the front yard upon returning home to the sprinklers on...)

Yes, that is a pink-flower drum set in our house.  Yes, we are gluttons for punishment:

Roscoe's computer and coffee set up next to mine so he can work with me:

Loving his tracks:

Keep Calm and Muay Thai On:

One of his specialties: the spider drawing:

Soccer:

Ray asked for help because he got stuck.  And I helped, of course.  AFTER I got a photo:

Sweet LuLu:

Girl LOVES the moose rocker:

I *HATE* Soccer

Roscoe loves soccer.  He loves to run around and kick the ball.  He loves the parks and rec classes.  He loves having a teacher and helping clean up and playing the games the teacher makes up.  I would even go so far as to say that he is generally the teacher's pet because he so relishes helping.  It seemed an obvious choice when we signed him up for a 2 month long Daddy & me soccer adventure.  Big Mistake.  Huge.

First of all, we are not sleeping.  Roscoe jack-in-the-boxes out of bed for 2+ hours before he finally stays in his room.  (Trust me, we've tried it all with this boy.  Sleep is not his thing.)  Then, if we're lucky, he sleeps till morning.  If not, he wakes up terrified in the middle of the night from the nightmares he gets from his overactive imagination (like when I had to reassure him the ants and spiders and dragons and monsters would not hide in his closet and then crawl into his butt).  Luka goes to bed easily.  Then wakes up 45 minutes later.  And 45 minutes after that.  And then decides it's day and either i) wants to play for several hours or ii) cries inconsolably.  There is nothing obviously wrong with her and she is fine during the day.  Clearly we are the crabbiest versions of ourselves and it is a wonder we are all still alive.

So, we "wake up" this morning and have to wake up Roscoe since he didn't fall asleep until 10pm.  He is cranky.  He wants to be carried around the house.  Maaaaamaaaa hooooold meeeee.  Luka won't eat.  She just sits there silently, refusing to eat, refusing to sleep.  Her own silent protest to something we can't figure out.  Roscoe doesn't want to change out of his pajamas.  We insist.  He protests at loud decibels.  He ends up in a layered pajama/soccer clothes ensemble.  We finally, finally get to the soccer field.  He doesn't want to walk.  He doesn't want to pick a ball.  He doesn't want to pretend to be an animal and kick  the ball through the obstacle course.  He doesn't want me to play with him.  Or Ray.  We tell him to stop the tantrum or we'll leave.  He doesn't stop and we leave.  He immediately decides he wants to play and "try again."  We say no.  He screams.  We yell.  He cries.  He whines.  He gets a time out.  

Not only do I (semi) willingly subject our family to this every Saturday morning, I actually PAY them to put us through hell.  Only 2 more weeks.  I hate soccer.  Roscoe is obviously NOT a morning person.