Soc(cer) it to me, baby

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My youngest daughter, Andrea, was a soccer player. She got a late start at the game, first playing in high school, and only then because she wanted a spring sport but didn't want to run track. Her position was goal keeper, a spot no one else wanted. But she was a dandy keeper and even ended up getting a scholarship for college based on her soccer involvement. Our little Andie did quite well on the college level, too.

Our oldest grandson, Bubby, is now a soccer player, starting at a far younger age than his Aunt Andie. The week he, Baby Mac, and Megan visited in October was the week of his first soccer practice. So he missed his very first official instruction. Andrea, being the sole soccer player on either side of Bubby's extended family, gave him a few preliminary pointers while he was here so he'd be ready to roll once he returned home.

At three years old, being ready to roll...or pass or dribble or kick the ball into the goal is, understandably, a foreign concept. Right up there with not being able to touch the ball with your hands in the game of soccer...unless you're throwing it in from the side to your teammates whenever the confusing gameplay requires such.

Bubby's giving it the ol' college, er, toddler try, though, and Jim and I were fortunate to attend one of his soccer games during our recent visit. Here's a sampling of the action (Bubby's in the hood):

Like I said, it's a confusing game, especially for toddlers, I think. Even more confusing when you're the tiniest (probably youngest, too) peanut on the team. He'll get it though, I'm sure. He's off to a good start.

 

 

The best part—at least to Bubby, I think—is when the game is done and it's time to collect snacks to replenish after the hard work of playing.

Did Bubby and his teammates win the game Jim and I saw? I honestly couldn't tell ya. Soccer's a confusing game—especially when you're a three-year-old...or the grandma who had eyes only for that three-year-old out on the field.

Today's question:

What is your favorite sport to watch?

Two Bubby tales

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The first, wherein Bubby marvels at Gramma's appetite:

Bubby doesn't eat. Well, more accurately, he eats like a three-year-old. Which he is, so it's not all that surprising. Because the little peanut doesn't eat enough to grow up big and strong, Megan regularly includes in his morning meal a Danimals Smoothie strawberry yogurt drink to ensure he gets at least a smidgen of protein and more to start his day.

When Bubby visited last month, I was in charge of getting him his breakfast, which meant I was in charge of pulling the foil cover, just like those on many yogurt cups, off the top of his "strawberry juice," as he calls it.

My kids never had such things when they were little, and I was curious what made the drink so appealing to Bubby, the hater of all things nutritious. So as Bubby waited for his drink, I tore off the cover and lifted the foil to my lips to lick it for a sample.

Bubby's eyes grew big, his jaw dropped, and he snarled up his nose as he asked in the most-serious of tones, "Do you eat garbage, Gramma?"

* * * * *

The second, in Megan's words, wherein Bubby reveals sweet adoration of GG, his paternal great-grandma:

We were leaving the grocery store and Bubby was in the cart saying, "God?.....God?......God?.....Mom why isn't He talking to me?!"

I was caught off guard and answered, "Well, sometimes you just have to listen really hard. Why, what did you want to talk to him about?"

Bubby replied, "I want to ask him to make GG a little girl."

"Oh yeah, how come?"

"Because I want you to take care of her and be her mommy and she can go to my class at school and we can play together."

* * * * *

Today's question:

What did you have for breakfast today? Any garbage on the menu?