A conversation with Jack last night on the way home from his friend Jayson's birthday party:
Me: OK, you're going to stay at Grandma & Grandpa's tonight and we'll pick you up in the morning to go to your soccer game.
Jack: I HATE SOCCER!
Me: Jack, I don't want to hear that.
Jack: It's boring.
Me, proving that stupid "mom" sayings are something we're born knowing: If you think it's boring, it'll be boring. If you want it to be fun, you can make it fun. It's up to you.
Jack: I hate it.
Me: (silently disowning the boy)
Jack: I want to give up.
Me: You're not quitting soccer. You need to finish the season.
Jack: Aughkkpst! (or something like that)
Me: You only have four games left.
Jack: I want to do three games. Or two.
Me: Do you want a trophy like Katie got?
Jack: Yes! Yes! A trophy! With my name on it!
Me: You need to play all the games so you can go to the party when the season is over. Then you'll be done with soccer and you don't have to play again if you don't want to.
Jack: I want TWO trophies. Katie has two trophies.
Me: That's because she played for two seasons.
Jack: I want two trophies but I don't want to play soccer anymore ever ever ever again.
Me: (banging my head on the steering wheel)
Why does he have to argue with me about soccer? If he hates it so much why can't he just shut up and do it half-assed, like the rest of us?
By the way, April, when Trevor is ready to play soccer, we've got cleats and shin guards that have barely (and very reluctantly) been used...
Oh, you have so only just begun . . .
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