Soccer and Eggs

What's up, America.

So apparently there's two soccer seasons up here in Midland.  I didn't know sports had more than one season, but, then again, I've never been one to consider myself an athlete.

Abby once again decided to take part in soccer this year, taking up with a new team (the kids are shuffled around so they're always playing with new kids), and ended up on the same team as several of the same girls from her girl scout troop (the one Kris co- den mothers.)  Unlike in the Fall, when Abby was super gung-ho about playing soccer, this time around she was kind of, well, 'meh' about the whole thing.  She enjoyed suiting up for her very first game, but that's honestly where the fun died.

She didn't seem to get into the game very much at all, and afterwards asked if she could refrain from playing soccer for the rest of the season (not that my six year old used the actual word 'refrain.')  We convinced her to stick with it, mostly because we had just written another frickin' $95 check to the Midland Soccer Club so she could play for the whole season, and were sure that wasn't refundable.

And because someone in this damn family of ours has to be athletic at something.

Here we go. . .

Abby's new team are called The Cheetahs (not to be confused with a team from last season, The Sparkle Cheetahs.)

Throwing soccer balls?  Our kid excels at that.  Kicking, dribbling, or pursuing the ball?  Not so much.

Abby, attempting to steal the ball from her own teammate.

A rare shot of Abby kinda looking like she's actually playing soccer, instead of jogging along at a considerable safe distance behind the ball.

Dad and Cindy swung by to check out Abby's first game of the season. . . and to be wowed by her athletic prowess on the field.

Good game, good game (no idea who won.)

After the game, and after Dad and Cindy had returned to Clare, we decided to let the girls decorate some Easter Eggs.  This meant buying the mandatory pack of Paas dye and preparing ourselves for a ridiculous amount of picture taking.  Seriously: how does the Paas company sustain itself for the rest of the fiscal year?  It truly has the monopoly on Easter Egg dye, but is that enough?  Someone look into that for me, please.

"Q:  Wanna dye some Easter Eggs?  A:  No thanks, I think I'll PAAS."  - Get it?!  I seriously just made that shit up just now. 

Watching my kids remove dyed eggs from the vinegar/Paas mixture is like watching a bomb technician trying to defuse a bomb by snipping colored wires at random.

This arbor's in rough shape.  Thank God we only rent this house (for another two months!)

Sunny afternoon on the back porch

A year later, still Watson's favorite chew toy (courtesy of Granny.)

Kris gets in on the "fun."

NO idea what the hell she drew on this egg. . .

Works in progress

I need to shave.

Alayna thought it'd be hilarious to mimic each emoji egg she designed.  She's so used to an SLR being stuck in her face that there's literally no shyness in this kid whatsoever anymore.

This egg just crapped its pants.

My egg looks like some snobby art curator or some crappy hipster after drinking a skunky IPA.

Abby clearly has no idea what the hell is happening.

Emoji eggs, courtesy of The Houghs, v 2.0.

In your face, America.

- Brian

Abby Goes to War

Good afternoon, America.

Not since Yours Truly graced (or not-so-graced, rather) the ski slopes back in 1998 has a Hough been actively involved in a regulated sport.  We're not necessarily known as an 'athletic' clan by any means, but we're looking at remedying that as soon as humanly possible, and having our children pick up the torch that Kris and I lazily dropped on the way back to the couch.

Abby has shown an interest in soccer for awhile now, and so this fall Kris signed her up for the Midland Soccer Club (Alayna, as you could probably guess, showed little interest in sports of any kind - she takes after her old man, what can I say.)  This entailed hour-long soccer practices twice a week, with a game (or, on occasion, two) every Saturday, for about two months.

Today was her very first game against another team, and it was, well, exactly what you'd expect from a bunch of six-year-old girls.

Check it out. . .

A soggy, rainy warm-up before the game.  I guess they're supposed to practice for twenty minutes before the game starts.

Abby's pretty aggressive with the ball during practice, but that wouldn't necessarily translate into the game itself. . .

Couch gives the team - The Champions (the girls came up with the name themselves) - the mandatory pep talk.

Stretching before the game.  'Cause, you know, you don't want to strain yourself.  With all that intense cardio you're about to do.  With your six-year-old legs and all.

Practicing with the goalie-free net (and don't you worry, folks - they'd be goalie-free during the game, too.)

Defense.  On it.

Kick off.  The other team was non-appropriately named The Cheetahs.

Another selfie from the Cannonball

Abby never charged after the ball like she usually did in practice, but instead jogged behind it from a relatively safe distance.  No idea why, it's totally not in her personality to play like that.

The kids took turns playing every other quarter (Abby played during the first and third quarters, and subsequently took shelter from the rain under this mondo-umbrella during her down time.)

Cheetahs and Champions

(This happened a LOT.)

Enjoying herself.  Can't blame her, honestly - her team massacred the other team 12 - 0.  Not that we adults are supposed to keep score or anything.

(I'm that dad.)

Balls in.

The mandatory 'good game' line.  I always hated that, and never meant a word of it.

The parents formed this weird 'victory tunnel' for the kids of both teams to run through, which weirded us out at first.

And that was how Abby's first soccer game went:  it rained the entire time, she never once kicked the ball, but a bunch of Cheetahs were slaughtered.  Go Houghs.

- Brian