As a geeky dad, few things scare me more than the possibility of having an athletic kid.
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Katie starts soccer on Thursday. While Jen laments becoming, at last, a soccer mom, it falls to me to actually practice with her. For a grown man who still has his childhood instinct to flee from any area where balls are in motion, it will not be easy.
This morning, after Mass in town, we hit Sports Authority to pick up the gear: a size-three soccer ball, shin guards, and cleats. (Katie, despite being in the first grade, wears shoes meant for unusually large toddlers.) And this afternoon, Katie and I headed out together for what I hope will become one of those warm-and-fuzzy father-daughter moments that she'll remember when she's packing to leave for college.
Sorry, I've been obsessing about how fast she's growing up.
We drove out to the Central Oahu Regional Park, which looks huge from the street and turns out to be even bigger than it looks. We found a perfect patch of grass, used our shoes as goal markers, and started kicking the ball around.
Considering that her knowledge of soccer was based on a couple of Sesame Street segments and a few wholly unrecognizable games played in our family room, she got a hang of the basic idea pretty quickly. Of course I let her score most of the time, but what was surprising were the many times she got the ball between the shoes when I thought I was going to block it.
As far as actual soccer techniques, I didn't know any, so I merely advised her to kick with the side of her foot and not the front (having just done so myself, and nearly spraining a toe in the process). I also demonstrated some fun moves, like, "running up to kick but instead stepping on the ball and nearly falling on your head," and "winding up for a kick and missing the ball entirely."
And... well, kids have a lot more energy than grown ups, so I started "accidentally" kicking the ball way past her so I could catch my breath while she sprinted off to retrieve it.
I wasn't keeping score, but I guess Katie was, and in the end, she won with "lots of points" versus my four. When I asked her how she could have beat me, she answered quite seriously, "I am the one who's going to play real soccer, you know." Like she felt kind of bad for me.
Katie excels at many things, and among her most cherished skills is making babies laugh.
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Alex is laughing. It just happened for the first time a week or so ago, while we were driving someplace. All three kids were in the back seat, Katie in the center. She started bouncing and dancing, and when Zac started giggling, Alex did too.
A baby's first laugh is among the most contagious things in the universe. One jiggle by Katie, and the whole car was rolling.
Alex is, however, also starting to teethe. We're in the earliest stage, weeks or even months before we even get the first visible signs of his pearly whites, but it's causing enough discomfort to make him drool nonstop and get occasionally restless. In fact, he occasionally fusses.
Without a doubt, Alex is the mellowest baby I've ever seen. When he's awake, he's almost always simply staring, studying the world. You can see in his eyes a real hunger for information, but he just quietly absorbs it all. He can sleep through anything (and does, considering the zoo this house sometimes becomes). Katie tries to tickle him, Zac inexplicably nibbles on his ears, but apart from the occasional grunt, it seems nothing phases the guy.
It's actually a little eerie. He smiles a lot, but mixed in with that simple baby joy is a hint of familiarity, of smugness. I've always accepted the fact my kids will be much smarter than I am, sooner than I think. But part of me suspects Alex already is. Hell, he looked like he had a wise soul the day after he was born.
This is not to say he's mute. Now and then, he can make a riot's worth of noise. But the outbursts come as sudden explosions, a release of pent-up pressure.
If and when he does get annoyed, he holds it in for quite a while. He balls his fists, he gets tense, he purses his lips, eventually he seems to be holding his breath. We can almost see steam starting to escape out his ears. We've even found ourselves urging him to let it all out.
And when he does? Man.
I used to be shocked at how loudly and at how high a pitch Zac could scream — he sounds more like a little girl than Katie does. But Alex easily puts Zac's shrieks to shame. He's got a shrill, piercing, practically yodling squeal. My mom said he sounds like a bunch of cats in heat, and I think she's onto something. The kid seems to be able to hit three or four high notes all at the same time.
Jen and I have started going to a gym.
I'm as shocked as anyone else.
Normally, I'd never set foot in a place like that. The whole gym culture both intimidates and, somehow, annoys me. But a while back, I got the wacky idea to give Jen a gym membership for Christmas. So wacky was this idea, in fact, that I consulted her first, rather than just surprising her with a little card and some sweatpants. Lord knows a gym pass is one of those gifts that could be taken entirely the wrong way, but she and I just happened to be in a bit of a "disgusted with ourselves" funk, so she accepted.
After a bit of research (Curves was right out), we headed down to 24 Hour Fitness here in Mililani, fully prepared for a pushy, used-car salesman routine. While all sorts of offers (and big numbers) were slid in front of us, they did understand the word "no," and inside of half an hour Jen was signed up. One location, alternating days, $24 a month.
Her enrollment came with a five-week pass for me.
So with the encouragement (and unmatched babysitting skills) of my mother, we've been going down there after the kids are in bed. We haven't got much in the way of workout clothes (and our "gym towels" are clearly just domestic bath towels), and we must look pretty awkward as we try to figure out the various contraptions, but I was glad to discover that most everyone there is locked in their own world. They might not notice if I fell off a treadmill ("Jane! Stop this crazy thing!"), but they won't notice my general lack of coordination, either.
Fortunately, I did sign Jen up for a few "personal trainer" sessions, and soon enough she'll know what she's doing (and will hopefully impart some of that knowledge to me). In the meanwhile, we've already fallen into a bit of a routine, and developed our own set of favorite activities. Jen likes things that make her crunch or curl, and she likes the exercise bikes. The gadget-loving side of me is quite taken with the whole series of Nautilis machines, and I have a blast on the big, swooshy cross trainers.
We come home exhausted, and wake up sore, but so far we keep going back for more. Even after a long day, even when I think I'd rather just watch TV, once we're down there and moving the energy just... appears. This weekend is the first time we've skipped... and that's because we left our IDs and passes there, and they got locked up in the manager's office.
I was actually disappointed when I found out we'd have to come back during the week.
Who knows how long this will last (hence the month-to-month plan). By summer, we may be back to "CSI" marathons on TiVo. But for however long we keep it up, exercise is exercise. I don't want to be a bodybuilder, and will probably never get abs (or buns) of steel. I just want to give my heart and muscles something more interesting to do than keep me upright at a desk all day.
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