I had to pass this along....

Top Ten Spectacular Ways To Make Kids Quit Soccer
01st August 2009
Author: soccerjerseys

Soccer, with its almost 19 million participants, has enjoyed a meteoric rise over the past twenty-five years in the United States. It is a problematic issue for established national pastimes like baseball, football and basketball. Uncovering a potential chink in the armor of soccer, we have compiled this list to slow its growth. But, this list is dependent upon parents and coaches to do the right thing to stop soccer. Here is TotallySoccer’s Top Ten Spectacular Ways Parents and Coaches Can Make Kids Quit Soccer:

1. Lose your Perspective. Stand on the sidelines and complain about the coach. Plot ways to get your kid onto the best team. If it doesn’t go your way, change teams. Blame it on the coach. Call every coach you know proclaiming your player’s greatness and setting up the next three years of his life.

2. Lose your Composure. Yell at the coach. Yell at the referee. Yell at the fourteen year old flag runner
. Yell at the field. Yell at the wind. Being “that parent” and embarrassing your child will almost certainly lead to dropout. Awesome!

3. Count Everything. While soccer doesn’t lend itself to statistics, there are certain self-appointed statisticians who will track and distribute every known stat they can imagine. Unfortunately, it doesn’t equate to player development or enjoyment. It does, on the other hand, provide fodder for all disgruntled parents to explain how “Jimmy” shouldn’t be on the field based around his plus / minus ratio.

4. Add Pressure. Tell your kid that the reason you are driving them all over Timbuktu is to make sure they score a college scholarship. Yep, that will certainly enhance the enjoyment and provide for a relaxing atmosphere to grow and develop as a player. College is years away!

5. Specialize Early. If you’re going to score the big scholarship for your child, then they need to become serious earlier. And, they need to play year round. If they can play “up” instead of growing and developing with their friends, this is better because they’ll be more focused. Good job, Mr. Burnout. Here comes Johnny Quitter.

6. Sports First. Family, friends and being a kid second. Not only did you lose last match, but your ball possession stats were off too! Get in the backyard and practice! You need the work. No hanging downtown for ice cream and friends until you’ve reached five thousands touches in the next hour. Your friends will wait.

7. Win. Win. And, Win. Lose sight of the real importance of soccer to development of young people. Stress winning at all costs, tips to cheat the system, pride of wearing the team's soccer uniforms and disrespecting the hated opponent. This is a war, not a game. Keep that determination. Forget about all the wonderful, lasting lessons soccer can teach youth: commitment, dedication, hard work, sportsmanship and teamwork – to name a few of the millions of potential lessons.

8. Practice. Practice. And, Practice. Make practices long and boring. Constantly do drills until they get it right. Forget about creatively addressing skill development. And, of course, take out small sided games and scrimmages. Those are just a waste of time.

9. Mix Punishment with Mistakes. Coaches who use punishment as a method to correct mistakes are missing the point. A missed pass doesn’t require push ups. It requires more practice. They’ll never get the pass right if they’re too busy doing pushups, or sprints or jumping jacks. A fantastic item on the Top 10 and a sure way to crush a spirit and stunt growth.

10. Fun? This is fun?! Soccer isn’t supposed to be fun. Soccer is about the scholarship. It’s about winning. It’s about blaming everyone else. Most importantly, it about my status in the community as coach of the undefeated U7 Tiger Sharks this season. Yep. That’ll do it.

We’ve penned this ridiculous Top Ten list as a reminder that the goal of any sport is to turn the kids onto the game and to let them have fun. Sometimes, as adults, we lose that focus. Give the game back to the kids!

Bored? Not me!

This morning I was bored. B-O-R-E-D. With 3 kids, people will wonder, how? But it's more of a stuck-in-a-rut boredom. Don't-know-what-to-do-differently-today boredom. I'm using a lot of hyphens, aren't I? Anyway, so, I'm sitting on the couch in my pajamas refereeing my argumentative children. And I reach out to a friend by text and mention I'm "bored". Bad move #1. Jinxed. A few minutes later, I decide cleaning the bathrooms would keep me busy til at least 10, 10:30. So I grab the cleaning stuff and head to the nearest potty. Bathroom #1, done. Then on to bathroom #2. Finished. Kids are ok, I'll head upstairs to the boy's bathroom. Bad move #2. As I'm scrubbing the nastiest place in the house (really), I hear from child #2, "Mooooom, Kansas has poopie!" And I think, ok, I'll change her in a minute. A few seconds later as I'm still scrubbing away, I hear child #2 again- "Moooom, Kansas peed on the floor!" And this stops me dead in my tracks. If she has peed on the floor that means the aforementioned "poopie" diaper is not on her behind. Oh, Lord. So I drop everything and run downstairs as child #1 is begging me to take him to some bounce house place that he just HAS to go to, now. I think the look I gave him on the way downstairs said it all. As I reach the bottom of the stairs, there she is. Child #3, standing in her own pee puddle, triumphantly holding- A DIAPER FULL OF POOP. Yay, mom's head exploded. I pick her up, sidestep the puddle, tell child #2 not to go anywhere near it and he says, "She already stepped all in it" as I see little wet footprints all over the floor. I make it over to the diaper cache and see it. A skidmark down the front of my couch. My couch! A full grown women, crying, holding a stinky diaper and a urine-soaked baby, is not a pretty sight. As child #2 and 3 will, I'm sure, gladly mention on Oprah one day.
Did I mention I am no longer bored?

The saddest picture I have ever seen

Michael Jackson

I'm sitting here in the passenger seat of my car, headed to Galveston
for vacation, in tears. I'm reading an article in Rolling Stone's
special commemorative issue about Michael Jackson. It's just so sad.
People broke him down from beginning to end. His father, the media,
the public. According to his dad, his nose was too big. According to
the media, he was too strange. According to the public early on, he
was too black, or too narcissistic. To me, who has never known a life
without "Michael Jackson", he was phenomenal. Albeit, not normal. But
with the life he had been dealt, who among us would be?
I feel terribly sad for him. So sad for him because he was a person
who had fears. I am a person who has fears. And because I know how
those fears, when they take hold, cause unbelievable darkness. You
feel alone. And though he was the biggest star the world has ever
known, he was very alone. Though he surrounded himself with teams of
people, he was essentially alone. He had no one to really trust with
his deepest troubles. Those people around him would only tell him what
he wanted to hear, not what he needed to hear. And he knew that. But
when you're in the place he was in, he needed those soul searching
moments that a true friend can provide. How do you have that when you
are a megastar? When you, by choice, I guess, have isolated yourself
from your family? Or they from you? How do you deal? With drugs or
alcohol or other self-medicating behavior. It's torture to be in your
own head with your own fears. I know, I've been there. As have many of
you. So, just feel for him. As the Reverend Al Sharpton put it at
Michael Jackson's memorial service, (and believe me, I don't usually
put much stock into anything that comes out of that man's mouth), as
he spoke to Michael's kids, saying " I want his three kids to know,
you're daddy wasn't strange- what was strange was what he had to put
up with." Amen to that, Reverend.

Sent from my iPhone

Addicted to "busy"?

I think I have an addiction. Not the technology addiction I admitted to last year. Another one. To being busy. To having to be somewhere, even if it's not somewhere I want to be. We have been so stressed, so pulled in a million directions in the last few months (who am I kidding- last few years) that when there's a break in the action, I don't know how to decompress. I feel like the rush of having to be somewhere is kind of like a "high". Or at least it gives me something to do. When I have nowhere to be, it gives me time for my mind to be idle, and that usually is not good. I find something to worry about, even if there's nothing to worry about. We just moved, so that has taken up the better part of 4 months. Then the entire month of June, 6 days a week, has been dedicated to my son's All-Star baseball run. Now I wake up on Monday, look at the calendar, and there's NOTHING. FOR A WHOLE WEEK. What am I gonna do?? We're 2 hours into the day and I'm bored?! Oh, sure, there are a ton of little things. Little mind-numbing things- laundry, dishes, vacuuming, changing diapers and feeding faces, picking up toys and taking out the trash- but nothing to DO! I would say I need a hobby, but when am I gonna do that? I have three kids, so unless I'm driving them somewhere or picking up after them, there's no time to DO anything!! Even on days there's nowhere to be! Clear as mud?

"He walked on water."

My Granddad passed away last Friday. April 24, 2009. He was 2 months shy of 90. That's a long life. He outlived his wife of 52 years and 2 of his 3 children. He retired twice. Once in his 50's and once again at about 82 years of age. He LOVED work. Good, old-fashioned machine-shop work. When he retired this last time, I knew he wouldn't know what to do with himself.

Sitting at his graveside service, I just couldn't grasp how he fit in that coffin. Not just physically- although at 6ft. 2 in., he always seemed like such a big man to me. It was his personality. Strong, silent, hard-working, genuine. As my husband put it- very much "Johnny Cash". I like that description. Burying him just didn't seem right. I know he wasn't really there, but to put him a box and walk away was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. I remember when my Grandma died, he said something I'll never forget. He said that when he got out of the limo at the cemetary for her burial, he, out of habit, reached back for her hand. Sob.

He loved country music, the Dallas Cowboys, University of Oklahoma football and playing golf. He was born in Oklahoma, and except for a stint in the Navy during WWII, he never left. But I won't hold that against him. Despite my disdain for the Sooners (big Texas fan, myself), I crossed the Red River often to see my Grandparents. Every Thanksgiving, Christmas and one week every summer were spent in Duncan, OK. My brother and I went to work with he and my Grandma at the machine shop he owned and where my Grandma was the receptionist. We spent many years hanging out in the break room and at Grandma's old typewriter behind her desk. At home, they had a pool table in the sunroom where we played and played. We got pretty good at it, too. Home-cooked dinners every night and cards being played til wee hours in the morning. Good times.

We buried him in Apache, OK, next to my Grandma. And my Uncle Larry. And my mom. That was a hard sight.

The title of this post is not a reference to Jesus' act. It's the name of a song by Randy Travis. I was in high school when this came out and I made a cassette tape of that song and sent it to him. I also put a song on there by Dolly Parton for my Grandma, entitled "Angel When She Flies". So I dedicate this song to him again. Here are the lyrics...

He wore starched white shirts buttoned at the neck,
And he'd sit in the shade and watch the chickens peck.
And his teeth were gone, but what the heck,
I thought that he walked on water.

He said he was a cowboy when he was young.
He could handle a rope and he was good with a gun.
And my mama's daddy was his oldest son,--
And I thought that he walked on water.

If the story's told, only heaven knows.
But his hat seemed to me like an old halo.
And although his wings, they were never seen.
I thought that he walked on water.

Then he tied a cord to the end of a mop,
And said, "Son, here's a pony, keep her at a trot."
And I'd ride in circles while he laughed alot.
Then I'd flop down beside him.

And he was ninety years old in sixty-three
And I loved him and he loved me.
And lord, I cried the day he died,

'Cause I thought that he walked on water.

If the story's told, only heaven knows.
But his hat seemed to me like an old halo.
And although his wings, they were never seen.
I thought that he walked on water.

A Bad Mix

Beer at Six Flags...where do I begin?

First off, it's a stupid idea. I have worked at Six Flags. I put in 8 years there. I have seen the way relatively smart people behave when they step foot in the park. Hell, the stupidity begins WELL before they actually get in the park. As a security guard, I can't tell you how many times we had to help people get their keys they had locked in their car. And some of those times the car was still RUNNING. Yes, the keys were still in the ignition, the car was still on. Hey, at least they remembered to put it in park. So, we'd dust off the old slim jim, (not much dust because it was only a few hours between uses) and jimmy the locks and we'd be their hero for about 2 minutes. How many girls do you know that can break into a car? Well, now you know one! Then there are the fights to break up in the parking lot. And all that before they cross the front gate and remember, most of these idiots are SOBER! I could go on and on about the stuff I dealt with as a security guard, but even MORE interesting are the people I dealt with while I worked in Rides. Oh, where do I begin??

Forget about the people that puke on rides because they are wusses. And I want to say thank you for leaving me those little (big) presents. (Duh, don't ride the upside down, twisty, backwards ride if you have a weak stomach.) I'm talking about the boneheads that think it's fun to act stupid while the ride is in motion. While they are SOBER. They stand up, they hang out the side, they jump off moving parts of the ride... example, the Bobsled. Years ago, a woman got scared and JUMPED off the Bobsled ride because her "bob" had stopped at a brake point. Because it was SUPPOSED to stop at a brake point. Hence the word "brake". And she was SOBER. The drop off the side of that ride was probably 15 or 20 feet and yep, she broke a leg. Or two. Smart woman.

Before that, I spent time in Food Service. It was during my first few months on the job and I'll never forget working the cash register early one morning in the Food Court, watching the people streaming in, making a mad dash for the best ride at the time, which might have been Flashback, but I can't remember for sure. Anyway, it's around 10:05 am at that point, cause the park opened at 10am. And in walks this man. He saunters up to the cash register and asks for a beer. At 10am. At a family park. And I say, "I'm sorry sir, (called him sir whether he deserved it or not) we don't sell alcohol in the park." And he says, "What? Well, I don't know how I'm gonna make it then." Now, you tell me, is this who should be buying beer out at Six Flags? It is 10 o'clock in the morning and the very first thing he does, in a park he paid handsomely to get into, is go for the beer? Wow. Nice.

Let's also not forget that this is not one of those Six Flags parks up north or out east where people can actually hold their liquor and it doesn't reach 100 degrees on a normal summer day. Put those two things together- too much beer and unbelievable heat- and you've got a bad mix. Duh.

In the dust of my rabbi

Most of us know of the Beatitudes. We learned them in Sunday School, but didn't really get it. "Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth", whatever that meant to a child. And then we grow up and I can honestly say that I haven't had that many adult conversations about the Beatitudes. I know, shocking, huh? Until yesterday, when my pastor referred to them in his sermon and used "The Message" version, which makes them so relevant. Kind of a V8 moment for me. Duh. So I thought, for those of you who are interested and don't have "The Message" lying around the house, that I would post them. I figured Jesus took the time to teach them to the Disciples, so we should probably figure out how they apply to us.


"You're blessed when you're at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.

You're blessed when you feel you've lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.

You're blessed when you're content with just who you are- no more, no less. That's the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can't be bought.

You're blessed when you've worked up a good appetite for God. He's food and drink in the best meal you'll ever eat.

You're blessed when you care. At the moment of being "care-full", you find yourselves cared for.

You're blessed when you get your inside world- your mind and heart- put right. Then you can see God in the outside world.

You're blessed when you can show people how to cooperate instead of compete or fight. That's when you discover who you really are, and your place in God's family.

You're blessed when your committment to God provokes persecution. The persecution drives you even deeper into God's kingdom.

Not only that, count yourselves blessed every time people put you down or throw you out or speak lies about you to discredit me. What it means is that the truth is too close for comfort and they are uncomfortable. You can be glad when that happens- give a cheer, even!- for though they don't like it, I do! And all heaven applauds. And know that you are in good company. My prophets and witnesses have always gotten into this kind of trouble."


May you be covered in the dust of your rabbi.

Lucky Dog or Slum Dog?

We went to see "Slumdog Millionaire" last weekend and I wasn't sure what to expect. I like movies that entertain, but have some redeeming value and that when I walk out, I'm maybe a smarter person. So, "Bride Wars" and the like just don't do it for me. But this movie was incredible. It was stunning. It was heart-wrenching. It was hard to watch, but so worth it. And I realized near the end of the movie, not one person in that theater had moved, or coughed, or, anything. We were all so enveloped by this movie we forgot where we were for a few hours. As we drove away, all I could think was, "How did I get so lucky to be born in America?" I would love to believe my place of birth was written before I came to be, but then why would someone else be doomed to hell on earth as a child? So, I might tend to lean towards the luck of the draw. I know as Americans, we're biased, and think that America is the greatest country in the world. But I think, from everything I've seen, that it probably is. And we are lucky dogs.

Grandma

It's an absolutely gorgeous day. 70 degrees. Blue skies. Not a cloud
to be seen. The only thing not fun about today is that my husband's
Grandma is very near death and we've been at her side most of the
afternoon. I've only been this close to someone that's dying once
before and that was with my mom. But I didn't really get it then. I
was too scared and in denial to absorb all that was happening. But
it's different this time. She is in her late 80's and has been ill for
about 2 months. And she has made it clear she is ready to go. She'd
already lost her husband and one of her children. She is unconscious
as far as we can tell and is on morphine, so she doesn't appear to be
in any pain. She seems peaceful despite the struggle to breathe. Her
family is with her, holding her hand and stroking her hair, telling
her it's okay to go now. As weird as that seems, my faith tells me
she's about to have a seriously great adventure. I do have doubts
about what exactly happens after we die, but I am hanging on to the
belief that there's a heaven and we get to reunite with our loved
ones. Not to mention meet Jesus. So, I hope Grandma's ready for some
fun. Absent from the body, present with the Lord.

Sent from my iPhone

Boo!

Shadow update

Shadow is going to be fine! No mass was found in her nose! In fact, nothing was found in her nose. They think she might have had a foreign body stuck in there, or there's still a possiblity of a fungal infection they're testing for, but it looks like it was nothing really. They flushed her nose with saline in hopes of cleaning out what was making her bleed. But she's home and doing good!

Shadow

My poor puppy dog...except she's not a puppy, she's old. 12- or 84- however you look at it. She goes in to the vet tomorrow for possible surgery. Right around Christmas, we woke up one morning to find blood on the carpet and we knew it came from her we just couldn't figure out where. It happened the next morning, too and on the way to the vet a day or two later, I saw blood around her left nostril. They couldn't find anything wrong, so we were sent home to watch and see. So she's been having nosebleeds ever since. And it's ruining my carpet! I took her back to the vet this week and they want to do x-rays to see if there's a mass in her nose. The vet said they could pull back her soft palate (OUCH!) and get at whatever is in there. Poor dog! We've had her since she was 8 weeks old and this might be getting close to the end. What if it's nose cancer? What do we do? We can't, we won't, treat her for it. But I can't just put her down, either. She's acting fine. Playing, eating, barking, running around. Just to do this procedure is alot to spend on a dog. And of course, we just saw the movie "Marley and Me" last week, and, sob, don't want to have to deal with this!