A test of my parenting skills

FunnyKid and I had two funerals to attend this week (the Pretend Husband jokes that we're becoming professional mourners... hmmm, I wonder if I could make any money at it?) At the first one, FunnyKid was one of a handful of children so it wasn't as noticeable if he made a little noise. He cooed a little and made some other happy noises and then fell asleep on my shoulder for the final few minutes. I didn't have to get up and do that quick, embarrassed walk down the aisle as my child screamed and I was grateful for my little angel.

The funeral we attended today? It went a little differently. First of all, it was funeral for a priest that was celebrated by the archbishop in a stone chapel that echoed really well (I'm sure you can imagine how thrilled FunnyKid was to discover how well his sounds bounced around). On top of the fact that FunnyKid was the only child there (and I was the only other person under the age of 50), he hadn't had a chance to breastfeed before we left the house and this funeral, like the one the day before, fell right in the middle of his usual naptime.

Remember that quick, embarrassed walk I mentioned? I did it. Twice. In heels. As 30 priests tried to concentrate on what was going on. But we got through it and even had at least half a dozen people compliment FunnyKid on his behavior (OK, they were older and perhaps a little hard of hearing, but it still counts!) I'm giving myself an A for the first funeral and a C- for the second (I should have fed FunnyKid earlier). While it might not qualify me for Mother of the Year (I'm sure I was out of the running the day I pinched FunnyKid's hand with his sunglasses), I'm happy to be maintaining a B average.

Thumbing his nose at life...

FunnyKid has a new and very strange habit. His habit is sticking his tongue out and leaving it there for minutes at a time. Like this:
I don't know where this habit came from or what, exactly, the kiddo is trying to do. And I HATE when I tell him what's for dinner or where we're going and that's his response (the Pretend Husband isn't so thrilled when I say, "Daddy's home!" and FunnyKid responds like that, either).

But it has proven itself to be handy in some situations. How much do you want me to pay for gas?!?
You're in front of me in the grocery store express lane with well over the 10 item limit?
You're predicting rain for the fourth day this week and, oh, Easter isn't going to be such a great day either?
What? I didn't say it. FunnyKid did.

My "triumphant" return to the soccer field (if you take the word triumphant to mean "I survived")

I went back to playing soccer this past weekend after a year-and-a-half hiatus to gestate, deliver and start raising FunnyKid. When I got the email that the league was going to be starting to play soon, I knew I had a little work to do to get into my previous fighting shape (and A LOT of work to do to get into even better shape than that). I didn't want to injure myself so I packed FunnyKid into his jogging stroller and decided I would do an easy one-mile jog.

I think I made it about a quarter of a mile before my lungs and legs gave out. It was then that I realized all those month of packing on the pounds, eating whatever I wanted (because, of course, it was "for the baby") and doing little more than walking had actually taken a toll. I've never been the fastest person on the field, but at least I was able to run from one end to the other without stopping for a drink of water.

Over the next few weeks, FunnyKid and I went out for walk/runs where I slowly went from mostly walking to mostly running. Still, I was worried about being able to keep up when I got to my first game.

Forget about keeping up, I should have been worried about keeping my own teeth. The first play of the game that involved me included me knocking the ball away from a girl, but ending up flat-out on the ground after bumping bodies. The second play was even more spectacular as she kicked the ball as hard as she could and I stopped it-- with my face.

After checking to make sure I didn't have any loose teeth, I kept playing-- and kept ending up on the ground. I blame the amount of time I spent eating dirt on how rough my opponent was rather than a lack of skill on my part (I firmly believe I lost my endurance during my hiatus, but not my skills). All in all, it was a fun game and I'm grateful that I'm not as sore this week as I thought I would be. I'm a little bruised, but I'm proud I was able to keep up whenever I was on the field. I think I'll go back and do it again this weekend.