changes

We've had a major alteration... no competitive soccer for Taia this summer!  She and Kira will still get to go to soccer (day) camp in June though.

Taia's team, which I was the newbie manager of, just didn't have enough players on the roster.  We had seven girls training over the winter, two backed out, one didn't really qualify, three more showed up for tryouts, more backed out... we scrambled for days up to the deadline and could not make it work.  Too bad, because the five who were signed up are really good at soccer.  It feels like failure on my part as manager, but - I'm not going to beat myself up over it.

Having that huge time commitment go away, and the big wad of cash back too, is sort of a relief, actually.  Taia decided to take ballet through the summer.  That means less driving to Anchorage, but probably more driving around the valley shuttling Kira and Remy to soccer.  Kira's such a great player, I can't wait to watch her games.  I think Littledude may be ready for once-a-week turf time.  Well, as I'm writing I'm wondering if that will work out - he's got such emotional highs and lows that I can easily picture him freaking out on the field because somebody stepped on his toe or pushed him out of the way... eh.

Another major change around here: we're not suffering from Computer Stress Syndrome anymore.  I bought a Mac desktop.  I couldn't stand the old PC anymore.  Every day I'd daydream of setting it down on the driveway and hearing the satisfying CRUNCH of it dying under the wheels of the van, CRUNCH CRUNCH mwa ha haaaaaa!!!!  It was bad.  Macs are just a whole new ballgame.  Stress-free.

Last change:  I've got bangs again and I look like a dork.

My friend's friend told her that they thought people who drive minivans looked like their souls had been ripped out... which, if you think about it, is probably a pretty accurate statement.  Lots of minivanners are trying to tune out the piercing screams and stupid sibling-fights happening three feet behind them, thinking about the next form to turn in or the second fundraiser that week they've got to throw at their friends and relatives, wondering how to make the car funk go away, mentally timing dinner prep and the next ten loads of laundry, remembering to return library books and dvds (late of course) and once in a while catching a glimpse of their stupid haircut in the visor mirror.  They exist in the practical world of sliding doors and maximum capacity, with memories of having kept up with everyone else and their sporty cars free of unidentifiable food-like objects in the seat cushions or fingerprints all over the windows.  I accept the stereotype as long as I can continue laughing at guys in their 4-foot-lifted hemi-powered trucks with tinted windows full of stickers, proving how awesome they are by gunning past dork moms in minivans.