Anxiety at it's finest.

I have come to the conclusion that every time I host a play-date, I get ridden with anxiety. Sometimes the anxiety is so intense, it takes every part of my essence not to cancel it.  I am a social person by nature and want to have play-dates and time with other moms, but the anxiety I have from the time they confirm to the time they leave my house is immense. I am afraid that no matter how hard I try, they will judge me in a negative way. I have paranoia about my house not being clean or organized enough. I feel the judgement and it burns through me.

My anxiety isn't unfounded, it is the residual affects of being the child of a hoarder. My mother is a hoarder. (Not the extreme type you see on the TV shows, but a lesser version.) I grew up in a house that you had to make paths through the newspapers and other things to get through rooms. My mother was a child of the depression. She grew up watching how that affected everyone. She learned the value of things, how to re-purpose things and not to take things for granted. Many of the attributes she learned from this period in her life are wonderful qualities, however, the desire not to throw away soup cans or newspapers is one quality I wish she didn't have.

My parent's divorced when I was four years old. They used to fight about lots of things, but the status of the house was always one of them. When I was a kid, my brothers and I couldn't have friends over. We couldn't have anyone over. Our house was a mess, an unbearable mess, but that was all I knew. When I reached the age that I had friends and went to their houses, I learned that people didn't live that way. It was confusing and I carried the shame but didn't know how to fix it.  My father would pressure us to clean the house, "there are three of you, you should be able to clean the house."  But how do children blatantly disobey one parent to appease the other? It was an unfair and precarious situation that we were put in. There were times that my brothers and I worked together to clean the house and made some progress, but it wasn't long before it deteriorated back to what it was.

Years later,  I am in charge of my own household and find myself at a disadvantage. I was never taught how to maintain a home, I was never taught to clean. I wasn't aware that you had to clean baseboards, dust anything, bleach stuff,  or routinely clean anything beside laundry.  What do you mean dust bunnies aren't  supposed to be there? They got there on their own.  You would think that people instinctively know how to do those things, but we do learn from our parents. We all have seen how mothers influence daughters and teach them to clean. It is something children emulate their mothers from a very young age. I see the twins try to help me when I am cleaning. They want to vacuum, they want to spray and wipe. I  didn't have that model and although I have learned to clean, I feel that every time I have someone in my home, I am subjecting myself to potential criticism.

When we were planning our move to MD, one of my closest friends told me offhandedly, "You know I could never visit and stay with you because of your house, right?" Well, I know now, that you value esthetics more than my company. When she stopped by one day and had her mom with her, I sat in disbelief as her mother started pulling stuff up from between my couch cushions. After the first item, she just kept digging until she got everything. I sat in horror with a handful of miscellaneous items in my hand. She just did it as a matter of fact; like she was doing her civic duty.  At that point, I realized where my friend got it from. She got the standard of clean from her mother. I never had a standard of clean presented to me other than the occasional visit to my step-mom's, which was so clean, I was uncomfortable. In fact, pristine houses or minimalistic houses make me antsy because they look like unlived spaces, void of any human imperfections.  I always have to suppress the urge to leave a rogue candy wrapper somewhere or move something slightly off-center in those type of environments.

When I moved to MD, I felt so isolated that I was desperate to have a human connection. I pushed the anxiety aside and hosted play-dates because the amount of energy it took to prep the kids to leave; get their coats and shoes on, into the car and strapped in, was exhausting. At my house, I know the parameters of my kids' destructive tendencies. I also know that a couple more kids aren't really going to tip the scales into utter destruction, though it has happened. If we are in someone's house, I don't get to relax because I feel like I have to keep track and monitor the kids.  So, I am really between a rock and a hard place, because it takes massive amounts of energy to leave and copious amounts of beer to host.

Because I have ADHD, I try to keep things organized. I have a place for things and can find most things in my house quite easily because I put them in an organized fashion. (It may not look organized, but it is to me.) I have five kids, and with five kids, comes lots of stuff. I am aware that as they age, the big stuff becomes small stuff and the primary plastic slowly leaves. So, I am not bothered by the stuff, because it's quasi-organized and it's temporary. Sure, there are rooms and spaces that aren't ideal;  my garage was the dumping ground from the move and gradually became a mess when we had to dig through boxes to find things. It will all be dealt with eventually. I am one person and I can only do so much.

My dad and step mom visited us this past fall. Throughout their visit, they made comments about all the kids books we should donate, and all the stuff we should give away. My dad commented about the amount of toilet paper in our garage, which was really a dig about my messy garage, and it was all very hurtful. When they commented on the status of my house, "the health department would shut you down", it was hurtful.  And when my step mom told me in a drunken attempt to introduce me to my reality, "You are becoming your mother", well, it felt like she hit me with a baseball bat.(Not that they offered to help in any way.) You can walk through my house. I don't have piles of newspapers or recyclables laying about. I don't have piles of clothes everywhere and I vacuum every day. The kids are demanding and require a lot of attention and help. I will gladly give them the time they need, when they need it. I will never send away a child if they are trying to engage me. Never. That's what the teenage years are for; to clean because they want nothing to do with you.

I am grateful for many of the things my mom taught me about recycling and re-purposing. I am able to see the beauty and potential in things that others don't. Most of the furniture in my house is from free-cycle or second hand stores. I taught myself how to reupholster and refinish furniture. I taught the kids how to make stuff out cereal boxes or empty jars. If you were to ask me if I would prefer to be OCD or a clutter-hound, I would prefer the latter. Both conditions have their downsides, but with five kids, things are going to get trashed and it is an exercise in futility to try to fight that. It is much easier to let the chaos happen and clean it once.  Though, sometimes, I think it would be easier to set it all on fire and just start over. 

As long as there is a clear path to the beer fridge, I'll be fine.  Maybe I'll have #2 research Xanax for me.

Those bad words

As a native New Yorker and New Jersey transplant, I am hard wired for bad words. Dropping the "f-bomb" in that culture is as common as saying "um" and compound swearing is an art form.

When I leave my house alone or go out with the girls, it is the one word that streams from my core uncontrollably. It gets inserted into any sentence and is used as often as possible. But when I'm home, those words never even come close to the surface. I made up a couple of words to serve the purpose of the exclamatory response, "shoosh" and "fuki-naki". Although it seems to do the trick, when I get a call from a friend, the words bubble up wanting to come out.

So what is it about the bad words that offer relief? According to psychcentral.com,"Swearing is beneficial in ways that people may underestimate or take for granted. Swearing is often cathartic — it often frees us of the feelings of anger or frustration we hold and allows expression for them. It can also be a useful substitute to physical violence (who would rather be punched out than to withstand being sworn at?)" 

Maybe that's why I am a profane spewing crazy when I leave my house. Or, maybe it's just that we folks from NY & NJ have a wee bit more anger than most people. 

When #2 was in second grade he was in the principal's office more than he wasn't. Most of it stemmed from his anxiety getting the best of him and once he got there, he'd be out of control and say things like, "I hate this school. I want my teacher to die. I want to burn down the school. School is stupid. My teacher is stupid and everyone is stupid." The kid can't light matches, I was worried. But we had to beat it into the boys that they couldn't say certain things because they were unacceptable and if they chose to say them, they would be punished.   

We taught the kids, our version of bad words, "Die, kill, hate, & stupid", that is, until they learn the real ones. #3 is the bad word police. When my mother was visiting, she would say on a regular basis, "ooh, I hate commercials" and then #3 would chime in, "mom, grandma said a bad word; she said 'hate'. 'Hate' is a bad word." ok buddy, you just said it twice, but I guess when you're tattling, it doesn't count because you are retelling the story. Later that day she said, "I hate those stupid commercials", "oooh, mommy, Grandma said bad words again. She said 'hate' and 'stupid'. Are you going to put her in time-out?" Grandma is a potty mouth, huh? "Nope, grandma is 83, not putting her in time-out, just tell her to clean up her potty mouth".  "Grandma, clean up your potty mouth." He said. We all cracked up and I gave my mom bonus points for not throwing the remote at me.

#2 is now interested in pop music. He likes finding songs on iTunes. "Mom, what does explicit mean? It says this song has explicit lyrics. But, the Maroon 5, song 'payphone' has two versions.  The one with the word 'stupid' in it is not labeled 'explicit', but the other one is.  What words are they talking about?" Good try, buddy. I'm not going down that road. Five minutes later, he is singing the explicit version, "one more funky love song I'll be sick," and he had no idea that word was not "funky". He then became convinced that every song had an explicit version. "LMFAO's song,'I'm sexy and I know it' is the explicit version of 'If you're happy and you know it'. You can't sing the explicit version at school." Yea, I want to know what the explicit version of 'ABC' is or better yet, 'the Wheels on the bus'. He is in third grade, who knows how much longer he will be insulated from common vernacular, but I hope to keep it that way for as long as possible.

#1 was obsessed with Ultimate Marvel vs Capcom 3, since it came out. He would go online and find videos on YouTube of people playing. He is a big scripter and he would script songs, TV shows and movies. Like most Autistic kids with language delays, they are able to memorize movies and songs and replay the dialogue as if you had pushed the 'play' button. Eventually they script in context, which in itself is pretty huge, but you just have to be aware of what they are scripting. We got a call from the school principal that our 10 year old, #1 proclaimed in the middle of music class, "I can't fuckin' believe it." We learned shortly after, that the kids playing the game on YouTube were all exercising their skills as profanity spewers. Well at least he used it in context. We then had to make watching YouTube a punishable offense. We took away his YouTube and his potty mouth went with it.

Regardless of how you package it, bad words are part of the common vernacular. They are injected into TV, music, movies and all of popular culture. Eventually all the kids will learn them and use them. Our job as parents is to teach appropriateness; when to use them, why you use them, and how to respond when someone uses them towards you. Until #2 comes up to me and asks me point blank, I'm going to save the lecture and continue to say all my bad words out of ear shot. Now excuse me, I'm going to go hide in my closet, I have some bad words bubbling that I need to get out.

Lice, Disease and Nutrition

"Hey mom", #2, the aspy, says on the way home from school, "did you know that lice are little bugs that live in your hair and suck your blood?" I asked him where he learned that, hoping that there wasn't some lice epidemic in school. Lice like the clean hair, my kids aren't that clean, maybe they left him alone. Cause all I need is a freaking lice epidemic in my house. "I learned it in health class," he said. Whew, no lice. Awesome.

Over the next two hours, I learned everything that teacher taught him over the last two days. "Did you know that some diseases have no cure like diabetes?"  Why yes, I did. I learned all about that stuff in massage school. "And mom, did you know certain diseases are contagious like the flu and other diseases are not contagious." Yes, #2. I know. Please stop talking. When the other kids wanted attention, they had to yell over him. At one point #3 told him to "stop talking." But he just couldn't stop. The kid was just a puke-hound of information, spewing it where ever it would go and pouring it into anyone's head in his general proximity. And when he ran out of facts, he started making them up and just waited for someone to call him on it.

"Mom, you know lots of people have allergies like me(he is allergic to Eggs, wheat, dairy, grass, oak and maple trees) and they get rashes like I do. Ms. Carol's daughter is allergic to dogs."I took a peek at his computer and saw "Rashes" on Wikipedia. Great, now I'm really hungry.

"Hey mom, how do you spell diseases?", he asked. I looked at his screen and I saw this:

Later at dinner he shared his sudden expertise on nutrition. "Mom, make sure you don't eat too much. You need to have a balanced diet with lots of brain-food" Thanks #2, what are you saying? are you commenting on the quantity of food on the plate prior to your sisters poaching it or are you throwing up again? I asked him what brain-food is. "It is pretzels and bread and other carbs. They are good for you." He said this as he grabbed a hand-full of gluten free pretzels. I then told him that too many carbs will make you sleepy so he had to follow the portions sizes on the package. He also had to use a bowl. "I know that mom." Oh you did, did you?

If I can't shut him up, let's have some fun.. "Hey #2, if I had the chicken pox and sneezed on your brain-food, would you get the chicken pox." I asked. He smiled, disappeared for a minute and then came back to answer. "No mom. there is a vaccine for chicken pox and I have it. But chicken pox is an airborne disease. Does having the vaccine mean you can't get it?" I told him that vaccinations help the body resist disease but it wasn't a guarantee. "I knew that" he answered. Yea, right.  "Then I would open a new bag of pretzels." Good answer.

"Mom, I'm going to go look up Ebola virus," he said as he left the room. As much as I love seeing  his ultra-awesome brain working, at that moment, I was just glad for the quiet minute or two I would have until he threw-up again.

Happy New Year-新年快樂

In the past, we used to celebrate Chinese New year. In NJ there was a large Chinese community in the town I worked in and I had lots of Chinese friends.  In 1990, I was an exchange student in Beijing for a year. I continued studying Chinese after I returned home, and then returned to China to work on a Yangtze river cruise ship, as a cruise director. Yes, I was the Chinese Julie.

Since we moved to Baltimore, we haven't had many Chinese friends and our celebration of  Chinese New Year fell by the waste side. On Saturday, we made a Chinese meal and told the kids it was Chinese new year. My husband had a talk with #2, the Aspy, about Chinese astrology and told him it was the year of the Snake. It is an auspicious year for my husband since he is a snake.

In Chinese culture, astrology is huge. When I lived there, the first thing people would ask me is what year I was born in. I would tell them, and they would say, "ah, you're a cock." Excuse me?!?!  Now, where I'm from, usually the word, "Sucker" came after it. But, I took a minute and thought about what they were saying. "oh, you mean rooster." It was if that information held the key as to whether they should waste their time getting to know me.  According to Wikipedia,(the information source for any Aspy), "Different people born under each animal sign have different personalities. It is possible to check details and compatibilities to gain guidance in life, for love or for marriage."

I'm folding laundry upstairs and the husband comes in to tell me that #2 taught him all about Chinese astrology from researching it on Wikipedia. "He taught me who I am most compatible with in our family......Your mother." And we both cracked up. #2 researched all the members of our family. #2 is a wood monkey, #1 is a water horse, the girls are earth oxen, #1 is water horse, and #3 is a fire dog. When he told #3 he was a fire dog, he got angry and said,"I'm not a fire dog, I'm not Chinese. No buddy, you're not Chinese.

I looked up our family on Wikipedia to discover the compatibility of our family. I learned that although my mom is a snake like my husband, We cocks are the best match. I learned as a rooster, that I am pretty much compatible with everyone but rats and rabbits. I can live with that. I also learned that #3, the fire dog is incompatible with the earth oxen twins. My suspicions have been confirmed. At four and six years old, they are starting to drive each other nuts. I look forward to when it escalates. 

I am glad that we have #2 in the house. Regardless of his astrological sign, his Aspy quest for knowledge sometimes brings me back to a world I used to know. Happy New year.

 

Taking ASA meetings to the Ring

When we moved to Baltimore, I went to my first ASA(Autism Society of America) meeting. I met a group of people who lived the life I did. The people in this group were a very dedicated, strong, educated group, and for the first time, I met parents like myself. Every month at meetings, we would get to know the faces of our Autism community. We would talk about our "golden nuggets" which are happy moments or crowning achievements. It's a nice place to share, get information, cry and get sugared up with the sodas and cookies. However, you can tell some people wanted to vent all their anger and frustrations, but they couldn't; it is not what the meetings were for. If everyone threw up all their problems and issues at the meetings, we'd all leave more agitated than when we arrived.

My ideal ASA meeting would be at boxing gym. We could have time to talk about the good stuff but then we'd get gloves and beat the shit out of stuff. Let's face it, living this life with Autism is really draining and there are many reasons to be angry. I would love the opportunity to vent all my frustrations and hostilities with a pair of boxing gloves on. In fact, I think most of us need that.

We could all line up, two to a bag and take turns in one minute rounds. Just before the whistle blows, an issue of contention is announced and then everything you feel about it gets put on the bag. I have a few punch worthy topics:

 Schools. Every parent with Autistic children spends many hours stressing this one. We have all had our share of bad teachers, bad administrators, bad OT, bad speech and bad, bad school people. We have plenty of anger towards them because they suck. They make us question the integrity of schools and make us worry about the system failing our kids. When we lived in NJ, we fought with the schools more than we worked with them. We learned how frustrating it can be to have schools that don't understand and are unwilling to do what is required.  So, you send your child to school and you don't trust. You're not sure they are even following the IEP and if there is no one to hold them accountable they can have a "don't ask don't tell approach" to IEP violations. You spend your time hoping, sending emails and trying to find reasons and opportunities to be in the school.

When we moved to Baltimore, there was a system in place for children with Autism. Albeit flawed, they had a system in place within the county to keep the schools accountable. The parents often have to be the whistle blower and get the county Autism advocate involved, but she is there to keep the schools honest. When she shows up to a meeting, the administrators get nervous because it means there is a problem and they may have their asses handed to them.   I still have issues with the Office of Special Education (OSE) overcrowding classrooms without adding supports. I have watched my #1's ALS(Additional Learning Support)class double in size in six months. The teacher is getting burned out and no one cares until something bad happens. I CAN'T STAND PEOPLE WHO CHOOSE TO BE REACTIVE INSTEAD OF PROACTIVE. When the Assistant Principal, who is our IEP chair, tells me to contact the OSE instead of fighting the fight with us and for us, there is a problem. We wrote a letter to the OSE director and she sent someone to observe, but we haven't heard anything yet.  Our NJ history of fighting comes in handy here, because now I have to organize all the classroom parents to protest the OSE. (I think I need a few rounds on the bag for this alone.)

Other parents piss me off. The way they are quick to judge how you deal with your Autistic kids based on how they deal with their neuro-typical kids. News flash: your life is a freaking box of chocolates compared to the shit we deal with. Do some research, ask some questions, have some compassion and back off. Keep your judging eyes and comments to your self.

Clueless, idiotic, judgmental, critical, non-sympathizers. These people are the first ones to eyeball you when your kid throws them-self down in the doorway of a store because they have never been there before. The first ones to say cruel and stupid things to you because your kid is wearing his Autism. The same a-holes who believe that kids with disabilities should be put away. I would prefer to hit them directly, but you can raise kids from jail, so the bag will have to do.

People who brings their kids to an ASA meeting. These meeting are for adults seeking support. It means that every person in that room has found someone else to watch their kids to be there. When I leave my house, I don't want to be around my kids or anyone elses'. Period. If you can't find a sitter, don't come.  It is disrespectful to everyone in the room.

Bad dog owners. People who own dogs, let them poop wherever and don't pick it up. Nothing to do with Autism but pisses me off anyway. 

I can see boxing/ASA meetings as a wave of the future. Share the good, work through the bad, and get a workout. The only thing missing would be a box of wine, but that's a simple fix.

 Jail Break

The other night, my friend Adrienne got me out the house. She had tickets to a show called Stoop Stories and our friend Debbie was one of the guest speakers. Grateful for any chance to get out of the house, I jumped at it. Since we moved to Baltimore, I haven't worked, which meant I really didn't have any excuse or reason to leave home. I felt like it was some kind of jail break. Maybe that twitching wasn't from Tourette's after all.

My husband came home a little early. I gave him the summary: who did their homework, who hadn't done their reading, who vacuumed the cat, who stole and ate the entire bag of gummy bears, and ran to change. I had 15 minutes to get ready. What the hell do I wear? I have been living in sweat pants and fleece for months now. Do my clothes even fit? Ever since I decided that sweatpants could be stylish, I haven't felt guilty about not having those stretch jeans slide down to reveal my muffin top that I swear they created in the first place. No muffin-top in sweat pants. None. Why is that? Because sweat pants accept all of you and don't try to squeeze you out. It's just the nature of the sweat pants. I grabbed something purple to honor the Raven's Superbowl victory, prayed it fit, brushed my teeth and got my ass out of there. Adrienne pulled up in my chariot and we were off.

The subject of Stoop Stores that night was stories about parenthood. Great. I was leaving my family to go hear about someone else's. Why don't we just go watch a bunch of Brady bunch re-runs and do shots every time someone says 'Marsha'? Debbie had assured me it would be a great night, but even without  the show, it was destined to be good, because I wasn't home. I was out and breathing without anyone, anywhere, calling me mom. No one was climbing, pulling or whining at me. And then, Adrienne put a glass of wine in my hand. I love her. The drinkable wine. My wine of preference.

Stoop stories features eight different speakers talking about different personal stories. Some sad, some funny, some touching. At intermission, they encouraged those who wished to speak for three minutes to place their name in the bag and they would randomly pick three people. Adreienne and Debbie encouraged me to put my name in, so I did. Talking in front of peope is something I have been doing for 20 years. I have been telling my stories to my various fitness classes over the years. I've been asked countless times after I have taught an aerobic class or subbed someone's class if I wasn't a comedian posing as an aerbicocs instructor. Unafraid, I put my name in and left it to fate.

When they called my name,  we weren't suprised. Now I had to think of some material. What story could I talk about in 3 minutes? Who really keeps track at how long a story takes? I know that some stories lasted the entire squat series or some were good during the arms and chest exercises, but had no clue about time. I was the last of the three volunteers to go. When it was my turn, I did what anyone would do when they are in the spotlight with 500 people lookling at them, I had fun and enjoyed the moment.

"I'm out of my house", I said. And then talked about how great it was just to be out. You really wouldn't think it was a big deal, but for me, it was. It was nice to talk to people over 3 feet tall. It was nice to see adults other than the parents at your kid's school during pick-up. It was nice to talk to people and not tell them what to do. It was nice to ask people questions that don't involve inquires of personal hygiene maintenance. It was great to take a potty break without an audience or interruption. It was great to wear real clothes. It was great to be in a whine free environment for a while. It felt great to feel a wee bit like myself BC(before children). I had a pep in my step and a smile on my face.

I don't remember a lot of what I talked about, I had three minutes. But what I do remember, is hearing the laughter that I caused because of my story. From the time I started to the time they applauded, they laughed and that felt good.

When you have little kids or children on the spectrum, they require so much energy. As parents, we feel it's our job to give, provide, guide and help until it is no longer required. 18 or so, years later we may get a break, if then. I realized that I needed to take more breaks from my house, more often, because it's nice to drink with other people once in a while. The kids always finding me hiding in the closet anyway. So my new goal is to get out of the house and stop twitching because I think I  just saw my BC picture on a milk carton.

Transformer Soccer

In my town, the Recreation council has the fall soccer registration in June. (I have no idea why they have it so early,) So, I asked #3 if he wanted to play and he danced around the house excitedly and said "yes".

The year before, I had signed #1 & #2 up to play on the same team and arranged for a therapeutic aid to help them on the field. However, the coach was not an "Autism sympathizer" and sent the aide away. "We can handle it" he said. And then he didn't handle it. He ignored the kids and just "Dealt" with having them subtract from the team's capacity to win.  If he hadn't gone off to India right after making that decision, he would've received such a verbal scathing that he would've had to be scraped off the field, but he left for two weeks and left the assistant coaches in charge to follow through with his decision.  I then had to be on the field with the boys and spent the majority of the season restraining myself from taking down the coach after he returned.  I was grateful the two assistant coaches were willing to learn the strategies needed to help the boys; like making sure #1 stayed on the field.

I was determined not to repeat that experience, so I volunteered to coach. I played soccer as a kid, refereed in college and had lots of experience managing my own small team of five. Plus, back in the day, I used to run the kid's fitness parties at an aerobic studio, so I could handle large groups of kids. An added bonus: I got to order around a bunch of kids that weren't mine for a change.

As our first practice got closer, I started prepping him for the transition and that's when he informed me, "I hate soccer. I don't wanna play soccer." Great. Just freaking great. If I hadn't signed up to be coach, I would've pulled him from soccer. Now I had to figure out how to get this kid to play. Great. Just f-ing great.

#3 is the PDD/NOS kid who also has ODD (Oppositional Defiant Disorder). He is the most stubborn of the kids and when he chooses to rebel, he's not easy.  I  had to figure out a strategy for the soccer season. How was I going to get this kid, who swore he loved soccer two months ago, on the field now that he hates it?

I took a survey of motivators; things he liked that he'd work for. (In the autism world, we call these items motivators, incentives and rewards.) I really didn't want to sugar him up, I didn't want to go broke with toys and I didn't want to have a bunch of crap in my house. I took him to Target and asked him what he wanted to earn. He picked out mini-transformers, about $3.50 per robot.

Soccer was eight weeks. Practice and games were each once a week. I needed 16 Transformers. I'd rather buy beer. No chance you'd be happy with Bailey's in your milk? Once he agreed to the reward, then I put the demands in place."You have to play more than you sit, it must be no less than a 60/40 split. You need to be a good listener and do what your team-mates are doing.  If you want to sit, you have to sit with the moms. You can't wander around the field and if I have to chase you down, you lose the reward." He agreed and we shook hands.

With fingers crossed and chilled beer in the fridge, the day of our first practice arrived. I let him pick out the first robot and hold it while I put on his uniform and cleats. If he earned it, he could only open it after practice, but it would have to stay in the car until then.  He looked happy to hold the robot, but was anxious about meeting a bunch of kids he didn't know.

We had 10 kids on the team. I didn't have an official assistant coach, but I encouraged all the dads to be on the field and they were great. I let them be "in charge" of my kid. (Usually, kid's always do better listening to someone else.) The under six league had kids ages four to six and played six players on the field at one time without a goalie. I'm not a fan of a wild pack of kids running around the field, so I taught them zones. I utilized my informal ABA training and showed them a picture of the field and showed them their positions on the board. When they got on the field, it was much easier for them to function.

Over the course of the season, I taught them drills, zones, teamwork, ball control, our team-mate's names, team spirit, and that they had the capacity to be awesome.  Every practice and game each player was greeted with a hug, a spin and some encouraging words. They were my boys. My sweet boys; some who were sports inclined and some who were not.  I gave them all lots of positive feedback and laughed a lot. They were all so stinking cute. We had one kid who had just turned four.  I spent most of the season trying to get him to run the right way. I had one kid who melted every practice and game and chose to sit out all but the last two games. I had two brothers, who I swear will be the next Payton & Eli; they are that talented. I had a little boy, yet to be diagnosed on my team. I gave him some extra love and talked his mom through the process of getting an ASD diagnosis.  When my one anxiety ridden kid, who only played because I was coach, scored his very first goal during the last game of the season, I cried. My little guys went from a bunch of crazies to a team that only lost two games. They made coach proud. 

There were days he didn't earn his robots. I told him, "you didn't play more than you sat and you were not a good listener." He only lost robots twice and then one day he just got better. Once he started to like the kids on the team, he looked forward to seeing them. The bonus, was that four kids from his team were at his school and one was even in his class. He had the bond with his team and together we had a bond, because I was coach.  

When the season ended, #3 asked me, "Mom, can I play soccer again next year?"  I looked at him and said, "Yes.  But are you sure?" He nodded his head and said "yes, Coach." And that, was all I needed. Let's hope I can teach him the appeal of making sand art out of empty beer bottles by then. That would be a win-win.