Moving is never easy, but when it’s done with two small children in tow, it adds a whole new element of surprise to the mix.
The boys were too young to remember our previous move, but only the changes in scenery and schedules were at hand to cause confusion. This move, however, will take some explaining.
We decided to tell the boys after our last big event in purple: the Sports Banquet. Randy had picked up some red-legging socks for Cooper, and we hoped they might help to explain to our oldest the events that were about to transpire.
We sat them both down and tried telling the boys, in two-year old terms, that we would be moving to Sentinel. Brisco heard the word “Sentinel” and immediately started spinning and spouting, “Gram-Gramother! Gram-Gramother! Marfaaaa!” like a life-size bobble head all torqued up on chocolate. It seems he was fine with the move.
Cooper’s reaction was a bit more hesitant. His first concern was if “Daddy’s boys” could go with us. I told him that the big boys would have to stay in Hydro, but there would be other big boys in Sentinel that he would get to know.
He rolled that thought around for a moment, at which time Dad gave him his new, Sentinel red socks to help persuade him on the matter; however, we did not get the reaction for which we had hoped.
Upon seeing those red-legging socks in his own father’s hands, he curled up his nose, found his best grouchy growl and said, “Those are Dirty Sox!” (in reference to our most loathed Boston opponent). He snatched the socks away from dad and held them from the ends like they were blazing with fire. Boy, have we trained him well.
After the initial horror of the moment, he seemed to relax somewhat and spent the next half hour running around the house in one sock (because of course Brisco needed the other). Typically the “uniform” is saved for game days, but he had discovered those “dirty sox”, stretched thigh-high, were quite useful for perfecting his slide on the carpet. It seems our plan hadn’t quite worked out like we’d imagined.
After a whirlwind move, a week at Grandmother’s, and three long days of tournament play, I’m not sure if the shock of the red is gone or just forgotten for the moment. Last Thursday morning before his first ballgame as a Bulldog, he asked who it was that would be playing that day. I told him the Bobcats would play the black team, and the Bulldogs would play the orange team.
Without a second thought, he said, “We want the purple Bobcats to win!” My response to him was, “Yes, we do…” but I was interrupted with a quick addendum: “Then if the Bobcats play the Bulldogs, we want the Bobcats to win.” After a moment of thought, I tried again to explain, “Well, Cooper, if the Bulldogs don’t win, that means Daddy doesn’t win.” With a squint of his eye and a firmly set jaw, he said without even a moment’s hesitation, “Well then, we want the Bulldogs to win!” It seems blood is thicker than baseball.
Between the trauma and confusion of changing homes and teams to the fear that his parents had turned to the “dark side”, Cooper has definitely had a week and a half to remember.
He’s still learning the ins and outs of the new ball park. He loves the gator, and is amazed that the lawn mower can turn a complete circle sitting still. He has discovered a new tool for plowing up the dirt, and he can’t seem to get enough of the muddy water hydrant…no matter how many spankings he receives for his fun.
He and his brother have finally mastered Grandmother’s stairs, and they are almost convinced that there are no monsters living in the basement. They have their trains, their trucks, their racecars, their lounge chairs, and they have their new Sentinel-red T-shirts. Maybe given some time, they will come to accept the red socks, too. Regardless of the color, one can bet that no matter which team we follow, it will be Dad’s team that my boys champion.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
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