Family life, Paleo-ish eating and Coping with Chronic Illness

 

summer_school

This summer Scott is walking around in an exhaustion coma.  That’s because little kids.  Scott and Eddie are teaching little kids wrestling at Summer School.

The last time Scott taught little kids at Summer School, he taught them Spanish.  That was  almost 15 years ago.  One day, during class, a sweet little girl came up to Scott and gave him a picture.  She drew it.

She said, “This is for you. Can you guess who it  is?”

He studied the picture, “Um.  I’m not sure.  Can you tell ME  who is it?” (What a precious young thing).

“It’s YOU, silly. Can’t you tell?  I made the teeth yellow, just like yours.” (She’s probably in prison now.)

Little kids are awesome.  Except for when they’re awful.  Little kids don’t give one crap whether you’re tired, or whether they’re being unreasonable.  Little kids want what they want.  Little kids NEVER.WEAR.OUT.

In our family we happen to LOVE little kids.  Yes, they are like atrocious mini terrorists.  But, they are also hilarious and drunk on enthusiasm for life.

I have discovered my all time favorite pass time is listening to Eddie and Scott tell stories about teaching little kids wrestling at Summer School.

Eddie said that he and his Dad aren’t the best combination.  That’s because usually when you’re dealing with kids you need one nice guy and one “Heavy”.  Eddie and Scott can’t decide who the Heavy is.  They both only know how to be nice.   Kids can sniff that stuff out before the first whistle blows.

Eddie speaks truth.  Our family of five has to teach Children’s Church now and then.  It goes like this:  I am the teacher.  I am also the Heavy.  I am TERRIBLE at being the Heavy.  Just completely terrible.  I am the Heavy by default; everyone else in my family would make a worse Heavy than me.

The other members of my family are my helpers.  And by “helpers” I mean not helpful at all.

Apparently, it’s become popular to give your kids a break from their medication on the weekends.  By Sunday morning those kids are like monkeys on crack.

One Sunday morning I started class by asking the kids if they would help our family get to know them better.

I said, “Why don’t we each say our favorite thing to do in the winter?  I’ll start.  My name is Mrs. Smith.  You can call me, Miki.  Some of my family members wrestle,  so I like to watch wres…”

One boy interrupted.  He gave me the thumbs down sign, accompanied by a loud farting noise.  Then, he yelled, “BOR-ING!”

From that point on my critic owned those other little kids.   They loved the excitement of his rebellion.  They fed off it.

I started to sweat.  Nervous sweat.  I was in over my head.  Those little kids knew it.  I knew it.  My family knew it.

Sometimes you just need a mean husband.  A mean husband who will pick a little kid up by his collar and throw him a few feet for making farting noises at his wife.  That’s not what I got.

I don’t remember mentioning Jesus’ name much after that.  Except to say, “Dear, sweet Jesus, please let the Pastor’s sermon be short today.  Deliver those parents to this classroom door.  Soon.  Now.”

I made my way through the lesson, shouting over the mayhem.   The males in my family would each take one umedicated child to a corner of the room and teach them wrestling moves.

Olivia would handle the girls who liked following rules.  Those little girls were probably more qualified to teach that class than I was.

So, Eddie and Scott may not be dishing out lots of discipline with these wild hyenas in Summer School wrestling, but they are developing genuine affection for them. Scott actually understands kids better than he understands many adults.

One little boy at Summer School is no stranger to wrestling.  He’s the littlest boy in his big family.  He’s spent a good part of his life watching bigger kids wrestle.  He’s definitely one of Scott’s best friends.

This little boy likes to wear a tshirt with Scott’s name on the back of it.  Scott gave this little boy his childhood All Star Wrestling figurines.  These guys are tight.

This little boy told Scott that Scott could NOT quit coaching at the High School until this little guy graduated.  He told Scott,  “You can’t expect me to westle for some stwanger.”

Scott felt that was a valid point, and is now planning his retirement around this boy’s graduation date.

This particular boy is in Scott and Eddie’s wrestling class.  He sprained his elbow before summer school started.  It’s bad.  The arm is bruised and tight with swelling.  The doctor told the boy’s parents that they had to put a cast on on the arm.  The Doctor said technically the arm didn’t  need a cast to heal, but the cast  may be the only thing to slow this little boy down.

The cast has not stopped the little guy from coming to class.  He doesn’t want to miss anything.  He told Scott that he wanted to play all the games with him.  Scott, being the anti-heavy, said, “Um…I don’t think that’s a good idea. Your arm might get hurt again.”

The little guy said, “I weally, weally, want to.”

Scott said, “Fine, but if you get hurt, that’s on you.”

The little guy said, “No, thas on you.  You aw my westling coach, you know.”

Scott and Eddie will never win against those kind of negotiating skills.  Especially when they’re coming out of a cute little face.

 

 

 

 

 

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