A Great Cosmic Mystery

See this kid here? Yeah, right up there with the blue eyes and easy smile. Dude's got issues. He's going through this phase lately where he harrumphs and announces rather menacingly that he's not eating dinner, doesn't like dinner and wants something else. So there. This new 'tude erupted out of the blue one night and he's been on a kick lately, doing this every few nights. We have no idea where it came from, the cause of it -- did he suffer a severe case of indigestion after a recent meal that aroused his anti-dinner antics? -- and when it's going to end. I wasn't home for dinner tonight due to being in Newport News working late on a story with another reporter about a 71-year-old woman who's been married at least 10 times, sometimes without the proper divorcing proceedings occurring before the ensuing marriage, and has left a slew of angry ex-husbands, not to mention she now faces charges of bigamy, perjury and theft. Look for the story in the paper soon.

Anyway, back to Ezra. Julie reported to me that he once again refused to eat dinner tonight. He stood there, lip thrust out, arms crossed and 100 percent attitude. So he got sent to a room until his attitude improved, with the warning not to dare come out until he was ready to grub or he was likely to have a cheeky encounter with Mr. Spoon. After a while, he made an appearance and slinked out of the room before eventually sitting at the table. He still refused to eat, however. Everyone else finished the chicken and rice casserole, the plates were cleared off the table, the kids who dutifully finished dinner headed off to play ... and there sat Ezra. He was relentless in his determination to show everyone that eating is a sign of weakness, the consuming of food the mere Achilles heel, or soft underbelly, or shortcoming of lesser 4-year-olds. Ezra was in for the long haul, his commitment evident in his steely glare. This fast was on!

Until, out of the corner of her eye as she busied herself in the kitchen, Julie thought she spied a fork lifted to a little boy's mouth ... could it be? Did Ezra just take a bite? She approached the stalwart young defender of the Principle of the Matter -- that principle being that sometimes a boy has to stand for something he believes in, that something being in this case the right to decide whether or not he need partake of the nightly sustenance. Did you just take a bite? queried Julie. The look on Ezra's face can only be described as scorn, as if to say, "How dare you even suggest I would lower myself to take a bite of dinner, demeaning the very essence of my being. You may as well dress me in a frilly pink tutu and curl my hair with curlers and have me prance around. I may be 4, but I have principle." She pressed him on the matter and his brow furrowed more deeply, the squint of his icy glare becoming more fierce. She urged him to open his mouth so she could see for herself whether he took a bite. He relented and slowly his lips parted, his jaw slackened and it was revealed at last the truth of the matter. Julie peered in his mouth. She saw rice. And chicken. "You did take a bite!" she gushed. "I knew I saw you!"

Ezra smiled. Then he proceeded to wolf down his chicken and rice as if he had not eaten even a tiny morsel all day. The storm had passed. The mysterious force that erupted in such sudden fury with extraordinarily severe consequences disappeared as suddenly as it had reared up. The sky cleared, the sun shone brightly, all was good again. In the end, only one small detail remained. It was the vexing question that haunts every parent, a mystery of untold depths that sometimes comes in staccato bursts, depending on the child and the circumstances and whatever else causes this cosmic behavioral quirk to burst forth like a supernova: What on earth was that all about?

`Red Dragons' Are History

In case you've been wondering, and frankly I can't imagine a scenario where you would be, I'm happy to report that the "Red Dragons" got into the win column this Fall. We didn't exactly light up the win column, but we battled to the end of the season and finished with 2 victories. Against 9 losses. Somehow some other coach got the league's coach of the year award. I will say, however, that those 2 victories were very glorious, no doubt about it. One of the games was a victory against the dread "Cookie Monsters," a team that had beaten us on two previous occasions. In what can only be described as the biggest sporting victory on American soil since the 1980 U.S. Olympic hockey team victory over the Russians at Lake Placid, we trounced the Cookie Monsters 2-0 in a game I may never forget for the way the Red Dragons battled, fought and got every ounce of ability out of themselves to defeat what had been up until that moment a superior opponent. (Of course, it helped that during the match one of our players sent the other team's best player to the hospital when, during a collision when both players were going for the ball, he landed with his size 9 cleat on the back of the other player's hand, crushing it.)

You can see here a photograph of our team in between a couple of our tournament losses on Saturday. We played three games, lost all three by a combined score of something like 15-3 ... but look at these kids. Smiles! They're having fun! Even while getting beaten to a pulp! I'm not sure whether that's because we just got done feeding them pizza and handing out trophies to them or whether they're smiling because they knew the season was, mercifully, almost over. Whatever the case, several of the parents and players asked me when it was all over if I was going to "coach" again in the Spring. They thought it would be good to keep the team together.
I wasn't sure how to answer that. Yeah, I had a great time and it was fun coaching the kids and they were a great group of kids, but it is a pretty big commitment. And there's probably someone out there who could actually teach these kids something about soccer. You know, maybe coach them up to at least 3 or 4 victories. We'll see. Maybe between now and the Spring season I'll pick up a few soccer strategies. Gain some insights. Understand the nuances of the game, such as the difference between "indirect" and "direct" kicks and "offsides." I'll just put this out there right now. Gloucester Parks and Recreation 9- to 11-year-olds watch out. The Red Dragons might be back. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

28 Weeks To Go ... Time To Pick Names!

Julie went to the doctor on Wednesday for an ultrasound and brought home a snapshot of a healthy little baby boy or girl in her womb. Baby appeared to be waving, sort of letting us know every thing's fine and it's nice and snuggly in there. We have no clue if it's a boy Sabo or a girl Sabo percolating in there. That's another 8 weeks off before we get that photo confirmation. If, that is, we decide to find out if it's a boy or a girl Sabo. I'm not sure if I want to know. Surprise is good, though I'll be 42 when baby is born and I'm not sure if my heart will be able to handle all the excitement at that ripe old age.

We've been tossing around names here at Sabo central. We're experienced at this. I must say, though, this seems to be the first time we've been seriously kicking around baby names this early in the game and possibly even settled on a couple. There's some logic behind this. Our experience is that traditionally our babies have been born rapid-fire. Sort of the Uzi of baby birthing ... one right after the other. (Was that a good analogy? Could I have chosen a better one?) I have barely had time to get the last baby's name down pat before the next one is upon us. Who has time to pick another name?

This one is a little different. With a full 2 1/2 years since the last Sabo baby exited the womb, there's been plenty of opportunities to name drop. We have some pretty serious candidates at the moment, as far as names go. That's good because it will give me plenty of time to practice remembering the baby's name when the need arises to remember said baby's name at critical junctures, such as when someone inevitably asks me baby's name. I've actually had some rather embarrassing moments lately when someone asks me the name of the kid who is with me and I give them a name. You know, just sort of throw one out there without thinking about it too much. Then the kid gives me a strange look and I suddenly remember, `That's not Ezra! That's Gabe!' I quickly correct my mistake, uttering the disclaimer, "I was just making sure Gabe knew his name. Heh-heh." The person usually gives me the `Yeah, right!' look, followed by the look that says, `Egads! Someone pull his parenting card! He can't even remember his kid's name!'

Here's the thing. As a parent of 12 kids, I have to remember 24 names -- first and middle names -- not to mention the occasional mother's maiden name I have to remember to fill out certain important documents, as well as my own names, my wife's names, my wife's maiden name and on top of all that now I'm coaching a soccer team with 12 kids on it and I have to remember their names (at practice the other day I just randomly started calling some kid on my team `Bob'; he thought it was funny but the truth is I couldn't remember his name) ... can you give a brother a break? And I'm not even getting into birth dates, anniversaries, social security numbers, pin numbers, addresses, passwords ... what's really frightening is when my kids start getting married and there's spouses names to remember ... and then they start having kids! What if there are 20 grandkids! What if there's 40! What if there's 60! Don't be surprised if when the Sabo grandkids start appearing I just make everybody wear nametags. And one other thing. If we do have 60 grandkids, what's Christmas going to be like?

Warning: Little Boy In Bathroom

You're probably looking at this photo and thinking, `What a cute photo.' I look at this photo and think, `Claire just peeked into the bathroom after one of these little boys came out of it.' It's a look of horror, in case you're wondering. I've had it. I'm tired of having to put yellow police tape over the door of our bathrooms after one of the little boys exits it. Don't get me wrong, I love our little boys. But mercy sakes, can you aim sons? It's like a firefighter who can't handle his hose in there! Maybe it's just our house. Maybe I'm a bad dad who hasn't taken the proper time to cover the subject of "Toilet: The Hows and Whys of Proper Aim" with his wee lads. All I can say is that it seems like every time one of the little shavers walks in there it's going to be a seat-soaking, wall spraying, floor warping experience.

One thing that doesn't help is the wait-until-the-very-last-second habit of some of our unnamed little boys. Instead of taking care of business at the first inkling of a full bladder, they wait until the full bladder is about to explode and the end result is the tinkling turns into a jet spray horror show. I can see it coming, too. The little potty dance jig that sometimes includes full-blown crotch grabbing to stave off an "accident" is something I can spot out of the corner of my eye. As soon as I see the potty dance I "encourage" the little lad to get into the bathroom to take care of bidnis ... and we all know what happens next. The bidnis starts before the britches are properly dropped and the seat properly lifted and you have the equivalent of the Bathroom Armageddon.

Somehow we'll survive all this. I'm sure I'll laugh about it. Someday. When we're not wiping down the seat, mopping up the floor and giving the wall a good cleansing. Until then I'm investigating the costs of 6-foot-high urinals. The kind with a little faux fly painted on it at the bottom. Seriously. I, uh, saw one of those recently. Believe me, everyone I know tried to hit the fly. I can only hope that it would work in our house.

She Said What?

The other day Olivia was upstairs eating Doritos. On the carpet. That's a no-no in our house. So Claire called her on it and told her she needed to go downstairs and eat the chips in the kitchen. Olivia looked at her, licked her lips and said, "I'm busy." Then she proceeded to eat her chips. We have a wee lass here, just 2 years old, with a "Princess complex" and that is not a good thing. This morning she was wearing some new hand-me down pants that looked great on her. Fit nicely, didn't sag anywhere, not too short, not too long. Just right. She walked up to me and wrinkled her nose. "These don't fit," she said. I tried to convince her that, au contraire mon ami, they look great on her. I was half-expecting her to say, "Do these make me look fat?" Needless to say she went in the bedroom and changed her pants.

The other day Olivia said to MerriGrace, "I'm funny." MerriGrace said, "No you're not." And Olivia said, "I'm funny." So MerriGrace told her to tell her a joke. Olivia said, "Your life's a joke."
Um, where does she learn this stuff? I've said for quite some time that I have my work cut out for me with this sweet little girl. It's going to take some doing. Prayer is appreciated. We've also said for quite some time that one cure to the Princess complex would for her not to be the caboose of the family, so to speak. But the Lord has had other plans for us as far as having the No. 13 Sabo baby. Until quite recently. A shocking development has occurred in the house o' Sabo: Julie is pregnant. The ultrasound shows a healthy little one growing in her womb with a heartbeat Julie got to hear tapping along at 170 beats a minute. Julie's 11 weeks along and we're praying for a healthy baby in the middle of May (Let's see, what is it about August? We have Taylor's birthday on April 29, Brenton's and Madeline's on May 1 and Claire's on May 17 ... ). It would really be helpful for me if the baby was born on May 17. Since that's Claire's birthday it's easy for me to remember. So perhaps the solution to Olivia's Princess complex is just months away.

Wanted: Soccer Coach

Somehow this Fall soccer season I got roped into coaching the 9- to 11-year olds team that Madeline and Abram are on. It had probably been somewhere around eight years or so since I coached youth soccer, back when Taylor and Ethan wrought havoc in the Corvallis league. The rust shows, as far as my coaching ability. I have a great group of kids who are fun to coach, but they're probably wondering if they're going to win a game this year. Our record at the moment stands at 0-4, with some of those losses pretty ugly. But it's not about wins or losses, right? I sure hope so. In my defense, the last game we played, on Saturday, was a very winnable game. But our best player was lost for the season two games ago -- his neighbor's dog bit his hand so hard it fractured a finger and he's in a cast and can't play -- and one of our other top players went on a fishing trip to Tangier Island (it's out in Chesapeake Bay and worth googling; oddly enough, ESPN is featuring the island in a commercial during this college football season) and missed Saturday's game. We lost 4-2, but Abram scored a nice goal and you can see him in the photo standing in front of me describing the look on the goalkeeper's face when Abram hammered the ball home into the net. Madeline is on the right, mostly obscured but slightly visible in a goalkeeper's jersey. She allowed no goals in her stint as goalkeeper in the 3rd quarter, in case you were wondering, though she did have one mental lapse when she tried to pick up the ball in the box while defending the goal. That was fine, except that was when she wasn't wearing the goalkeeper's jersey.

None of the kids on my team, called the Red Dragons, seem too upset over the mounting losses. I don't know what it is with kids these days. Am I the only one losing sleep over this? Am I the only one breaking out in hives as we occupy the cellar of the Gloucester Parks and Recreation 9- to 11-year-olds Premier League? Am I the only one trying to e-mail Landon Donovan for some soccer tips and to see if he could swing by Gloucester for a clinic? I'm thinking of extending practices for another hour. Maybe having them run a lap around the entire field for every goal that's surrendered. WWVLD? (What would Vince Lombardi do?) Somehow these kids are having fun. They smile and laugh! During the games! Sometimes even after the opposing team has scored 3 goals! In the first quarter! One kid came up to me after the last practice and asked if I was going to coach again in the spring, and if so he wanted to be on my team! This kid is crazy! He might go a whole year without winning a soccer game! If I use one more exclamation point, I might go crazy! Anyway, perhaps these kids are on to something. I think I'll give this whole exercise of losing but having fun a good think. In the face of all these defeats, these kids keep coming back. Despite the coaching.

So Long Summer

Here's a couple of reminders of summer, Gloucester style. Or at least Sabo Gloucester style. The shot at the top was taken at a Peninsula Pilots baseball game. Ethan's in uniform because while playing for the Gloucester American Legion junior team he was named to the All-Star team. The All-Stars were honored by the Peninsula Pilots and we had an awful good time going to the game and watching college kids play in a wood bat league. It was made even more enjoyable by the fact that a couple buddies from metropolitan Yorktown, Steve Mezzapesa and Brian Horner, went to the game. Ethan had a fine summer playing for the Legion team, batting leadoff -- hitting over .400 -- and playing mostly in the outfield and at third base, with occasional catching duties. Now he's back playing fall baseball for the Gloucester High School, preparing for the spring season.

And then we have a sunflower that MerriGrace grew in our raised bed in the back yard. Her flowers turned out splendidly, as you can see. It was the hottest summer on record here in Hampton Roads, and that means something out here. It was a relentlessly hot, sweaty, sticky summer, marked by a noticeable lack of summer thunderstorms. Ezra never really had to worry about anyone letting the thunder in. Even at the end of September we had temperatures in the mid-90s. Last week, however, the rains fell in earnest -- at one point our 24-hour rainfall total topped 4.5 inches -- and the coolness of Fall has set in. What a relief. We still have tomatoes in the garden and I mowed the lawn the other day, but it's the time of year when the kids can play outside all day without coming in all purple and the air conditioning isn't running nonstop. The kids, and my wallet, like these days.