Soccer Obsession

I try to pick up on the things that Braeden likes, so he can further explore them.  

He loved the horses in his books, so I took him to see horses.  Maybe he'll be a rancher someday.  He loved whacking sticks on various objects to hear the different sounds they make, so I made sure he had a couple types of drums around.  Maybe he'll be a drummer someday.

See what I mean?  The little things that a child expresses interest in may be their future career, so I try to let them all blossom.  Then they can choose later in life.

When we were in Arkansas last winter, Grammy and Grampy Wais sent Brady P. some cooler pajamas to wear on those hot nights.  One pair had four different kinds of sports balls all over them.  Each time he wore the pants, he would point to a soccer ball.

"Soccer ball," I told him.

He looked down his leg to find another one.  And another one.  And another one.

"Soccer ball.  Soccer ball.  Soccer ball," I repeated for each pointing.

I don't know if he liked the pattern of the soccer ball or what, but he never pointed to the baseball, football or basketball.  Ever.  And the soccer ball was incessant.

"Okay, Brady P.  I get it.  We'll get you a soccer ball," I told him.

So I bought my tiny son a soccer ball with the classic black and white pattern like the one on his pj pants.  Supposedly, my two-and-a-quarter year old son, who just learned to walk steadily a couple months prior, was going to learn how to kick a soccer ball.

When I put it in the cart, he gave me the owl face.  This face, where his eyes get big and his mouth turns into a little "o," means that he is the most excited he can be.

"Yes," I thought.  "He likes the soccer ball!"

Then we had to learn how to kick it.  

Brady P. had been chucking rocks and tossing balls for months before that, but never did we think about giving it a good kick.  Well, in soccer you're not supposed to use your hands, so it was time to learn how to kick.

I thought it would be a fun thing to do on a fresh Arkansas spring day.  But instead of having a kicking spree, I observed the workings of the neurological pathways of my child's brain.  Yes, it was a lesson in brain science right there in the driveway.

I told Brady P. to kick it.  To use his foot.  He knew what his foot was, but I watched as my words entered his ears.  I heard his wheels turning as he looked at his foot and the ball.  And I heard them spin as he tried to figure out how to move his foot toward the ball to make it move forward like I had demonstrated for him.

Wow.  That was a lot of processing for a little guy!

He didn't get it the first day.  Or the second.  Or the third.  But, for some reason, Brady P. was obsessed with the soccer ball.  When he saw it on the porch, he would point and shout, "Eh!"

So we tried and tried.

About a week later, he had it.  He could kick it, run after it and kick it again.  He could kick it with the right timing after I kicked it to him.  He was getting it!  Little Brady P., who pointed to a cartoon on his jammy pants, was kicking a soccer ball down the driveway.

I was so proud of him.

Once we got back to the Copper Country, and the weather warmed up a bit, we got the soccer ball out again.  He still loves that thing and enjoys working on his kicking skills.

Sprinting to the soccer ball

Look at him.  He even has the serious soccer face!

One evening, on our walk to throw rocks, we spotted a young man volleying a soccer ball to himself.  This guy was amazing.  He kicked it up, over his head, behind and side to side without letting it hit the ground.  Braeden plopped down in the middle of the road and watched him in awe.

Eventually the guy's ball hit the ground and rolled toward Brady P.  Brady P. stood up, ran after it and grabbed it in his arms.

"Can you kick it to the man?" I asked him.

He threw it to the man instead.  Perhaps he was massively humbled.

"He really liked watching you," I told the young man.

The man kicked it back to Braeden, and Braeden kicked it back to him.  After chatting a bit more, I noticed he had an accent.  Woah, what if that guy was a professional soccer player from a different country?

When Braeden got up to leave, he waved good-bye to the man.  "I think you made his day!" I told the man as we walked away.  "Thank you!"

"You're welcome!" he said as he waved to Braeden.  We should have gotten his autograph.

Garden Hide-and-Seek

Grammy works in the gardens at the campground.  For first year gardens, they are producing quite nicely.  While she is busy watering, mulching and weeding, Brady P. and I go visit her.  And help if we can.

Braeden likes to help by throwing his ball into the plants.  He throws it right into the broccoli patch.  He chucks it right through the rows of corn.  He sinks it deep into the kale plants.

And then he has to find it.

When his ball is too hidden for him to find, he will interrupt our chores by pressing his palms together, moving them up and down and grunting "uh, uh."  His sign for "help."

"I will help you Braeden," I volunteer, so Grammy can keep moving along.  "You threw the ball in the broccoli!" I tell him.  "Let's find it."

He stands next to me as I pull the leaves back and look under the plants.  "Baa-aall, where aaaare you?" I sing as I duck under the foliage.

I want Braeden to know we are looking through the broccoli.  And when he throws it in the corn, I want him to know it's in the corn.  No matter which vegetable the ball lands in, Grammy and I tell him the name of it.  The chances of him memorizing all the plants by fall is minimal, but I think it's a great opportunity for him to learn where his food comes from.

Brady P. takes his ball throwing seriously

Soon enough we find his ball.  "Here it is, Brady P!" I shout to him.  "Now stay on the path."  

The path.

The only way we can allow him to stay in the garden at all is because he learned what the path is.  Now it took laps of Grammy and me marching through the garden with him on our heels to learn what the path was.  "Marching on the path," we sing to whatever nursery rhyme was stuck in our heads that day.

And he walks right behind us on the dirt path.  That way, when he goes to find his ball in the corn, we can yell, "Stay on the path!" and he looks down, and finds a path to the corn.  It's fun to make a game out of it.  Sometimes we zigzag through like a maze, and I ask him where he thinks the path goes from a certain spot.  He can usually find one.

Grammy reminding him where the path is

He certainly likes the challenge of learning, and he loves that ball.  Uh oh, where did it go this time?