Fruits of their Labor

While all the rest of you were lounging around at the beach this past weekend, we put our kids to work in the fields. It was, after all, Labor Day.

And here is their reward: A runner-up trophy for Pip's team, and the championship trophy for Jacob's.


(Sad to say, Mia's team, while displaying lots of potential and improving markedly from game to game, was unable to rack up enough points to be bling-worthy. But she's got a head start on her brothers anyway.)

A Little Dating Advice

Mia turns 15 this week. That means driver's training, obsessive Facebooking, ipod-assisted parent ignoring, and (*gulp*) boys. Fortunately, the giddy terrors of dating remain, for Mia, largely unexplored as of yet. This is giving us time to slap together some parental wisdom on this perennially puzzling topic, filled as it is with risks, with unknowns, with new life and new civilizations.

Not being experts on dating ourselves*, we figure we need to consult the source of our most valuable life-wisdom: Star Trek. (Sample: never beam down to the planet while wearing a red shirt!)

Wesley Crusher, for instance, the ST character in the tender teenage demographic, has a couple of alarming encounters with "young women" who are not what they seem to be. In fact, many a promising space romance has been cut brutally short by some groaner of a revelation. Picard, Riker, Kirk, Bev Crusher, Troi, Jake Sisco--just about every starfleet character with a smidge of libido has discovered that love can bring, shall we say, unexpected challenges.

As with so many things in life, a lot of these complications could be avoided with some careful screening beforehand. So here we present the "Wesley Crusher Pre-Date Quiz." All Rienstra children will be required to administer this quiz to all interested parties before anybody backs out the driveway.

• Are you now or have you ever been a being of pure energy?
  
  
• Are you a psychic projection, a transporter reflection, or a sophisticated hologram?

• Are you a shape-shifter? (this does not necessary disqualify you)
  
  
• Are you ferociously guarded by a shape shifter? (this does disqualify you)
  

• If we innocently kiss, will I be impregnated by your alien spawn?
  

• Do you reproduce in some unexpected way that you really should inform me of right now?

• Are you a symbiont being, and if so, do both your parts agree in their affection for me?

• Do you only like me because I'm the first thing you saw when you emerged from your maturity pod? (this doesn't necessarily disqualify you, either).

• Do you, in fact, exist at this point in the space-time continuum?

Of course, in addition to this filtering system, all would-be suitors will also be required to cite, from memory, the first question and answer of the Heidelberg Catechism. Let's see Wesley's space girlfriends do that.

*By the way, not being dating experts and being Star Trek experts -- total coincidence!

Sombrero with sprinkles

When someone scores three goals in a game, you call it a hat-trick.

We puzzled today over what to call it when someone scores four goals in a game.

Since four goals is more than three, it's a rather large hat. And since the team is predominantly hispanic, we decided that a four-goal effort should be called a sombrero.*

But what do you call it when that four-goal effort is:
a) the only scoring in the game (final: 4-0)
b) when the fourth goal comes after sitting out 10 minutes for debilitating leg cramps?
c) when the win comes against former teammates?
d) when the family decided to go to Coldstone's afterward to celebrate?

You call that a sweet sombrero.


*a term not entirely unprecedented in sports lingo.

Olé, Baby

We've been a soccer family for quite a few years now, so we've seen plenty of family vans pulling into parking lots at tournaments and practices with the little soccer club stickers in the back window. But our own Dodge Caravan has remained pristine--until today.

Yes, we have succumbed.

Back in June, both Miriam and Jacob endured the equivalent of Greek pledge week, trying out for four or five different clubs teams each. Now, we had learned already in California that soccer can be a harsh taskmistress, a tyrant, an idol. Oh yes. We knew that. But slowly, over the course of "hell week," we came to realize that there were dimensions of soccer commitment even beyond our own level -- "crazy." We could see the path ahead to "insane," and even beyond it to "over the edge." The path was lined with parental fantasies of Division I scholarships, Olympic Development programs, practice schedules that rivaled a typical pro players, and most of all, lots and lots of cash.

Strangely enough, after dragging the kids out to suburban happy-land -- to Hudsonville and Cascade and Ada -- and feeling somehow uncomfortable and out of place at the well-tended fields among all these obviously very affluent white parents, we finally ended up... well, right around the corner: in the city, at the slightly less posh public park, as the minority white people among our mostly Hispanic neighbors. Ah, finally! This felt right.

Having gained all our soccer savvy in Southern California, we were used to folks who played the juga bonito: a style of play built on foot skills, speed, and crisp, short passing. And it felt familiar being around coaches and players with Hispanic surnames. (In fact, Mia has an honorary Hispanic name--"Mia Torres*"--granted by her former coach, John Mejia.)

So we're very grateful that Jose Rodriguez invited both Mia and Jacob to be on his teams in the brand-new Olé Soccer Club. Jose and his assistants ran by far the most well-organized, rigorous tryout, and we could see immediately that this club was a classier act than anything else we had seen around here.

Turns out Jose is on a bit of a mission to improve West Michigan soccer. He's been a player and coach in town for many years, but now it's his turn to do things a new way. He's also smart enough to do a little club marketing, including providing players with Olé practice shirts, and parents with their very own back-window stickers.

--------
*Side note for etymologists: though it might be cool if "Torres" had something to do with a bull (Spanish: torro) --given the team graphic -- it is actually a habitational name for someone who lived near a tower, usually a defensive fortification or watchtower (from Latin turris). However, given her actual ethnic heritage, it's interesting to note that this word also has a Dutch derivation, a short form of Victoris, from the Latin personal name Victorius. Fitting.

Tempus Fugit

Last night was Mia's middle-school graduation. We all got dressed up and went to the local high school for a very nice ceremony with pomp and circumstance and earnest prayers and speechifying about making a difference and even a bit of liturgical dance. Nary a hint of the civil religion we endured at Jacob's culmination last year.

Years ago, I wrote a snarky song for my little sister when she graduated from middle school. The song was entitled "No Big Deal." It suggested that the genuine big deal would be a few years off yet.

I still feel a little of that snark, but I admit that last night was kind of a big deal. Not necessarily because passing 8th grade math and English and science is a significant accomplishment in itself, but because these events give us a chance to look back and see that there has been a whole lot of life invested in this blond 14-year old with a big smile and an iron will -- a whole lot of tears and talk, of playing and praying and laughing and loving, and no small number of mini-van miles. She has been this wonderful gift from God -- to us, and increasingly, to the world.

Pride, it seems, is a potent alchemy of nostalgia, gratitude, humility, and astonishment.

Time flies -- and significant milestones pass us by in a blur.

Sweet Potato Sunrise

There's a frustrated artist in the family.

UPDATE: "Dad! It's a sun-SET!"

Ouch!

Poor Mia. About two weeks ago she was playing around with the soccer ball after a practice, and she somehow lost her balance, landed funny, and turned her ankle. I ended up carrying her out to the car it hurt so much.

X-rays revealed that there was nothing broken, but she did have a severe sprain. The doctor said to recuperate she should simply use a warm compress regularly and rest it well.

She's been resting, and we do treat it while she does homework or watches TV -- using a tube sock filled with microwaved dry rice. (Now that's a yummy smell!) It's been two weeks, and she's only now trying to hobble or shuffle around without the crutches. The swelling has gone down some, yet the bruising still mottles all the way up her calf, looking pretty tragic.

This whole experience poses many difficulties for Mia: she has trouble getting around at school, which confounds her sense of easy competence. She absolutely hates asking for help, but she really has no choice. The worst part -- at least for the rest of us in the family -- is that she is so dependent for her psychological well-being upon those endorphins that vigorous exercise produces. No exercise, no endorphins = a remarkably less sunny daughter. Actually, she's been very brave about it all.

Of course, none of us are feeling very sunny here in Michigan. March is here but spring is nowhere to be seen. According to the AccuWeather people, there is a "fast-moving Alberta Clipper system" bringing 3-5 inches of snow to the area tonight. And plenty more clouds. Maybe by the time Mia's ankle is better we'll again be familiar with that golden orb in the sky.

Anyone with experience rehabbing an ankle successfully is welcome to post suggestions and advice.

Or bringing spring any sooner.

You Make Me Happy, Snow!

I just got back from dropping Pip off at the bus stop. Though it is reasonably cold right now (21 degrees), and we had been waiting 10 minutes for the bus to come, we were both disappointed when we saw it round the corner and head down the street in our direction. We were having too much fun.

Remember that Pip hasn't seen snow in something like three years. Already in October he was asking me "Dad, when is it going to snow? I want to see snow again!" Well, he got his wish this past weekend -- and then some. The kids had their first snow day of the school year on Friday. They went sledding that day and again Sunday afternoon with our friends the Muyskens.

Then this morning at breakfast he asked me about icicles. That led us into a conversation about snow being water that has crystalized. (Crystals, apparently, are inherently cool to 2nd graders). He'd heard elsewhere that each snowflake is unique. And of course, he's done the kindergarten scissors & paper decorative snowflakes. But nothing prepared him for an up-close look the real thing on its own terms. And today the conditions were perfect: the snow was falling delicately from the sky, and it rested gently on our gloves and coats in single flakes and small clumps, where it practically posed, inviting close inspection, admiration, wonder. Pip was flabbergasted at the beauty and complexity of this stuff that we blithely trudge around in and stomp off our boots when we come in the house.

"Wow! It's got so many points!" he said. "It's so tiny! It's so beautiful!"

"Look at this one!" I'd say, and we'd look. "Oh! Look at this one!!!" he'd say -- and we'd look together, each of us sharing each little gift as God dropped it down.

It reminded me of a winter years ago, when little Miriam had just acquired language and was eagerly awaiting the first snowfall. The December day it came, we bundled her up, and then she went outside, skipping through the front yard and praising God with with a direct address full of delight and joy: "O snow! You make me happy, snow!"

Let's face it, snow is not always something you can appreciate when you're shoveling it, or driving in it, or even sledding on it. And I think my friend Kent is mostly right when he says that snow in Michigan is about as exciting as Tuesdays in Michigan. But this particular Tuesday morning, through the eyes of my youngest, I found it pretty exciting.

Rienstra Family Jumping the Shark?

AP - Grand Rapids -- The Rienstra Family show, after many successful seasons, may finally be jumping the shark. As the children get older, the daily family cute-o-meter has been seeing a steady decline, despite compensatory gains in chore accomplishment, musical advancement, and political humor. Mia is now fully entering her cranky adolescence, and Jacob and Philip are growing in testiness (or testosterorneriness).

It was long ago that a toddling Pip asked for a hug by saying "Pweease?"...

...and even longer when a cuddly Jacob hid by climbing into his clothes cubby...


...and back in the mists of pre-history that Miriam put a stick in her mouth and asked Dad to play fetch on the beach.



So, in what some see as a desperate bid to recapture the prized 'grandma' demographic, we have been seeing more and more of next-door neighbor and Cute Overload poster boy, Nathan Williams. With his big brown-eyed wonder at the world, his precocious vocabulary, and his only-child forthrightness, he's become a regular and delightful visitor in the Rienstra household at playtime.

Whether this old ploy will work remains to be seen. The cultural consensus is that the classic family show, the Brady Bunch, jumped the shark when they brought onto the show the way-too-cute-next-door-neighbor Oliver. The same fate could await the Rienstras. Or they could go even further in their desperate bid for cuteness: rumors suggest that negotiations are currently underway for a permanent addition to the family -- a puppy.

Is that a dorsal fin I see in the water?

Carving our favorites

The boys designed and carved their own Jack-O-Lanterns this week in anticipation of tomorrow's festivities.

Miriam had lots of homework to do, and so didn't participate; but she found pleasure later on in her own sort of carving.

Like Father, Like Daughter

Except Mia's got WAY better fashion sense.

What do they teach those kids in school?

Miriam came home from her first day of school on Monday with a list of possible elective courses she could sign up for. Every six weeks the school offers another passle of "exploratory" courses, and each student identifies a #1 choice and a few tolerable others.

Mia's choice for the first exploratory was Weight Training. Seriously. Maybe in the next section she'll learn Hapkido. Unwelcome suitors, beware.

Other options available to her classmates include Liturgical Dance, Needling for the Needy, Shadow Puppetry, Calligraphy, Bubble-ology, and Mia's second choice, Wood Finishing.

Now, we're thrilled that the school promotes learning for its own sake and for delight and enrichment. I'm not a champion of an exclusive "Great Books" curriculum. Not every class has to be a mental marathon, nor must it necessarily have a practical payoff. Still, rather than, say, "Bubble-ology," as a busy parent I can think of a few classes I wish my middle-school eldest could take:

• Landscaping 101
• Basic Auto Maintenance
• Understanding the U.S. TaxCode
• Making the Most of What You've Got: Closet Organization
• How to Make Those Windows Sparkle and other Household Tricks
• Supplementing Your Parents' Income
• In-depth Bible Study: Exodus 20:12

Further suggestions?

Equity

You know how there's that point in the life of your mortgage when you're finally paying more towards equity than you are toward interest? When you turn the corner and feel like you are really beginning to reap the benefits of your investment?

Well, we're a long way from that point with our real mortgage.

But I think we may have reached that point with Miriam. Here's what I mean: for the past few weeks she has stood up at the conclusion of our end-of-the-meal prayer and made her way into the kitchen. Then, un-urged and even un-asked, she will turn on the water and begin WASHING THE DISHES!

The first time she did it I asked her who she was and what she had done with my own daughter. Now we still make that joke, but she just rolls her eyes and keeps scrubbing. And she does a good job of it, too -- probably better than I'd do.

Oh yes, life is lush.

Now if we can get Jacob and Philip to do the yard work I could become a man of letters and leisure.

Aiding the Forces of Evil

When we got sick of mysteries (see last post), we also listened to the Prairie Home Companion joke show, which aired just after the 2004 election. Keillor's bitterness was, shall we say, palpable, but it led to a lot of great jokes.

Here's the one Miriam and Jacob adopted as their favorite. Even if you have Republican leanings, you'll have to admit this is funny:

How many Bush administration officials does it take to change a light bulb?

None. There is no reason to change anything. We made the right decision to stick with that bulb. Those who say "it was burned out" are aiding the forces of evil!

Of course, this got adapted to fit any situation on the road. To wit:

Dad: "Miriam, are you going to wear those shoes?"
Mia: "There is no reason for me to change my shoes. I made the right decision to pick these shoes. Those who say they are "impractical" are aiding the forces of evil."
Dad: (sigh).

Award Week

Warning: This is a blatant boast-post. Please ignore if you hate this sort of thing.

It began on Tuesday night, at Jacob's orchestra concert. The elementary orchestra played--more or less in the keys of D and G Major--and a few students did solos. Granted, standards were not especially high. But when our boy sounded the first notes of his solo, it was fun to watch the other parents' jaws drop. Jacob played even better than he does at home, which might suggest the virtues of playing conditions that do not involve dishes clanking and little brothers running around.

Then, on Thursday, I attended the Fuller Seminary awards convocation. No big surprises here. I knew I had received a Brehm Fellowship since, well, that's how we've been paying my tuition all year. Still it was a nice occasion and I enjoyed getting some props from the be-robed Fuller faculty. That's me up there with President Mouw and my fellow Brehmmie, Eric Jacobsen. Really. It is. Stupid flash.


Next up: Mia. Friday morning at 8 a.m. was middle-school awards "chapel." It was less a chapel than an occasion on which middle schoolers could enjoy screaming and cheering for their classmates with impunity. Mia had no idea that she was getting an award, but fortunately, the school had notified her mom and dad, so we were there. To keep the secret from Mia, we had to come up with blatant lies about "having a meeting" that morning in order to explain why we were dressed and ready so early. Each teacher gave an award to one student in each subject in each grade level. Mia, all our geeky math-and-science friends will be happy to learn, got the seventh grade science award, and a shiny bit of atom-shaped bling-bling that I proudly wore as a tie-tack the rest of the day.

And last but not least, the rumors have now been confirmed. Deb's book So Much More was chosen by Christianity Today magazine to receive an Award of Merit for 2006 in the apologetics/evangelism category. Whoo hoo! It's great for Deb as a young whipper-snapper writer to be among a hoary assembly of authors the likes of N.T. Wright, Rowan Williams, Robert Wuthnow, Eugene Peterson, and other old white guys.

That's it this week. But Pip's award assembly is coming up soon. Last year he got best "Christian Attitude." Let's hope he's got the spiritual resources to deal with a) his insufferably self-pleased parents and siblings and b) a house whose current state of upheaval guarantees that the Rienstra family will win no housekeeping accolades anytime soon.

Soccer Saturation Point

It took three tournament weekends in a row to do it, but it seems our Burbank girls have reached SSP--soccer saturation point.

We drove down to Anaheim this weekend for a club tournament. It was cold and rainy--perfect British "football" weather--but it certainly dampened our wimpy California spirits. The girls started out tired. We came with only 11 players because of injuries and various scheduling conflicts, so as the day wore on they just got more tired.

Despite playing "flat," the girls won their first game, tied their second game, and won the third game. Would we go on to the second Sunday game and play for the championship? Nope. We had the same record as the team we tied, but they had one more goal than we had, so they beat us by one tournament point.

"What a shame," we all said sarcastically, gleefully packing up our camp chairs and dashing to the parking lot as the sky threatened another shower. The girls, the parents, even the coaches had no regret. If you're going to lose a tournament, it's nice to lose by not losing. And no one cared to play another game in the cold rain.

We headed home for (finally!) a restful Sunday afternoon and evening. No more tournaments till April 28. Everyone gets a much-needed and much-deserved rest.

Of course, the team will still practice twice a week...

Agony of Defeat

It's hard to believe, but the mighty Burbank Fire finally met a team they couldn't beat. At least not THIS time!

Mia's team went to the AYSO Section 10 playoffs in Bakersfield last weekend to compete for a spot at the state championships next month in Irvine. As usual, they quickly dispatched the first two teams with scores of 5-0 in both games. In the third game they struggled to put one in the net, despite about 40 good shots. Maybe there was a force field? At any rate, the game concluded nil-nil, but Burbank had enough points to win their bracket and go on to day two.

Since we were seeded second, we had to play the #3 seeded team, Malibu. We had played them last fall in a friendly and wound up losing in a tie-breaking shoot-out. Not this time! The girls played beautiful soccer and handily beat them 3-1.

Now we're on game five in 36 hours. The girls are exhausted. Mia has a bad cold, our fastest forward has an injured ankle, our mid-fielders are about ready to keel over, and we have only one sub. And now the girls are facing the highly disciplined, cool-as-a-cucumber Santa Ynez, a team that has never given up a goal. Not once. They play the same kind of short-pass game our girls use to beat everyone else. The girls did their best, but Burbank just couldn't pull it off this time. Still, we held them to one goal. Final score: 1-0.

So Burbank put up a respectable second-place showing out of the top 16 teams in one of the most competitive AYSO sections in the country. Most of all, we're proud of Mia for pushing through a bad cold and being part of a fierce, unstoppable defensive wall. She played on sheer will and shut down everyone's best strikers. Mia, you're awesome!

Laughin' at Laughlin

The whole family spent this past weekend in Laughlin, Nevada. Three guesses what drew us out into the desert (cheaters can scroll down).

We decided that Laughlin is sort of a beginner LasVegas; it's got bright lights and casino gambling and theatrical productions of dubious moral value -- the same as you'll find a few miles to the north, but they're here on a much smaller, even shabbier scale. If you sort of squint your eyes and look at the strip (see picture above), you might indeed believe you're in Sin City. Of course, squinting is a good idea anyway when you enter the smoke-hazed casino and find that you're looking at a room full of old, lonely, overweight people, chain-smoking and drinking and feeding slot machines all day and night. In fact, you'd have to squint really hard to see what the casinos want you to see.

We had a fun drive down, including a hilarious few minutes as we were leaving L.A. on the 210. There were only about 2.7 buzillion other people on the road with us, and as we went underneath a long overpass (which took a good long time), people began sounding their horns -- maybe to hear the echo, maybe to let off some steam, maybe just because it was Friday and they were heading out of town. It was random and social and funny - like a flash mob. In all the noise we heard the obligatory call-and-response "shave and a haircut" many times. Others just cheerfully peeped random rhythms. We joined in the honk-fest and then laughed about it for miles afterwards.

But as astute readers will already know, we did not leave L.A. and endure traffic of apocalyptic proportions in order to see the natural beauty of the Mojave desert, nor to gamble away my teaching fellowship fundage. Instead we went to see Mia's superlative soccer team kick some non-California competition. We all got a good laugh out of a first-game snafu: Mia had accidentally brought along Jacob's all-star soccer jersey instead of her own (all the Burbank teams wear the same style jersey). This meant that our team had two players labeled #11. So we got some painter's masking tape and covered up one of the ones, and Mia played. But the other team complained to the referee about "that player with the unusual shirt." They thought she was a ringer, because she was, in their words, "too tall and strong and fast" to be under 14 years old. (She is strong and fast, but tall? She's average on her team. Not to mention their team.) I think they were looking for some excuse to protest the drubbing they received. Final score: 6-0.

After that cake-walk, there were two other tougher games -- one scoreless draw, and one hard-fought win at 3-0. In the tie game, Mia managed to jump up for a header and collide heads in mid-air with an opposing player. Mia came down hurting but kept focus and continued the play. The other gal didn't fare as well. We saw her the next day -- still playing, thank goodness -- but with bruising around her eye shaped suspiciously like a Mia-head-print. Mia said afterwards that she felt really bad, but then again the girl should've just gotten out of the way and let Mia head the ball, and then she wouldn't have gotten hurt. Simple!

In the championship game, Mia's team dominated the offensive play, yet squeaked by with a 1-0 win. Still, a win is a win, the bling-bling is just as bright. And the parents are just as thrilled to see the girls' laughing faces as they come through the "way-to-go!" lineup at the game's conclusion.


(by the way, the mysterious blonde in the picture at the top of this post is a member of Mia's team, Danielle Reid)

Movin' on up...

It was another overwhelming weekend of soccer at the Rienstra household.

Jacob's tournament season came to an end as the previously undefeated Destroyers were outplayed on a windy field up at North Hills. Technically, the entire time wasn't outplayed -- we looked like a better overall team. But our opponents had one amazing young fellow, with speed and skilz for days, including a natural left foot. We couldn't find an answer to him. He was like the Kobe Bryant of AYSO soccer on Saturday. Anyway, we're very proud of Jacob, and his development as a player and as a person this year.

Meanwhile, Mia's team has so dominated the AYSO competition in Southern California this year that their coaches are playing with the idea of "going club." This means moving up to the next level of recreational soccer here in California. Club teams require tryouts and certain levels of player and parent commitment and the competitions are a bit more fierce - for example, they don't require that everyone play in a game; it's a step up in many ways.

Thus, the Burbank Fire went this weekend to a Soccer tournament in Anaheim to put themselves up against some Club teams to see whether they had the goods to make it. They entered at the lowest level of competition (bronze), and they were playing in a division of all 14 year olds, when more than half of our team is 13.

So, how did they do? The proof is in the bling-bling. Another undefeated first place medal. They won their games 4-0, 2-1, 4-0, and 2-0. Maybe next tournament they'll start at the Silver division. Or Gold. Or maybe when we get finished this year, they'll have to invent another precious metal division. Plutonium? Californium?

Teenage Cynicism: Priceless

So I'm in the Burbank mall with Mia the other day, and we walk by the gigantic fake tree and the fake living room where "Santa" is drawing little ones up on his knee.

"Hey, Mia," I say, "would you like to go visit Santa??"
Her reply: "Why would I want to do that? You're the one with the credit card."

It's nice to know we've taught our daughter the real meaning of Christmas.