Fake Moustaches and Soccer Practice

I enrolled Kiddo #2 in Soccer this year. It was a bit more of a production than enrolling his sister, who will be 5 in June. Five is the 'legal' age for Soccer in our city, and since Kiddo #2 is only a year and a half, I had a little more work to do to make that possible.

Walk with me.

See, Kiddo #2 is the most active kid I've ever seen; I'm not the only one who agrees. His daycare provider, who is mid-twenties, super fit and is a Bootcamp Instructor on the weekends, had to give up instructing during the week because she's too tired to work with him and then lead a Bootcamp class.

I'm just gonna give you a minute to let that digest.

It was April first when I realised that Summer is coming. The blooming trees, the growing grass, the smell of BBQ's burning off the mice that hibernated inside them over the winter... it all gave rise to an undeniable panic in my heart.  I realised that Summer, the season of freedom from school, will also give rise to the season of non-stop chasing of Kiddo #2.

I looked through the Rec Centre listings for things to get him into this summer. Yes, there are always long trips to the park, but a woman can only take so much stress (http://doescoffeecomeinbucketsize.blogspot.ca/2011/08/crazy-little-thing-called-mom.html).

There's plenty for my almost 5 year old to do but do you think there's an organised sport or activity that a not-even-two year old can get into? If he swims I have to be in the pool (despite his undeniable ability and that his Butterfly Stroke is better than mine), he's too young for football, baseball and lacrosse. He's even too young for figure skating and ballet/dance lessons. He's also too young (by roughly 3 years) for soccer.

But, at 18 months, Kiddo #2 is easily as fast as Kiddo #1, is almost 40 pounds and is nearly the same height as she is; Kiddo #1 is not petite, Kiddo #2 is just ... Thor-sized.

I'm just gonna give you a minute to let that digest.  

I arrived at Soccer registration with my daughter and two birth certificates.  Don't ask where I got a forged birth certificate for my son. Just know I teach High School, so I have Connects.

...

Ok. Fine then. I offered some kid 3 guaranteed-"A" essays for the forged birth certificate. The first one I wrote about MacBeth, the second one is on the life cycle of a cell and the last one I cut and pasted from Google that is some reflection on the morality of Internet use/copyright infringement in the modern-day classroom.  I snuck that last one in there mostly because I was up all night typing the first two and didn't have time to bust out a third "A" paper. I just hoped he wouldn't look too closely.

I showed up at the Grocery Store, in the cereal aisle at 8:02. I waited for the kid in "the blue apron with a giant push-broom" to meet me by the Cheerios to say the code phrase "Do you always let your son run wild in the cereal aisle?"

In retrospect, this phrase while completely appropriate, is not abnormal enough to signal a real "drop."  I tried to give the essays to 4 different people at 8:02 by the Cheerios.

I'm just gonna give you a minute to let that digest.  

See, I thought it would be too obvious if I showed up to do "the drop" at a grocery store without my son with me and all Hell breaks loose whenever we get to that part of the store. Maybe it's the aisle with so many sugary choices? Maybe it's the amount of time that passed by the time we get to that aisle? I'll never know, but he's an absolute monkey in this aisle, every time.

But, even on this covert operation, I couldn't NOT bring him. I only grocery shop with one or both of my children, so if I came in alone, clearly it would arouse suspicion amongst the store staff.  This, of course, wouldn't be an issue if I didn't end up in the grocery store EVERY DAY for something or other I've forgotten or I have run out of in the middle of a recipe.  Yes, I bring it on myself. No, I don't really give a care.

Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice
to nervously sweat. 

By the time the kid with the broom showed up though, I was so flustered that I was sweating on my upper lip. My big Texas-style wig was hot and itchy, making it slip ever-so-slightly to the left, while my handlebar moustache had unstuck on the right side and was beginning to flap in and out like a party favour with every breath I took.

Honestly, being an undercover agent is more difficult than I really give Ninjas credit.

I handed the damp essays over to the boy who was more than a little grossed out when he unstuck them from my clammy hands.  He tried to shake my hand and pass the birth certificate over to me like they do in movies, but I'm hardly coordinated enough to do that, and also, Kiddo #2 chose that second to finally open a Jumbo box of Fruit Loops. It was all he needed though-- the forgery kid let the rainbow of sugar fall around us and slipped the birth certificate into my pocket while everyone else in the aisle stood shocked, staring at my son and waiting for his negligent mother to appear.

I ripped off my wig, moustache and fake glasses and tossed them into the cart. I then whistled two short blasts followed by a long one, and ran out the door alone (with the birth certificate). The whistle, by the way, is code for "Vacate now. Meet back at car in 5 minutes. Ditch any followers." I taught it to my children last year when Kiddo #2 showed a prowess at wreaking havoc on all stores. Yes, we've used it plenty before. Yes, I leave my kids unattended because when we split into two or three different directions, we're harder to catch that way.

Should've made notice of the birth date before paying
the kid with 3 guaranteed "A" essays. Dang.

With new birth certificate in hand, I dropped off Kiddo #2 at home with his father (who was blissfully unaware and therefore safe in a court-of-law sort of way) and picked up Kiddo #1 to take to Soccer registration.

Smug that I was about to make Soccer With Twins a reality, I smiled my way through a super long line to the front of the queue.  I stopped smiling only when I got to the front, handed over my daughter's card and glanced at the forgery.  Dang nabbit! My forger didn't quite get his homework right; the birth certificate wasn't for 2007, but for 1954.

I quickly changed my plan and took back my registration form for another one.

Me: I'd like to register my daughter ... and my husband for Summer Soccer.
Registration Guy: Your husband's name is Kiddo?
Me: Uh, yes. It's pronounced Kee-doo, it's Yugoslavian.
Registration Guy: I'm Yugoslavian and I've never heard that name before.
Me: Yes. I meant Cuban. Sorry. So, let's get Kiddo into the Over 35 league, shall we?
RG: Ok.

Smug again, I returned home with a little girl on the Orange team and a husband registered for the Purple team with the smallest jersey they have.  I signed Real Husband up for a Summer Volleyball league that just  happens to be on the same night Kiddo #2/Husband's games are. Oh yes, I've thought of everything.

I spend my time with my son now teaching him how to run and kick a ball, how to make small talk about sports (He's really good at the monosyllabic grunts, so he'll be fine, I'm sure.) and how to scratch his diaper to make it look legit.

I haven't quite perfected drawing on his moustache, though. I think it will be the make-or-break part of his ability to fool his teammates.

I like the light brown one, but the twirly part on the tips is really hard to draw on. The black one is cool and European, but I have to do his eyebrows too or it's an obvious fake.  Personal fave: the muttonchops with matching perv-stache.

So many possibilities and two months to try them out before the league starts-- that is, if I can catch him and hold him still for longer than a few seconds at a time. Otherwise, his moustache will be closer to run-by-inking than a work of art. If we get caught faking his age, we could be kicked out of the league altogether and then I'm back to square one: what do I do with my super-frickin'-active kid for the summer?

I'm just gonna give you a minute to let that digest.