The Cave Troll Grows Up.

I don’t know when it happened–but it was obvious this weekend.

The Cave Troll has become an official smartass. You think I’m kidding? No, no… listen–all this shit happened THIS WEEKEND!

Incident the first: Yesterday was soccer season’s opening day. Everybody (except Big T, who stayed home, cleaned the house and watched The Godfather, bless his heart) woke up at six in the morning and went out to the soccer field for the parade/presentation, kick-a-thon, and two exhibition games. Waking up was brutal–remember, I’m the only one who has gone back to her regular routine–everyone else is still on summer hours, right?

“C’mon, Cave Troll. Up and atem…time to move!” (Repeat, several times.)

“Moooommmm… stop yelling at me!”

“I’m not yelling at you, buddy–you’ve got to move!”

Now picture the Cave Troll, bugging out his eyes and waving his hands in the air. My eyebrows hit my hairline.

“Was that you moving?” I ask, shocked by the level of sarcasm this would entail.

“Yup,” he said, sticking out a smug little lower lip.

“Hmmm.” Little shit!

Incident the second: The day is over. It has been long and brutal–Ladybug has dragged me across the field twice to go potty, only to lose it on the way back from the portajohn, necessitating a fifth (or is that sixth) jaunt across the fields for new pants. Everyone is hot, tired, fried to a crisp, and grumpy, but Mate and Chicken are discussing Chicken’s coach, because her coach this year is hella cool.

“Yeah,” says Mate, “Chris is a no-pressure coach. He’ll give you an example, or he’ll ask you to step up your game, but he doesn’t yell at you. I try to be that way–I like being a low pressure coach. I figure at this age, if they know where the ball is, it’s a win!”

“You’re not a low-pressure coach!” says Cave Troll.

“No?” says Mate.

“You’re a tire pressure coach.”

“A tire pressure coach?”

“Yeah… you coach us, and everybody gets tired!”

Can I repeat? Little shit!

And incident the third.

I was sitting at my computer, finishing round two edit of RAMPANT (which means Needletart and Roxie are going to be busy as soon as I can print that puppy out and send it) and drinking a soda.

The Cave Troll comes by and says “Mom, shut your eyes.”

I shut my eyes but I peek. “Hey–give me back my soda!”

“Mooooommmmm! I told you to shut your eyes!!!”

I shut my eyes and watched as he gulped half my soda and then put it back.

“You can open your eyes now, mom.”

Say it with me now! Little shit!

And so it has happened. The apple has aged, matured, and fallen from the Sardonic Tree. The little shit is right on my heels!

(Btw? Mate was a fanTABulous coach. All the other parents love him. “He’s so organized! He’s so fair!” I’m so glad I signed him up! It’s about all I can take credit for, really! Oh yeah–and Ladybug has started dance. Today, we bought a ballerina outfit. She is SO proud! I’ll try to take pictures on Tuesday… big awwwwww factor there, trust me!)