Taylor

We've found it.

We've found his love language.

We've found his passion.

We've found Soccer.

How could any living breathing testosterone filled creature not love soccer.

You get to kick things . . . sometimes it's even the ball.

You can fall and slip in the mud and people cheer and clap for you.

You get orange slices at half time that double as a scary monster mouth which naturally leads to chasing and little girl shrill screaming.

Ahhhh, the joy of soccer.

I am so glad he has you.

The pre-game huddle. Notice the already muddy and wet boys. They are get-er-doners

Corbyn's coach has a lovely accent. When they voted on a team name Corbyn was a little bothered that they had chosen "charms." It sounds a little girly to me but oh well, Go Charms! Turns out their team name is champs, but when the coach says it, it sounds like charms. Corbyn was pleasantly surprised to hear about the mix up.

Here is Corbyn happily yelling, "Go Champs!"

The coach called and asked if we'd be willing to help coach the team. I laughed and said we have three kids. We'll be there, but unless both parents are there we wont be much help. After the first practice he laughed and said, "Well, I see why you don't think you can be assistant coach." Most people there have one child and watch us ever so closely during practice.....I am waiting for a mother to come over and offer me a prozac.