Sophia

Earning My Underoos

This was written for the Scribbit July Write Away Contest.

I don’t expect to win, but it was so much fun to write,

so thanks to Michelle Mitchell for a beyond awesome topic.

When I was a about eight years old, I remember being so jealous that my sister had Wonder Woman Underoos. I wanted some BAD! I wanted to rule the world.

Before I knew it, I was a young woman, reading the quote, “The hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world.” I thought, “Yeah right. My mom rocked seven cradles and she doesn’t rule the world.”

As a young married, I was still trying to figure out how to get me some of those Underoos (that being said with my best fake Southern accent ever). I thought that I would have to accomplish so much more before I could reach that Wonder Woman Underoo realm. I just knew that if I could write and photograph and work as a prized photojournalist, (you know, just after I spent my stint in The Peace Corp) that I would rule the world. The world needed me and if anyone was capable of being Wonder Woman it was me. But I had a dilemma. How could I gain my title when I now had a husband and future family to worry about?

I was struggling with my role in the world. I didn’t want to rush into having kids. I had wanted to be a Wonder Woman since my earliest memory, not a wife and mother. I wanted to rule the world, not rock the cradle. I knew that if I were to achieve all of my goals, my husband’s may have to take second place, and he deserved his Underoos too. (albeit he would probably choose Spiderman or Batman – “that’s a tough choice” he just informed me) I felt there was no winning.

It took months of serious reflection and prayer before I started to understand how I could rule the world. Little did I know that it had everything to do with rocking the cradle. I think I was unknowingly on the cusp of earning my Underoos when I wrote this in my journal:

“I think that I will have serious decisions to make in the near future, and they are going to be hard. I will have to be selfless. I think that the only way I will find true joy in this life is if I can help my husband and my children obtain all of their dreams. I need to make their dreams and goals my dreams and goals. If I get to a ripe old age and find that through my own pride I have deprived them of their potential, then I will be ashamed and sad. I know the way to true joy is in the realm of my own little family. I want to look back and know that I was the greatest cheerleader of the greatest people in the world.”

So, the decision was made. At the time I felt like I was giving up my Underoos dream for a while. I felt I may even have to wear Depends first, but darn it, those would be some joyful Depends with stylin’ Underoos over the top. I didn’t realize that in those early months of marriage, I had found the ONLY way a woman becomes a true superhero. The real Wonder Woman Underoos can only be earned by a woman’s willingness to give of herself.

I got pregnant shortly thereafter. I gave up my job. I gave up my full time pursuit of a higher education. Some women may feel like by doing this I have shamed Women’s Lib. But, I feel like I joined a higher cause. I gave up the Underoos because I suddenly knew and understood that “the hand that rocks the cradle IS the hand that rules that world”.

My family needed me to be their stabilizing force. God guided me into rocking the cradle of my husband and my children. And, who was I to argue with God? Even if I was Wonder Woman waiting to be discovered. Besides, if I was going to rock a cradle, I wouldn’t need those Underoos anyway. (Oh, how little did I know)

Soon after the birth of our first daughter, my husband and I made the decision that his education would get top priority. I had no way of knowing that his education would monopolize the following TEN years. Count that! One, two, three, four….yeah, you all get the picture.

So, now you all can understand that earlier this year, when LG FINALLY got his legal license, I couldn’t help but shed tears of utter joy. It wasn’t until I processed the good news that I realized that somewhere along the path I had earned my Underoos. I was all of the sudden astonished that those Underoos didn’t come while I was a photojournalist. I had been wearing those Underoos for years without even realizing it. If it wasn’t for my Wonder Woman Underoos I would have never been able to survive.

I had the greatest joy of all time. My husband had his dream in hand. And so did I. My dream had become his dream, and making his dream mine was precisely how I had earned those Underoos. I was Wonder Woman all along.

The Hand That Rocks The Cradle Is The Hand That Rules The World
~ William Ross Wallace

Blessings on the hand of women!
Angels guard its strength and grace,
In the palace, cottage, hovel,
Oh, no matter where the place;
Would that never storms assailed it,
Rainbows ever gently curled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Infancy’s the tender fountain,
Power may with beauty flow,
Mother’s first to guide the streamlets,
From them souls unresting grow–
Grow on for the good or evil,
Sunshine streamed or evil hurled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Woman, how divine your mission
Here upon our natal sod!
Keep, oh, keep the young heart open
Always to the breath of God!
All true trophies of the ages
Are from mother-love impearled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Blessings on the hand of women!
Fathers, sons, and daughters cry,
And the sacred song is mingled
With the worship in the sky–
Mingles where no tempest darkens,
Rainbows evermore are hurled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Rules, rules, and more rules.

As you all know, I am blessed with three beautiful daughters. What you don’t know is that these girls are almost perfect in every way. I’m not trying to brag. I just speak the truth.

Look at this, even their profiles are perfect.

What a great Mother’s Day gift from the primary, huh?

People notice the goodness of my children and they are always asking me, “Why are they so good? What are your tricks? What are your rules?” I could write a book, really, but wish to share a really good trick here. Rules have to be easily maintained.

First, I have to give credit to the kids, God sent us the best.

Second, I think LG and I learned early that following through is very important in discipline. If you do lay down a rule, you must follow through with enforcing it.

Third, we give our kids room to just be. Therefore, in return, they give us room to just be.

These three “tricks” go together. First, you have to believe, truly believe with everything you are that your children are great, and that they want to be great. This ideal in your children really affects your attitudes when parenting.

Second, you have to be in charge. You can’t let your kids run the roost. They need leadership. They are just waiting to be taught the consequences of their actions. You must follow through so that they understand that there are real and consistent consequences. Lord of the Flies taught me this in 9th grade.

Third, and this is a very important key. You have to give enough room to your children, and more importantly to YOU, so that following through is actually do-able. If you have so many rules, being in charge is way too hard. And NOT fun! And nobody wants a mom or dad who is always nagging them. Look at the federal government. They are a prime example of screwing things up with too many restrictions to enforce.

I am not going to take credit for my parenting wisdom. I got my parenting style from my parents. They had seven kids. People with lots of kids usually adapt to a “survival” method of parenting. I think that this “survival” method is best. Do ONLY what is absolutely necessary.

The words of a surviving friend to her children suit this style perfectly, ” I am on the phone, come and get me ONLY if someone is bleeding or the house is on fire.”

LeGrand and I were laughing at ourselves the other day. Whenever we have a higher maintenance kid visit, we are always relieved to see them go back home. For the most part our girls are so easy and don’t require much but the food I prepare and a good hug from time to time. We just don’t “get” kids who want to be constantly in our face. They exhaust us.

Yes, we know, we’ve raised our kids to be low maintenance. We aren’t sure if it is a good thing. Not that we are going to change it. We like our kids the way that they are. They make our life easy. Someday because of our parenting style we may be able to handle some more, and make them low maintenance kids too. We pray for that.

Some of you may think that this sounds heartless. I can hear you now, “What kind of mother are you? You don’t want to interact with your kids?” You may think that we are horrible parents who don’t spend time with our kids. You are dead wrong. We still spend a lot of time with them.

Our time is quality though and it is full of great conversations, laughing, learning, fun, and love. Quantity is important and I think too many parents justify their own absence by saying “When you have quality time, you don’t need as much quantity.” But, this justification will be used by me only in reference to the energy that is passed between my children and I. When I don’t have to spend my whole day breaking up fights, telling my kids what to do, or disciplining them for what rule they broke, my time is freed up for such better interactions.

We have very little negative interaction. Most of our communication is positive. Our children are independent. They are problem solvers. They work out a lot on their own. They are confident. They are also creative.

Here is some food art that they come up with. It’s a pond with goldfish, and yes, they ate every one. Some of those freaky moms out there would be upset by something like this. There were only compliments from this mother, “Wow you guys, that is pretty cool. Let me take a picture.” “Ahh mom, why do you have to put everything on your blog?”

I was just reading this and it got me thinking about what Do NOT’s I have as a mother.

How do my do not’s affect my kids.

A friend and I were talking the other day. She has a rule that her children like to break, “Thou shalt not play in my room.” Where seems to be the favorite place for her kids to play? Her bedroom, of course.

I’ve been pondering, “What are my rules?” Do my kids like to break them?

I have come to the conclusion that I don’t have very many, therefore they don’t need to break them.

Some of the only ones that I can think of are:

No screaming unless you are being kidnapped.

No eating after you brush your teeth at night.

If I count, you better come. (and they always do to the total delight of any onlooker)

Here is what hangs on our fridge. These rules are all it takes at our house.

Sophia added the last one all by herself.

We aren’t sure when she did it. She didn’t have to tell us. She was happy to let us find her addition on our own time. (It goes back to that giving each other space thing)

And, she’s right. When you only have seven written rules, and three unwritten ones it’s easy for everyone to be happy.

“A man is rich in proportion to the number of things he can afford to let alone.” ~Henry David Thoreau

The Golden Girls…

….we look as unlike a famous Rock Band since The Chipmunks .

But hey, if they can do it, so can we.

We absolutely cannot resist the chance to play a little Rock Band when we see it set up at Sams.

It does not matter how much shopping we have on our list or how close it is to bedtime.

We just know that those Sam’s Club employees set that equipment up for us.

We would not want to disappoint.

If only we could afford to bring one home.

But, of course, if we bought the game Rock Band,

we would then have to add a Nintendo 360,

and then we would need the big screen TV,

and then after we got it set up,

but before we could play,

we we would have to go back down to Sams

and get some onlookers to come home with us.

You just can’t be a Rock Band without some groupies.

(this is starting to sound like the book: If You Give A Mouse A Cookie)

And, everyone would come from far far away to see the Gold’s play.

They would not be able to resist our talent or our charm.

And, I don’t care if the game thinks that we are failures.

We all know that these electronic games come with programming glitches.

After she dies.

The girls and I have a little game that we always play. The girls grab silk flowers from the flower tower and pretend they have picked them for me. I always act surprised and say a huge thank you, and from my prior instructions, they always go and put them right back. They don’t know it, but I always think about how gracious my mom was whenever I did the same thing with her real geraniums. I often will also think of the little church song that I sang to my mom:

“I often go walking in meadows of clover, And I gather armfuls of blossoms of blue. I gather the blossoms the whole meadow over; Dear mother, all flowers remind me of you. “

So, on with the funny story. We were at Wal-Mart yesterday. As I approached the craft section, I was trying to herd the girls in and said to Bella and Sophia that they needed to help me find a Mother’s Day gift for Grammy. (I already got something for my mom.)

Bella and Sophia are very obedient children and they love their Grammy and so they immediately began to look around for something to give her. Right as I said this we just happened to pass by the flower arrangements for Memorial Day. In answer to my plea for help with Grammy’s mother’s day gift. Sophia grabbed the one below and said: “Here mom, Grammy will love this.”

You should have seen the innocent bystanders face when she heard me reply, “Oh wow, Sophia, Grammy would love that, let’s wait and give it to her after she dies.”

Sophia got shy when I pulled the camera out. Here is Bella showing the flowers to me.

$5.25

We discovered the world’s best pediatric dentist a few years back. His name is Bo Townsend, but he allows his patients and their parents to affectionately call him Dr. Bo.

LG teases me that I have a crush on Dr. Bo, but we all know it is just a joke, and plain not true. I just love Dr. Bo because he is so good with the kids. Him and his office staff make going to the dentist a totally uplifting experience. (and that’s not just because of the monkey mask gas breathing)

Unfortunately, Dr. Bo has no webpage or decent online link, or I would give him some linklove. For locals who may be lookiong for the best pediatric dentist ever, here is his phone number: 865-522-5437

If I had a crush on Dr. Bo before, then I am now in love with the man….he turned my sweet Sophia from a four front tooth pirate into a beauty with a glowing smile. I can’t help but think of Laura Ingalls Wilder every time I see her now. Her new darling smile just makes me so happy.

Sophia posted about her recent tooth extraction experience, here.

Here is what Sophia’s teeth have looked like for the past 6 weeks.

And, then she just had to breathe some of the magic air that made her float in mid-air. This stuff is the true magic, Sophia didn’t even flinch when Dr. Bo was stabbing her with the longest numbing needle I have ever seen.

Can I please get some of that for home?

Nice monkey nose.

Dr. Bo yanked the teeth out while I had stepped out in the hall to talk to Bobbie.

I can’t believe I missed it! (I think that Bobbie was in on the motherly distraction)

Sophia didn’t even know that he had taken them out, now, that’s expertise.

Here are the leftover holes.

And, is this not the cutest smile you have ever seen?

Seriously, I don’t expect it to have the same effect on you, but it just makes me cry….so sweet.

And, we got through all of this without any tears, except for mine when I found out I missed all the action. And, also, I am not counting the tears that were shed while the last affects of the magic gas were wearing off. We were halfway home by this point, and a girl has no control over how that magic gas effects her hormones, does she?

And, the last part of the story. I (being the mom that I am) told that cheap toothfairy that he better pay up good. This girl deserved more than just $1.

The Sabbath

Deuteronomy 5: 14 14 But the seventh day is the sabbath of the Lord thy God: in it thou shalt not do any work, thou, nor thy son, nor thy daughter, nor thy manservant, nor thy maidservant, nor thine ox, nor thine ass, nor any of thy cattle, nor thy stranger that is within thy gates; that thy manservant and thy maidservant may rest as well as thou.

As Mormons, we take this scripture literally. We do not do anything on the Sabbath that requires others to work: eat out, shop, or any type of recreation. It is a frequent debate between members about how elaborate of a meal should even be made on a Sunday. Some people seem to think that even cooking a roast is too much work.

This strict Sabbath Day observence is sometimes hard for our children to understand. They understand that God has asked this of us in the Bible and our kids love God but, they just don’t get why no one else around them seems to care.

All of our kids have had to miss out on a lot of birthday parties, but none was as hard for me as the one that Allie celebrated last month. Allie is Sophia’s best friend. Allie is riot; we just love her. Sophia, being the shy kid that she is, just loves Allie; and Allie being as outgoing as she is, is a wonderful influence for Sophia. Sophia has proudly exclaimed repeatedly since the 2nd week of school that Allie is her best friend. I have never seen a happier child than Sophia when she brought home Allie’s birthday invitation to the ice-skating rink. My excitement for Sophia being able to participate in the simple joy of life we call the birthday party was shattered when I referred to the calendar and saw that it would take place on a Sunday.

So, what did we do? We took Allie out to McDonald’s after school on Friday instead. [ALL kids love McDonald’s] We blew out a candle in her kids’ meal hamburger and had ice-cream. Allie opened her gift and then, to pass time before we had to go back to meet her mom, we walked around K-mart and got some clearance Christmas candy. I guess this made an impression enough because yesterday when I took the girls back to this K-mart that we don’t frequent, all Sophia and Bella could talk about was the day that we had brought Allie there. “Remember, this is where Allie hid. This is where we chased Allie. This is where we found the candy that we got with Allie.”

So, I guess I dodged another birthday party bullet. Phew.

On another Sabbath day note:

On Sunday night, LG went to the Stake Bishopric training without me by his side to attend the simultaneous Wive’s Training. I originally typed this post on Sunday evening, but according to my hubby’s counsel I toned it down before publishing it.

As LG was leaving the meeting, he saw a friend of ours. He asked her what I had missed from the women’s meeting when she asked where I was. LG told her that I had taken courage from a talk today in church. The regional rep’s wife talked about resting from our labors on Sunday and when LG got home from church I explained to him that his calling in the Bishopric is one of my greatest labors. I was resting tonight! I needed to be home with my kids, not take them off to a sitter on Sunday. (If I am to be totally honest, I would have preferred to have LG home with us too, but I can’t control him or his desire to attend his meetings)

Our friend told LG that the wives’ meeting was about righteous selfishness. (I still don’t think this is exactly the correct term) The friend explained, “The jist of the meeting was that when a woman has a husband in such a busy calling, it is o.k. for her to act selfishly sometimes if it is to meet the needs of the family. “

LG replied, “Oh good, I guess it was o.k. for Alice to miss this one. She’s got that one down. In fact, she is practicing that right now.”

Yeah for me: I am a great Sabbath Day keeper! Yes, I do a lot of other things wrong, and I may even receive criticism for my choice to not go to the meeting. But by golly, I am teaching my kids that the Sabbath is the day for a family to worship together, not to go to parties or be carted off to the sitter.

Knoxville Symphony

Abigail’s class went to the Knoxville Symphony today. It was so fun! My favorite piece of music was definitely Bernstein’s West Side Story. Why is it that I wait for my children’s opportunities to force me to bring culture into my life? I had a blast today. Now, if I can just get to the Symphony without 800 school children there at the same time. hint hint

On a side note, I have discovered a great new aspect of the blog. (thanks lori – she gave me the idea with her etsy find) Blogging is a great way to leave subtle hints for stuff that I want from my husband. Someday I am going to post a picture of a 2 karat diamond!

Anyhow, Abigail really seemd to enjoy herself today. Because she has been at the “No Child Left Behind” school, she has never been on a field trip before. She is in 3rd grade…about time, don’t you think? She was totally intrigued by this thing called “the bus” and loved the symphony. She asked all kinds of questions; the only one of which I had an answer for was, “Mom, what is the name for the guys with the big drums?” I actually could sound smart when I said, “Percussionists”. Can’t spell the word, but lucky for me, she won’t know the difference.

The experience wore her out, as you can see from the yawn. It wore me out too, but no one had a camera to take a picture of me yawning throughout the experience. I now know why I refused to let my kids be carted to and from school on a school bus. It was crazy and the nauseousness was nostalgic as I thought back to my school days.

Animals & Crackers

Shopping at the warehouse
It’s been a while. Sorry. Haven’t felt like writing much. I could use bipolarism as an excuse, but for more than one reason, I won’t. At least I will get one entry into my April archive.

A few weeks back, a good friend of mine and I ventured out to one of our favorite places….Sam’s Club. (We don’t have a Costco anywhere near here or that is the warehouse I would prefer.) Between us, we had three children under three year old. We joined the rest of the desperate homosapiens at the demo tables. Unlike other species, we patiently waited our turns at our chance for little pieces of pizza, smoothie demonstrations English tea cakes, and the chicken salad.

After Sophia complained of the taste of the chicken salad and spit her remaining portion into my napkin, the sweet elderly demo lady offered our girls just a plain Club cracker. They each were delighted as she offered them one for each of their chubby hands.

A few aisles down from the frozen foods, Sophia was trailing behind. She dropped her cracker on the cement floor. The lady standing close by her, yelled out to me that he cracker was now “dirty”. Dirty is a relative term. When you have three children, dropping a cracker onto a floor does not constitute dirty…..if it was a sucker and had been dropped onto the floor of the van and retreived with lint, remnants of cheerios, and other foreign objects then it would be “dirty”. Even then, if I had a bottle of water close by to wash it off, the sucker could still be salvagable(depending upon my childs’ desperation for it and my need to please the child at the time).

So, like any other responsible mother, I yanked the cracker from Sophia’s hand. I said, “No no, Sophia, it is dirty.” Sophia looked at me perplexed, but luckily she is my mild mannered child, and she didn’t yell out, “Mom, you always let me eat my stuff of the floor, it’s not that dirty, just brush it off.” As soon as we got around the corner out of earshot from the very paranoid mother I handed the cracker back to Sophia and said, “Here you go.” Letting her digest the cracker was much easier than hunting for a garbage can, and besides…it’s good for her immune system.

Poor Bambi

The Classic: Bambi

On Monday, I took the kids to Sam’s Club. I ever so slyly put the newly released Bambi in the bottom of the buggy (that is what they call a shopping cart in TN). I even turned it upside down, so that if the kids did see it, tbey wouldn’t know what it was. (I wanted to give it to them for Easter from the Easter Bunny)

I succeeded at hiding it from them for about 15 minutes. As soon as we stopped at the snack bar, it was over. Abigail, caught eye of it, picked it up, and announced to her sisters: “Look you guys, mom is getting us Bambi.”

About an hour later, after I had managed to put several other things in the buggy too (including Abigail and Sophia), I started to feel guilty about the money I was going to spend. I put several things back, including Bambi. The girls were sorely diasappointed, but I told them that we would come back and get it when dad was with us.

As we were going to check out, Abigail and Sophia glued themselves to the TV monitor that was playing Bambi. (Aren’t those Sam’s Club people smart?) It was at this point that all of my guilt subsided. (I knew that I would have to buy Bambi, if I ever wanted to get out of the store) I told Abigail to get Bambi off the shelf again, and after the girls cheered for a second or two, we were off.

Buying a new movie is HEAVEN to a mother. When we got home, the baby went down for a nap and Abigail and Sophia proceeded to glue themselves to our TV. I was able to get some cleaning and other household duties accomplished without any interruption.

Well, later, as we sat down for dinner, I asked Sophia what she thought about the movie. I fully expected some kind of reaction. I was totally traumatized by the show when I was little and Sophia is my most sensitive child. I was totally taken off guard when I heard her response.

Sophia said,”I like Bambi.” I happily said,”Good, what was your favorite part?” I thought that she would say Thumper or Flower the Skunk. No, this is what my twisted child said,”My favorite part was when Bambi’s mom died.” What in the world?!?! In a worried tone, hoping that she could redeem herself somehow, I asked her frantically, “Why was that your favorite part?” She said,”I just like it because I don’t want Bambi to have a mom.”

Who knows? Maybe my-three-year old was going for the reaction or maybe she needs some serious therapy. Maybe Sophia should grow up to be a hunter and join the Bambi Killers Club. I could only conclude one thing from the conversation, Disney has a conspiracy against mothers. First, they force us into buying their movies with their very skilled marketing. Second, mothers are allowed a false sense of relief when the kids happily sit and watch a Disney movie for hours on end. Then they pump anti-mother doctrine into our kids…think about it:

Disney killed Bambi’s mom. Cinderella’s step-mom is EVIL, and who knows what happened to her real mom. Belle doesn’t have a mom. Mulan wants to be like her dad. The only conversations between Ariel and her parents were with her dad. Sleeping Beauty’s mother poisons her with an apple. Tarzan’s mom got eaten by a tiger. Nemo’s mom…. well, you get the picture. Poor Bambi. Poor Mother of Bambi!!

Soccer Moms

Sophia and Bella with Soccer Balls

Soccer moms aren’t what they used to be. Soccer has become something that parents do so that they can put it on their own “parental resumes”. “Oh look at us, we are good parents. We drive our SUV’s to pick up our well-dressed kids from their state-of-the-art daycare. Then we cart them to their private tutor, piano lessons, and soccer.” Whatever happened to actual interaction between parent and child? Now, we pay everyone else to teach our kids the things that we are too busy to do oursleves? Whatever happened to playing soccer so that the family can spend time together?

Soccer started for us on Monday when we went to buy Abigail’s equipment. She wanted the pink ball but the black and white was $4 cheaper. I told her that if she would get the black and white one, I would let her color it with my Sharpies. She always wants to draw with my “off-limits” permanent markers and she totally fell for my ingenious manipulation. Sophia brought her ball to me on Tuesday and asked if she could color hers too. I had to let her. (see the pic above)

Abigail’s first practice was a blast. It was typical of any other like it across the country. You could spot the coach’s kid: she was the only one in full uniform. Then there were the three moms who are so insecure that they kept to their little clique…they are the mom’s of the girls that are the friends of the coach’s daughter.

One of the cliquee moms must have been coerced into letting her daughter play. You could tell because her daughter was the chubby kid who kept interuppting her mom’s “mommy” time on the sideline. She just had to tell her mom that she didn’t like soccer and wanted to go home. Her mom would just embarassingly shoo her daughter back out on the field.

Abigail was the “girly girl” of the bunch. She is taller and faster than the rest of the kids, but doesn’t dare go for the ball. She just kept running out in front of the rest of the herd, looking pretty. LG says that she will be really good at soccer if we work with her to be more agressive. I agree, but, surprisingly, part of me wishes that we could afford ballet instead of soccer. Although, Abigail loved it. She is too young to care about the competitive stuff. She just likes to be with the other girls and squeal as they run.

Bella hated soccer yesterday because she wanted a piece of the action, and wasn’t allowed on the field to play with the sister who she idolizes. As for Sophia, she was traumitized by a fall at the playground. LG and I were pushing her back and forth on this sliding pulley. She hung on to it with her feet dangling 3 feet from the ground. At the end of her longest ride, LG let her plummet to the ground. Sophia screamed in disbelief. She face planted. The poor girl trusted her dad to catch her and all she got was a scraped forehead, a broken ego, and a mouth and nose full of dirt.

I later questioned LG as to why he didn’t catch her. I assumed that if you are a parent trying to let your child hold on as long as she can, that you keep a constant eye on her grip. I assumed wrong. LG said, “I didn’t see her hand slipping, I was waiting for her to tell me when she was going to let go.” He should know better. The kid is as quiet as her dad, if not more quiet. Poor Phia. I don’t think she will ever want to go back to the soccer field.