Monday, May 16, 2011

Five Universal Laws of Kid's Weekend Sports


We are FULLY into spring sports here. T-ball, baseball, soccer and anything else that requires a small spherical orb and our entire Saturday. Oh, and the new load of laundry that is now part of Saturday night, which consists of bleaching white pants worn by boys who absolutely must slide into home, despite the fact that the ball they're racing to beat is somehow trapped in the face mask of the pitcher. Who happens to be in left field because he forgot what position he was playing. You'd think the mask would have been a clue...


1. The Relaxation Approximation: Remember when weekends meant relaxing? Catching up on sleep and chores and movies? Those days are o-v-e-r. Saturday morning cereal and cartoons has been replaced by the Saturday scramble of where's-your-glove-get-your-helmet-what-time-is-the-game-GAH!-we're-late-which-field-put-on-your-uniform-what-do-you-mean-it's-in-the-laundry-i-washed-it-last-Saturday and then you show up for 75 minutes of practice followed by a game that's really a speeded up version of Turtle Herding, but for the fact that they all match. And then your husband looks at you and says, "Wow, it's really hard to get all of them to focus on the same thing..." and then you thank Captain Obvious for his astute observations and stab a straw into a portable, single-serving size t-box and hope no one notices that you maybe are sucking it down a little fast. Or, even if they do, maybe they won't notice that it's 10:45am. Oh, and today's game? It's a double header.

2. Maternal Law of Competition Conformation: Team Moms are great. We love them. They keep all the little dudes organized and they're in charge of signing the other moms up for things like snacks and collecting errant gear (and children) after the game is over. HOWEVER, there's always one mom who takes her responsibility slightly less seriously than a German planning the invasion of Poland.

Yes, it's awesome that you can keep a dozen Kindergarteners fairly corralled and focused for 90 minutes, but really, at the end of the day, the score is still going to be tied, and frankly they don't care who's drink they're drinking. While your back was turned, one gave his gum to another kid. And it was ABC gum. We're working with a pretty easy to please group here. How about this? How about you toss some popcorn on the bench, spray 'em with a hose full of Gatorade and teach them how to scavenge for the gum up under the bleacher seats. In their mind, it'll be the best game ever.

(Editor's Note: That's gum that has Already Been Chewed. xo, K & L)

3. The Miscibility Inability: You know that kid who can whack a baseball into that drop zone in the outfield that pretty much guarantees a homerun? He's also the same kid who, while playing defense, will be digging himself his own personal trench with his cleats and staring expectantly at a butterfly. No matter how talented you believe your offspring to be, there will be a moment when you wonder if you should pretend you have no idea who that bizarre child in the outfield is. We'd love to think that our kids would mix in, in equal proportions, the ability to hit, field and throw. The truth is, your kid might be able to zip a 34-mile per hour fast ball past every kid in the game, but hand him a bat and chances are he'll go home with a self-inflicted concussion.

4. Paternal Law of Thermodynamics: Dear *THAT* Dad, Our favorite thing about your kid is that, when he does hit the ball, he hauls tiny little ass as fast as he can -- right to third base. No matter how many parents are helpfully pointing to first, your awesome little dude is going to third. So how about you stop losing your ever loving mind at him, OK?  Because then he stands there at third, crying and terrified to cross the field to first, and all we wanna do it give him a kiss and a high five, and then leave a dent in your skull. They're five.  They're barely able to run around cones without falling down.  There are no scouts here. He'll understand the rules soon enough; in the meantime, he's the kid in scoring position. Ever think of that?
5.The Law of Universal Gravitation: For forty-eight hours, the entire universe focuses around one word. Balls. Looking for a ball, playing with a ball, catching, throwing, hitting, kicking, dribbing, fielding or dropping a ball. We turn into golden retrievers with the sole life purpose of keeping one very-trained, fully-focused, laser-beamed eye on a mur.thur.fur.kin ball. And, if that isn't enough and there's the slightest possibility that one of our sons maybe isn't proximal to a ball, he'll be happy to locate, scratch, grab, adjust, reconfigure, itch, move, play with, or otherwise make contact with one of his own. At least, not until the next inning.

Play (with) ball!


(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2011

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