- Speedy, my 17 year old son, during the course of his lifetime, has played soccer, indoor soccer, baseball, basketball, and has now settled on running cross country and track.
- MonsterMe (my 13-year old daughter and so named because she is taller than me) has tried and rejected dance (there are videos that I plan to release should she ever attempt to put me in a nursing home or run for Congress), gymnastics, soccer, and has settled on softball and a never-ending basketball season (Seriously. We go from August-May).
- Muddy Waters (my 10-year old son and so named because if there is a mud puddle within 50 yards, he will find it and jump in it) has played soccer, baseball, hip hop dance, and has now decided that football is his sport. Someone send aspirin.
Or, by the way, work.
I’ve been known to show up to sporting events in work clothes. Do you have any idea how little fun it is to walk out onto a soccer field in 3 inch high heels because you forgot you were going to soccer (outdoors) instead of basketball (indoors)? I do. My butt is permanently bleacher shaped and I have no feeling in my legs for 11 months out of the year. The other mothers think I’m unfriendly because my favorite saying is “Did my kid just score that goal/basket/hit? NO? Good. I didn’t miss anything.” I don’t mean it in a bad way, but I was waiting on a text from someone I sent to a different game to see if one of my other kids did something spectacular that I’m missing.
Here are my enemies:
"Moooooom. Where is my uniform?" Why am I constantly asked this question? Was I the last person to wear said uniform? No. Yet for some reason, all three of them think that I hide it the minute it comes into the house. It would be different if I coveted a stinky, sweaty track uniform or if I couldn’t wait to get my hands on a muddy soccer uniform, but the only thing I want to do is get them in the washer. Many of our conversations the night before a game/tournament go like this:
Random Heathen: “Moooooom. What did you do with my uniform?”
Me: “I gave it to homeless people.”
Random Heathen: “That’s not funny. Seriously. It’s not where I left it.”
Me: (curious now) “ Which was….?”
Random Heathen: “In my bag. (Suspiciously). Did you take it out to WASH it?”
Me: “You’ve caught me. Check the dryer.”
Random Heathen: “Great. Now it will be all clean and stuff.”
Indeed. What on earth was *I* thinking?
Packing the bag:
Seriously. Have we not done this before? About a hundred times before? This season alone? What do you need? Uniform. Shoes. Glove. Ha.t Cup. (No, not you, MonsterMe, the boys.) Snacks for the bus. What do you mean it is a home game? I’m pretty sure it is an away game. Check the schedule. See, I’m right. And it goes on, and on, and on.
And you know what? They still forget something. Every.single.time.
Ah yes. The EVENTS THEMSELVES
MonsterMe plays AAU basketball. Last year alone we played 140 games. Speedy runs. He runs a lot. Muddy Waters plays soccer. In some of these events, the parents act like their child is the second coming of Michael Jordan/Steve Prefontaine/David Beckham. Perhaps it is that I just do not care anymore (having 3 kids do as many sports as mine do will wear you down a bit) but seriously…unless my kid is jumping over someone’s shoulders to do a complete 360 dunk or breaking the record for the 3 mile, I’m not getting too excited anymore. If we win, we win. If we lose, we have 139 games left to play.
So guess what, crazy sports parent? STOP YELLING at your kid, at my kid, at the coaches, the referees, the guy selling concessions, and the parking attendant. It just embarrasses your kid and makes you look like a loon. Speedy runs like the wind. I couldn’t keep up with him if I had a bike sometimes. All I yell is “Go!” Muddy Waters is happiest when his uniform is the dirtiest. I’ve learned just to take pictures and bring a towel.
|Suck it, 8 year old losers. We just WON.|
So..there you have it. Enemies of a sports mom. If you see me out, looking slightly confused, please tell me to check my calendar to figure out what sporting event I’m supposed to be at now. I’m probably in the wrong spot.
(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2011