After spending two hours in a gym with 17 Very Short Drunk People, many who find the words poop and fart ridiculously funny and also refer to things called Texas Wedgies (??) while eating cake and pizza (at the same time), I decided the best thing to do was to spend yet another hour in a gym with 11 Taller Short Drunk People who like to kick soccer balls and giggle -- about lots of things but mostly the phrase "grab the ball bag."
The GFYO had his birthday party and Bridget's team had practice. The former finds Simon Says a very challenging game and the latter, it turns out, can hammer the ball a lot harder than I thought.
To make the practice teams even, I stepped in. I stepped in with very old sneakers and jeans that were kind of falling off; I'd worn 'em the night before and those suckers stretch out way too much and I was doing the grab and hike-up even before I got on the "field." I stepped in because I am a saint to scrimmage with a bunch of U-10ers after hosting a birthday party for 17 little boys with hockey sticks and basketballs in a room that echos like a certain ring of hell. With 17 little boys (and a couple girls holla) who are all extremely freaking cute but like to laugh at the word wedgie wedgie wedgie as it bounces off the walls.
Needless to say, I was a tad flustered and mildly daunted. But I was game.
Ten minutes in, I was sweating and sure I'd blown out my knee and I remember thinking that there is very little more I could do that could be more humiliating. (It was then that I realized that the woman I'd seen dropping off her daughter for practice earlier was the very same woman I had mistakenly assumed was with her lesbian lover a couple nights before. So yeah, there are many many ways in which I can embarrass myself. I mean, it's kind of bottomless, really.) But I played on. I tackled and dribbled and back-passed and a part of the old girl came back. I didn't shove a 9 year old girl to the ground, but when I scored at last, I jumped up and down. Up.and.down. Jumped. Pumped my fist. While jumping.
At that moment two things occurred: 1) I pulled every major muscle in my body and 2) my oldest daughter thought for the first legitimate time in her life, "WTF MOM?!"
Well, maybe not the first, but the first time I would actually maybe kinda sorta agree with her.
It's the little things, right? These little moments I will cherish for the rest of my life? I can almost picture it, how it will be looking back: me totally cougarish gray and dreamy...
Remember that time, I will say to her when comes to visit with her own babies, remember that time when I coached your soccer team? Sigh. Remember when I fucking kicked ass at your practice? I mean, how awesome was that?
Right about then, she will file for Power of Attorney as she will be convinced that the old broad has at last rounded the bend. But I will know the truth: I've always been a complete ass with no filter. And that I scored muthas! I scored!
16commentsBrilliant Person Wrote...
I pulled a major muscle just reading that - that and I think I popped a disc and maybe displaced a knee cap.
Just sayin'!
Way to go momma!
Yeah!!
That's kind of like today when I was trying to fake out the 6th - 8th grade lacrosse team I'm coaching into thinking I actually know how to play. But it's not at all like that after all, because I made an ass out of myself and you scored!!
WTF? Whoa! That is a pretty big one here at the ranch. But then you did score...
Dude, not only do I try to score, gloat, but I then point in 6 year-old faces and yell, "I schooled you!" So...ummm, there. Also, I told the (not really a lesbian but wore a chullet) police officer, who turned out to be the Mother of my oldest son's friend...that she should not be racist (because I thought she was) because hate based on race or sexual preference was the same thing...so um, yes, we do have lots in common don't we?
I would totally buy a coffee mug. You rock! I'm screwed if my kids ever take up sports (which I hope they do). Let's just say, I was more of the drama club type. I will never be kicking ass at any practice!
Yet another reason to admire you. I can't imagine even having to stand up to watch one of Nash's game!
Really? That was her first WTF Mom moment? Dude, you're slacking.
Humiliation with just a dash of pride -- means you are doin' the job right...
And...YOU SCORED!
Moms who score are totally hot ;-).
You can't be too easy on them. It's a character builder. At least that's what my Dad would call it when he would blast balls at me like Stephen Gerrard from Liverpool.
Oh. And a Texas Wedgie is when you give someone a Wedgie so hard that it leaves a mark the shape of Texas.
Should I be proud that I didn't even have to Google that?
Cause, I am.
This one time? I was running in a really busy public park? And these two little boys tried to race me? And I totally blew past them AND LAUGHED.
So, you know. I feel ya. Rock on, Ms. P.
I will never out-sport my kids at anything. So I'm just superior with my vocabulary. It make them shake in their boots. (Or at least I like to think it does.)
Who can refrain from giggling at the phrase "grab the ball bag?"
Did I ever tell you about the time I saw George Balanchine's Jewels at the Wang?
That's the kind of mom I would be. Fo' sho'!
I'm just relieved your pants didn't fall down when you were celebrating your goal against a group of U-10 girls.
Because that would've been a completely different kind of WTF Mom?! moment.
I'm 37 and find "grab the ball bag" pretty frickin' hilarious.
Post a Comment