Sports Mom Syndrome

I'm a sports mom. A football mom to be exact. Both of my boys play football every spring and fall and yes, I do make it to most of their games. I say most because fairly often their games will be at the same time and Mark and I have to split up. Sometimes I make the whole family miss and we go out of town or off to do something important to ME. I do cheer for them, support them and want them to do well.

I say that all to point out that yes, I do understand the profound importance of sports in kids' lives. I really, really do. I don't personally enjoy any sports, but I've seen my children grow and learn from their sports involvement. (Before going football-only they've tried out several other sports). I've seen their sports have a positive impact on their behavior, their schoolwork, their concentration levels and much, much more.

However, I think as a Mom (or Dad, but I'm just writing as a Mom here) it's profoundly important, especially in the area of sports to separate yourself from your child's accomplishments. Kids' sports aren't about Mom and Dad. Kids' sports are and should be about the kid. Partly about health, wellness and ensuring an active lifestyle. Partly about learning to accept defeat. And about learning to win graciously. Definitely about learning to follow the rules and work as a team.

Kids' sports should NOT be about making Mom happy. Yes, I love to see my kids win. And I am sad when they lose. But I'm happy or sad because THEY are happy or sad. Not because their winning or losing a football game defines who I am.

I say all this because today I overheard the following conversation. At the football playoffs this morning, a woman I'll call Ann (and if you read this post, I love you dear, so I hope you're paying attention), was telling the other parents that today is her and her husband's anniversary and "what better gift could I get than B coming home with that huge trophy for my living room." Seriously? Because, call me a bad mom, but for my anniversary I'm hoping more for something along the lines of a a fancy dinner, some flowers or maybe even some jewelry or some new electronic gadget I'm wanting. If I'm lucky I'll get a weekend away with Mark and no kids. It has never ever occurred to me that my kid winning a football game could be considered a "gift" for me.

"Ann's" hubby is the coach and since they lost, I'm wondering how things went at their house this evening. Mark is thinking not well, given the way she was screaming at him after the game about missing some bad calls and whatnot.

As for me, I said "Sorry you lost, Superman. You played great." Then went on about my day. And I'm OK with that. As I told a friend recently, I know I'm a bad "football mom," but I think I'm a good mom. Sometimes I wonder if they two are compatible.

Clean laundry

Great news! Ryan, the washer repairman, will be returning to my house tomorrow with yet another new part for my defunct machine. I'm not sure if this one will actually work, but after a 2-week break between visits it'll be great to see his smiling face.

And maybe, just maybe, I can get some laundry done without standing in the laundry room helping the machine along.

And now for a random quote from Superman's visiting friend "He always gets hurt when I'm over here. Then I have to listen to all that crying."

Yes, dear Dario, I feel your pain. Great news for you is that you get to go home and play in a nice quiet house later. I, on the other hand, must stay here all night.

What a way to start the day....

Mark: "Are you awake"

Me: "No."

Mark: "Well, it's 5"

Me: "Mmmmphhh"

Mark: "Denise.."

Me: "I'll get up later."

Mark: "Superman's ear hurts"

Me: "Uh huh. Did you give him something."

Mark: "Like what?"

Me: "ANYTHING!"

Mark: "No. Well, it's almost time to leave for the airport anyway. Do you know where the Tylenol is?"

Note that this conversations occurred in Superman's room because I'd been shoved out of my bed at 3 a.m. when said kid crawled in complaining of an earache. So, as you can see the morning started well. Woken at 5 a.m. to take care of a sick kid because my hubby who needed a ride to the airport at *6 a.m.* couldn't figure out how to give him some Tylenol. I love that man, but I think I may kill him one day. One early morning to be more precise.

More tomorrow about my weekend as a single mom. Assuming I get some sleep tonight, that is.

Useless Ramblings

I am so ready for this week to be over. For some reason June is always the roughest month of summer around here. After a week of cub scout camp, then a week of VBS, I hosted Sunshine's birthday party sleepover. Now I have a week to clean up and plan and get ready for Superman's birthday party. (Note to readers: it is NOT a good idea to have your childrens' birthdays four days apart.) And at every step something falls apart.

The lady who was going to do his Silver Surfer cake emailed yesterday that she can't do it after all, so I'm left holding the bag. Spent yesterday figuring that out and trying to find a place to get a Flash! action figure. Something the resident adult male around here said he could easily pick up for me, oh, a few weeks ago. Finally ordered online and broke the news to Superman that the present he'd been begging for for months would be arriving late. Bleh.

So, the cake plan: I'm getting a cake frosted with gray icing, lined with blue at Walmart, then adding a silver surfer action figure on top. It will cost about the same amount as if my cake lady had made it, but won't taste 1/2 as good. Not like the kids care as long as sugar is involved. But, I was really looking forward to a GOOD cake. I know, I should make it mayself, but BTDT and let's just say cake making isn't my gift and leave it at that.

Also today I need to get the dog's shots b/c even though we made reservations for his stay at PetSmart a month ago they choose yesterday to inform me that he needs his bordetello shot in order to stay there and it has to be done 48 hours in advance. (For those not in the know, the boys are heading to Gigi's after Superman's party and the hubby and I are going to Vegas for a few day R&R). I also need to order balloons for the party and make a rain plan since the party supposed to be at the neighborhood pool. Sadly I didn't really think it would rain so I put on the invite that it'd be moved to the house if it rains. Now I am kicking myself for not saying Chuck E Cheese because now rain is predicted so I have to clean my house and plan actual party games.

Oh, and I need to figure out a way to get some laundry done since my washer is broken. I just love how the repairman cheerfully says "It'll just take a couple of weeks for that part to come in. We'll give you a call when it does." TWO WEEKS. Do you have any idea how many loads of laundry I do in two weeks? I should own stock in Tide. Seriously. I do 3-4 loads a DAY. I have a post on here somewhere complaining about that very thing and sadly it has gotten worse and not better. And during the summer the boys' clothes tend to be a bit on the stinky side. So not only do we not have clean clothes, but the upstairs hallway (where their laundry hamper is) AND the laundry room smell like a Jr. High locker room. Two weeks indeed.

Yes, I did just come to whine. I'll try something more positive and interesting after I've spent a few days in Vegas. Monday, if it stops raining I may take some pics of my jungle/garden, to post. For now, if you want enlightening, witty or politically informed I'd suggest you go elsewhere. Have a nice day.

The joys of 8-year-old boys

Who knew that farting was so much fun? Certainly not me, but at 1 a.m. even I couldn't help but snicker at some of the loud, fake farts coming from the sleeping bags on the floor. I giggled more than once as I sprawled on the futon trying to keep the noise down to a dull roar.

"Sshhhh" I'd intone.

Absolute silence. Then 30 seconds later: "Phhhbhhhhthhhthhht" followed by shrieks of laughter. Then "That was Chris. Phew. That was a juicy one." "Was not. It was you." "No! It was William. I know it was him. It was a fake one." "It was real. I smeeeellll it and it stiiinks in here." "Hey guys, it was *me*. I farted LOUD. Did you hear it?"

Me: (suppressing a giggle): "Sshhhh.. It's after 1 a.m. Please. You can whisper, just please stop yelling."

Absolute silence.. Then "Phhbhhhbthththththt" and so on...

This morning the boys ran down for breakfast laughing and saying: "That was soooo coool last night."

I wait to hear them praising how cool it was I let them go to the baseball game even though it was drizzling, the 'Nilla wafer and pudding cake, staying for the aftergame fireworks, or the "build your own ice cream sundae" I let them eat after we got home.

What I hear is: "Yeah. We were *farting* all night. Everyone just kept farting and farting. That was soooo cooool!"

Well, at least now I know the secret to a cool party. Next year I'll save the nearly $100 we spent on food and entertainment and just buy a a dozen or so whoopie cushions.

And some ear plugs.