It’s weird, not blogging.
You know that saying when it rains, it pours? I swear it’s like someone opened Pandora’s box of ugliness over the past week or so and all I have to protect me from the rain is a shredded umbrella.
Anyway, I was deleting some anonymous mean-girl type comments on my blog this morning (this is becoming a very frustrating habit. I love how being “anonymous” gives people balls on the internet) when I ran across an entry from 2006 that made me smile…
So I share that smile with you:
8 year old logic
So, I was “coaching” my youngest son’s soccer team last night. And by “coaching” I mean I was standing in front of the bench yelling “Follow your kicks! Attack the ball! What are you waiting on, an invitation?” Yes, I’m a helluva coach.
In my defense, I did refuse to coach anymore because it’s getting to the point where you have know the rules. And I don’t know diddly about soccer. I should. I’ve given birth to 2 soccer players who have both been playing since they were 3 years old. But no. The soccer rules and I have not become one in the universe. But, I’m coaching because fishdog signed up to coach both boys. Which would be fantastic if the boys didn’t play at the same time. And since they have been playing at the same time, I’ve been “choosing” the lesser of two evils by coaching the 8 year olds. And by “choosing” I mean, not having a choice at all.
Where was I? Oh yes. “Coaching” soccer.
My son, Rader, is very determined and competitive. Soccer is a team sport and we (I say we because if I HAVE to coach the games, I should get some credit) try very hard to make the kids understand that. But last night, the kids didn’t understand anything. It was more like kickball than soccer. Herding snails would’ve been easier.
Rader decided he was Superman Soccer last night and took it upon himself to win the game. Forget the team. He didn’t need no stinkin’ team. He was Rader the Fearless. He could do it. And he did score our only two goals. (we’re not going to mention how many goals the other guys scored) But he also managed to wind up bashed around quite a bit. He took one hit to the nards that had him sitting for a while. I thought for sure he’d be talking in a higher octave for a day or two.
“Rader, what’s the deal? Have you forgotten you have 3 other teammates out there? They can help you if you let them.”
He sighed and did a semi-roll of the eyes. “Mom. It’s obvious they don’t want it bad enough. Besides, you can only help those who help themselves.”
Can’t argue with that logic, I guess.
In other smiley news, Happy Birthday to my best male friend, a man I consider a brother, and Ian’s godfather…Nick-O-Lust. I love you man…I miss your vodka inspired 20 minute messages and I can’t wait to hug you again when you visit in May. xoxo