I was talking to my friend at the PTA meeting and she said “The DH said you have a blog! I had no idea!”
And I thought “Holy Crap. I have the Blahg! I should really write on that.”
We are in the throws of football season here in Pure Michigan. Three Terrors. Three different teams. Thank God there are only two different practice schedules or I might actually go insane. J stays after school for practice. O Man and the Rookie come home on the bus, do homework, eat dinner and then we pick J up and drop them off. J comes home, eats dinner, showers, and does homework. Then I (or the DH…I don’t want anyone to think he isn’t helping) go get the other two who have to immediately shower upon entering the house and inevitably need to eat yet again before we trundle everyone off to bed. Thank God the practice on Thursday is in town…right next to a lovely establishment that sells adult beverages. It’s the one bright spot in a long, dreary week.
We have practice or a game every night of the week except Sunday, which we will spend watching football on tv.
J and the O Man are hard at work trying to catch up due to a lack of any prior football experience. Most of the kids on their teams have been playing together since they were in 3rd grade. It’s been rough at times, but O Man has made two picks and J seems to be settling in on the official Middle School team.
The Rookie, on the other hand, is a flipping natural. He is benefiting from starting at a much younger age, and a complete lack of fear or sense that he could ever get, oh, I don’t know, hurt. He blocks kids twice his size. He gets tackled by kids that are even bigger. He comes home head to toe in mystery bruises. Ask him how he got them and he will give you that infuriating man-shrug and say “dunno”. He has one on his jaw that I find especially perplexing because I think that area is covered by his helmet.
Watching the boys on the gridiron is making me crazy jealous. I’ve probably said this before, but there are only two times I ever wish I was a boy: when I need to pee outside, and football season. Even now that I am well past the age for tackle football for any gender, I still dream of playing. I don’t even dream of being a quarterback or receiver or something sexy. Nope, I dream of making bone-shattering tackles. Perhaps I need help with some latent violence issues, but I can’t help but think about how satisfying it must be to stuff a running back behind the line of scrimmage.
The big home opener is tomorrow, so I am sure to be posting pictures of the children in all their pad and helmet glory in the not too distant future.
Are you ready for some football?