My Life as a Football Mom

You may have wondering where I've been lately. When in doubt, look on the football field. In August, we had practice five nights a week for two hours. Now, since we have two boys playing and practice nights differ, we still have football four nights a week for an hour and a half to two hours and three hours worth of warm up and game time on Sunday starting at 8 AM. (Not to mention two hours of cub scouts on Monday and Saturday activities.) This Sunday in Needham. Mass. The period was not a mistake. Needham. Mass. Ugh. Last Sunday I spent three hours watching football in the rain. We were all soaked to the bone. It took me hours with a heating pad to get my core temperature back to normal. Only for my flesh blood. Honest to god.

We have done dance lessons, karate, swim, baseball, basketball. I was not prepared for football. Someone should have warned me. Someone should have given me lessons on how to put on all that gear. Someone should have told me to trick my kids into soccer instead. Someone should have grabbed me by the shoulders and shaken some sense into me.

At first, the boys didn't like it much either. LT flat out refused to go to practice twice. There's no forcing a five-year-old onto the field when he doesn't want to go. Somewhere in the last two weeks he's suddenly decided he LOVES football. I don't know how. I don't know why. I seriously hope he changes his mind again before next August. Now he all but sleeps with a football. And he has the potential to be GOOD. You can see it already. Honestly, you could see it when he was six months old, and I'm not a woman who sees these things. In fact, I'd really prefer to ignore it. Maybe he'll decide he hates it again. *Sigh*

Trouble is not exactly your model football player. He has cried at nine out of ten practices. It does not phase me in the least to see my son lying on the ground crying. Other boys would have to be in absolute agony. Not Trouble. He's a drama queen. He cracks the heck out of his coaches. They find him as entertaining as all get out. He came up to his coach after one of the plays at practice and told him, "I didn't block."

Coach says, "that's okay."

Trouble explains, "I didn't block because I forgot how."

Coach laughs as he tells me later. "At least he's honest."

Trouble did assist in couple of tackles last Sunday, though. For one of the smallest kids, he'll really go after the other kids regardless. He does have moments he loves it, but he really doesn't get it. Not any more than LT at this point. Not any more than me. I just learned Sunday that you get five downs every time you go ten yards. I thought you got five downs to get a touchdown. I couldn't figure out why they kept starting over while they moved down the field. I've simply never cared enough or watched long enough to notice. It's different when it's your kid on the field. I've been trying to explain that phenomena to Blackstone for years now. It doesn't matter whether or not I like to watch sports on TV, watching your kids play is different. I could care less about watching a bunch of over-sized, over-paid, steroid-popping, sorry-excuses for role models, throw a ball around. I will, however, invest myself in anything my kids show a sincere desire to do, as long as it's legal. And that statement may have a hockey caveat.

Even I have my limits.

Comments

[Diosa]

Uh, it's 4 downs honey.

[Diosa]

I'm going to assume that's Blackstone correcting my under my own screen name and calling me honey.

OK, so I still don't have it straight.