Football Fever

Every fall I sign up the kids for 200 after school activities and then we kick off the after school schedule and I remember suddenly, "Oh my goodness... that's right I'm terrible at being a responsible mom.  I'm terrible with schedules, school  responsibilities, and homework...   What on earth have I done?"   Isn't this the definition of insanity?  

 

This year Mr. Boy wanted to add football to the mix.  I was very leery, but it's flag football and I thought Mr. Boy would hate it. I was wrong, very wrong.  He loves it, loves the 7am Saturday Morning practices, and counts down the days until his next game.   AK became a cheerleader for his team, a job she takes seriously, along with her doll, so it's like I'm killing two birds with one stone.   

I don't really understand football, but I'm trying.   I sit on the sidelines with Zoey and watch, but there is all these "downs" and the refs keep making all these hand gestures instead of using their words and I'm constantly asking the other mom's "Does that count?"  

When Mr. Man and I were beginning the adoption process, our social worker said, "Well, what are you looking for in a child?  Caucasian, Mixed Race, Gender?"  and Mr. Man jumped in, "An athlete. I just want an athlete.  Even if we could have a biological child, there are no athletic genes. We both come from a long line of uncoordinated nerds.  This is our chance to inject some athletic genes into the family gene pool."   Low and behold, Mr. Boy arrived into our family, descending from very athletic biological parents.  He is a natural out on the field regardless of the sport.   

 

Case in point:   We had only been able to make one practice prior to our first game, but that doesn't matter to this kid.   The game is tied with less than one minute left. Mr. Boy is playing cornerback on defense.  The ball is thrown by the other team and Mr. Boy intercepts the ball at the 70 yard line! He runs it all the way to the end zone...  Game Winning Touchdown!!! 

 

"Wait.. What?  Mom, There is no 70 yard line!  That was the 30 yard line.... seriously, do you even know how to play the game?"  Actually, Son, I don't really know how to play the game, and it was only after bragging to my client about my athletic child that I was corrected that there is no 70 yard line.   How embarrassing!  

 

Oh Mr. Boy, you may be a natural born athlete, but forgive us,  your parents are nerds.