Tuesday, September 9, 2014

How to be a good football mom and not a scary spectacle

A spectacle is a visually striking performance or display. As fun as that sounds, it has no place on the sidelines of a wee ones sporting activities.

My baby boy plays football. HE IS MY BABY BOY but he's also thirteen so calling him baby boy is apparently what they call in the sporting world, a "don't do that". When I need the boys attention at home, I call him by a number of affectionate terms. Squash, squishy squish, handsome baby boy, hoshywa, squirt. To name a few. At football I am allowed to call him by his last name or jersey number. Those are the only two options.
When I yell, "Mommy's cutest little squishy squash", it's too affectionate and I'm embarrassing him.
When I yell 'Hey Dumb Ass!' it's too harsh, and I'm abusing him. Which is just stupid. There have been numerous moments during a football game that both seemed entirely appropriate. One time he was facing the wrong way but he was also standing next to a giant specimen of a linemen which made him look like the cutest teeniest tiniest little guy. So I yelled "Squish! Turn around! The game is that way dumb ass!"

Don't judge me
Being a football mom requires adhering to a whole tiring list of CAN's and CANNOT's.
I CAN remind him, before the game, to stay hydrated.
I CANNOT take him a drink of my water while he's on the field. Even if it looks like he's not really doing anything.
I CAN encourage him to be aggressive.
I CANNOT be specific. A simple "get him!" is fine. However, "take number 8 out back and beat him with a lead pipe" is frowned upon. And "Hey Dumbass! Grind your cleat in to his shin, punch him in the larynx so he can't scream, and then elbow him in the kidneys 'til he's pissing blood!" will get authorities involved.
I CAN wear his team colors to show support, or make signs, and hype the boys up by loudly spelling football related words. G-O-A-L! W-I-N! I can even passive aggressively diminish the other team by eluding to their shortcomings and lack of S-P-I-R-I-T.
I CANNOT yell "F%$# YOU!" to the opposing teams. Even if I spell it first. I'm just not allowed to do that. at all. They will only warn me so many times. They expect more out of me because I'm an adult.
I CAN bring our team treats, apples or orange slices etc, to naturally enhance energy
I CANNOT bring our team methamphetamine's. Not even chocolate covered uppers.

In the game of football, listen close you folks from Alabama, only the kids can have physical altercations. A lot of people struggle with this. They want to fight the ref, the parents of the other team, the coaches, the parents of team mates.  I don't know what advice to give you. I have never experienced competitive rage. I have come close to fighting one person at at a game.  He was four or five years old. Maybe closer to two. He kept running around on the bleachers and screaming nonsense. He may have been drinking I don't know, his behavior was uncivilized and extremely annoying. Every pounding step shook the entire structure. He would stop right in front of where I was sitting. I focused on the game and tried hard not to give in to the temptation of tripping the inconsiderate douche bag. Finally, God intervened and the little rascal fell off the side. He was crying and carrying on so his mom had to get off the phone and take him somewhere. Don't worry it's not one of those stories with a horrible ending, after he left I was able to enjoy the game in peace.
It could have ended tragically. I could have been ensnared by this kids obvious attempts to instigate a fight. I could have been seriously hurt. I was able to keep it together in the face of adversary because I am clearly a responsible mature adult. Not all football parents can make that claim and on many occasions simple squabbles become full on riots. People are beaten to death with Gatorade coolers and folding chairs.

  • Address your kid by the appropriate name. 
  • Only offer conservative support and cheer. 
  • Keep your anger in check. 

Seems like there should be more to it. In the interest of having a longer list, because I enjoy lengthy lists. I will add

  • Donate money/Fund-raise. The coach is donating his time and energy, help fund safe equipment 
  • Don't let your child skip practices. He is part of a team and his team mates depend on him 
  • Show up to games. That hard work deserves an audience when its game time. 
  • Love your team win or lose. 

Thursday, September 4, 2014

I'm not bringing sexy back. I told sexy to leave

Today started just like any other day. When no one is home I like to yell things really loudly. I was in the midst of a song I made up called 'The weasel is giving the Beetles the measles.' When suddenly! Right in the middle of the 72nd verse, I had an epiphany.

Why am I not wearing a ladies pant suit? WHY am I NOT wearing a ladies PANT SUIT?


In that moment I realized something. How did I end up in sweat pants and old band shirts? There is nothing and no one on gods green earth dictating my wardrobe but me. I am the king of this mountain. I can do anything. I can wear anything. What I am wearing is extra lame with a side of no, no, no, no, no. I need the classiest of all the onesies. What's there to even think about? Do I have a dress code? NO. There. I'm finished thinking.

This beauty can be found at www.diaryofavintagegirl.com
I'm in my mid thirties. I'm old. Not old enough for all of lives treasured milestones. I can't shoplift yet. I can't make wild accusations and punt random children at the park. I can't make scenes. I'm only allowed to say 'what?' twice before it's considered rude. 
Side note: When I'm an official blue hair I plan on saying 'what' as many times as it takes for people to just shut the hell up. Eventually people will give up talking to me and I will finally have peace and quite. Sweet, sweet quiet. And if people think they can just come in to my area and talk to each other I will turn the tv up so loud the vibration rattles my teeth. I'll keep my mouth open too so everyone can hear and it's extra creepy. Speaking of false teeth. I'm going to get really really big ones that barely fit in my mouth. I will take them out of my mouth and cup them in my hands to bite people, and things, and people. 

"Grandma Stacy has a hard time hearing and remembering where her teeth go"

Enough about that. Lets focus. Where do I go all day? What do I do? Who do I see? Can I go, do, and see all these things in a ladies pant suit? I stay home, I drive my kids to their gazillion activities, sometimes the bank, or the store. I clean and write and make important calls and pretend I'm a ninja who has just been shunned because I refuse to slay my master even though he became evil. Because I know it's not him that is evil, it's the ancient dragon stone he was tricked in to taking from a Shaolin temple. So we fight. I see strangers mostly, sometimes my neighbors, my friends when I'm feeling sassy. This is all very lady pant suit friendly. 
What is the appropriate age for a ladies pant suit? I looked in to it. I said "google? How old was Mary Richards on the Mary Tyler Moore show? Google said "30 something"  and I said "that's what I like to hear googley!"

Note to self: One really shouldn't raise one's arms like that.
When your pants are attached to your shirt there is an unfortunate faux pa. 
What about being sexy? I'm a woman, sexy is important right? NO. No it is not. NOPE! I have no intention of bringing sexy back. I told sexy to leave. And I meant it. Sexy wants me to shave my legs and have things that pout and things that push and some curves but not other curves. Plus, last time I tried to dress up sexy. It didn't really work. If sexy were a project at a science fair I would have received a participation ribbon and sad sympathetic smiles, and a lot of advice about how being more prepared and organized and knowledgeable about the topic would have really helped my grade. With that sad little truth in mind I can easily bid you adieu sexy! We had 18 years together. We're through. I mean it. Don't call. Don't make things weird. Just go.

Plenty o' room for a future fupa!!
 As you can see I could go from standing to dancing almost effortlessly. With an outfit like this I would probably know Disney songs and recipes and what to do with coupons and how to have socially appropriate discussions. I would drink my wine from a glass and laugh at clean jokes. Look at that lady! We are the same age! The time for this is now!

I could never do high kicks in traditional pants. This is actually a huge selling point for me. I like kicking, and I could feel at ease doing a lot of spontaneous kicking if I were wearing a belt like that. I couldn't help myself. If you know me you already know I can't wear scarves because of the constant urge to belly dance. According to MMA experts, kicking is more impressive than shimmying. Just sayin'. Look at her. Just look at her. She looks so free. I want to be free. That's the kind of outfit with a tag that says 'ONE SIZE' that is a relief. With proper diet and exercise I think I could quite easily stay 'ONE SIZE'

Which brings us to our final consideration. What will other women think? Me sauntering around, polished, sophisticated, intermittently weaving in an effortless roundhouse. Who cares?  Seriously. I don't even kind of. The fear of another's judgement is not enough to dissuade me from envying an enticingly breezy pant-shirt union.

It's settled then. Welcome to the Stacy show pantsuit, romper, onesie, jumper, best idea ever. It's really the perfect time to segue my ass in to giant underwear. Though buying my undies where I buy my sprinkler parts and tractor tires really should be a treat I save for my 40's.