Never chase your ball down the hill... OR,
It's not the speed, it's the sudden stop at the end.

Last night was soccer practice for the Little Squirt. I got home and found her all ready to go (except for her cleats) and in a chipper mood, not doubt due to the fun she had in kindergarten all day, witnessed by the wide variety of stains on the little white shirt I sent her to school in that morning. Red mud, blue ink from a ink stamper she sneaked out of the house, grass, ketchup--she was a walking Tide commercial. Swap smooches with wife and it was back in the van and over to the park.

We arrived right at 6, which normally would have meant that practice had already started, but Atomic Firebaby's coach lives way, WAY up in Blount County, and even though she home schools her kids, and even though they are on her team, and even though she set up the practice time, she never quite arrives at 6. So, we wait. A couple of other of Cat's little friends come by and they play beside me on the bleachers, bouncing their soccer balls against each other, trying their darndest to get them to roll to the bottom of the hill. "Uh-uh, don't do that--it'll roll down to the bottom!" And it is a BIG hill--top to bottom is probably about 20 feet of elevation. Once the ball goes, it goes. "O-kayyyyy Daddeeeee!" Wicked little grin. We wait some more.

And some more. We decided to get up and go around to one of the other fields to see if we had missed the coach, and walked past one of the upper fields where a group of little boys were practicing.

I take a moment for an aside here, to speak to all of the young mamas and daddies around here--if you decide to give your child a snooty-sounding British name, such as...oh, let's say "Colin," for the love of all that is holy, please get some lessons on how to pronounce it. As we walked by, one of the mom's was screaming "Come on, Colon! Run, Colon!" I don't know the kid, maybe he's in alimentary school or something, but Mom, PLEASE call him "Collin." Short "o," or even the much beloved schwa, with a short "i." Please, anything but "colon." And don't call his little brother Semicolon. We now return to our story.

As we rounded the fence, some of the other team parents had also walked around to see if they had missed the coach, and were in a deep discussion of the coach and her no-showness. I decided to go back and sit down, so I turned Girl around and started slowly walking back toward the concession stand. She put her ball down and started kicking it a bit. "Be careful, sugar." "Hehehehehehehee!" "Hey! Don't roll it down..." Bounce, bounce, roll, bounce. "Heheheheheee!" ::heavy sigh::

"Walk down there and get it." Off she goes, full tilt. Of course. "SLOW! DOWN!" Well, she did even better than slowing down--she reached the bottom of the hill and stopped dead in her tracks, managing to arrest her fall with her face and knees. Up she sits, squawling and screaming bloody murder. Oh crap, crap, CRAP! I walked down the hill and found her covered up with snot and dirt and grass and sweat and tears and slobber. It was one of those terrible times in a parent's life when you don't know whether to go into full panic mode or play it cool so as not to panic the kid and make it even worse. I decided to panic inside and remain noncommittal outside. We brushed off the loose stuff and then Panic nearly broke down the stall and galloped through the crowd when I saw a little rivulet of blood and tears running down her cheek from her left eye. I wiped it away, and a smaller bit came through, and thankfully it looked like it was going to be minor. We finally got the weeping down to a mild case of the sniffles and walked the long set of stairs back up to the concession stand, put some ice water on a napkin and put it on all the boo-boos, and waited some more for the coach. "I want my mommy." "I know, Sweaty-Pie, (yes, that is a South Pacific reference, and yes, I do call her that sometimes because it makes her giggle) we'll go home and see her and let you tell her all about running after your ball."

"I'm not going to run that way NO MORE!"

Let's hope not!

(Update--I also forgot to mention that while sitting quietly with cold compresses, Tiny Girl was viciously attacked by mosquitoes. The result of which were not seen until bathtime, at which time she had huge welts all over her legs. They coordinated nicely with the huge raspberry on her knee and the tumblerash on her cheek. This morning she was sent to school with 12 big Band-Aid Brand Bug Bite Bandaids all over her meaty little limbs and I await a phone call from some state agency wondering what I have been subjecting her to.)
posted by Terry at 8:40:00 AM