Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)
Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.
This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.
Monday, September 15, 2003
Because, you see, on Saturday…
I was sleeping nice and deep, and the alarm clock went off at seven. I was so relieved that we had a little bit of time to wallow around and stretch and doze a bit before having to get up and hit the road that I just lay there and listened to the clock tick. MMmmm. Nice, quiet, and RING! Oh, bad word! Many, many bad words! Awful, Hadean language! Grr.
“Hlwawh?” (This being “hello” when you’re sleepy and want to tear someone a new one.)
“Terry, Ashley’s sick this morning and wants to come home.”
She didn’t really want to go to the youth day thing at church, but rather than just come out and say she didn’t want to go, she decided to do what she does at school; become so overwrought that she makes herself sick. It wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t so incredibly obvious, and if she would quit believing her own story—but she seems eat up with George Costanza-itis: “It’s not a lie, if you believe it.”
I rolled my eyes and rolled out of bed and hit the road, got to the appointed pickup spot and put her in the van and compared notes with the friend’s mom. All the signs of sandbagging—she didn’t eat anything different from anyone else Friday night, and never mentioned about being sick until Saturday morning, and the supposed bout of driving the porcelain bus was miraculously silent and unobtrusive.
Not that it got her anywhere—she was certain that since she was in such poor, pitiful condition that she would be allowed to remain piled up playing her Gameboy and watching videos all day. ‘Tis so very sad, but she was told that since she looked like she was doing just fine now that she would be accompanying us to our slate of games for the day. Oh, if looks could kill. (Then again, if they could, Mom and Dad would have been pushing up daisies years ago…)
Off to the park for Little Boy’s first game of the Fall Season. Team from Moody (a small town down the road a ways) who beat them pretty severely. I was surprised, given Jonathan’s lack of practice skills, but he went out and did very well—pretty good leg and endurance. Actually, given the events of earlier in the morning, the more interesting thing was when Reba went to the restroom with Catherine and Ashley, and they came back with some drinks. And with Ashley a grilled chicken sandwich.
Some stomach distress, eh?
To make it even worse, later on Rebecca went and got a little tray of corn chips with cheese sauce, and Ashley started hounding her to make her share it! I must say that at that point, I reached the limit of my good nature. I leaned over and unloaded--“Look, Miss I’m-Too-Sick-To-Go- Anywhere-But-I-Just-Gorged- Myself-on-a-Nasty-Chicken-Sandwich- Full-of-Mayonaisse-and-Have-Been- Bopping-Around-Like-Nothing’s-Wrong- With-Me, shut your mouth and leave your little sister alone and quit trying to eat her food, before you really DO get sick!”
“BUT I REALLY WAS SI…”
“Not. Another. Word.”
Everyone keeps telling me this is a phase. Danged well better be, or else she’s going to bury me before she’s out of high school.
Until then, back to the game. Jonathan’s team did okay, in spite of themselves, but the team from Moody was just too much for them and it finished up at 5-0. Back home for a minute or two to let him change out of his stinky stuff and let Rebecca change into her stuff. The combined effects of the ointment and the ankle brace seemed to give her enough confidence to want to make a go of the game.
In between her getting dressed and us reloading the van, I got to catch the first quarter of the Auburn—Vanderbilt game. Oh, how pitiful—started off just like every other game this season, with Auburn seeming to self-destruct against a somewhat psyched up opponent. Same miscues on offense, same stupid mistakes. Gonna be a long day, I thought. But, they managed to get things clicking—even if it was against Vanderbilt, it was good to see that they did remember what football was supposed to be like. I had taken my little radio to Rebecca’s game, and supplied a running score to folks who asked—it was deep in the fourth quarter before I began feeling as though they might be beyond royally messing up and losing. It was nice to pull it out, but it’s not THAT comforting when Vandy, of all people, is a must-win game, and you are relieved to have beaten them.
Anyway, we got all loaded up and started off for Liberty Park, then decided we had better turn around and go back and get Catherine’s stuff just in case we were late getting back for her game. (Which we were. Of course.)
Our girls have been practicing hard all week, and they did a great job against Vestavia, in spite of the heat and having to deal with yet another team who seems to have been coached by someone with, let’s say, different idea of what constitutes sportsmanlike play. Nothing wrong with going for the ball and the occasional collision between two players really trying hard. Quite another when there’s not a ball around. But, as I keep telling Rebecca, the best revenge is winning, which they managed to do by a score of 3-2.
Unfortunately, not before Rebecca got the crap kicked out of her sprained ankle. She had played like a champ the entire game, and nearly to the end one of those non-existent balls must have gotten close to her, causing her opponent to take a nice wind-up on her.
She stayed out there, and I didn’t realize until after the game how hard she was crying, but the waterworks were going full blast. Got her in the van along with everyone and everything else, and then started out for home for Catherine’s game.
Got there after is was already underway and Reba stayed with her and I got the other kids some lunch and some more ice for Bec’s ankle. Cat’s little team played to a 3-3 tie, and she even managed to score a goal! Thankfully, since it was for the other team, they decided not to count it.
We finally got home close to five, worn slap out. Kids in the tub, more PT for Middle Girl’s ankle, supper, bed.
And then it was Sunday!
Comments: Post a Comment
free hit counter
so what if they're mostly me!