Certifiable…

I asked you if I was crazy…

I should’ve waited until after the clinic tonight.  Because then I would’ve had my answer and I wouldn’t of had to ask.  The answer would’ve been perfectly clear.

Yes.

I am crazy.

(But thanks to those of you who told me that I was not crazy and a wonderful mom.  It made me all warm and fuzzy.)

So, I arrive at the clinic tonight wearing, what else?  My Desperately Seeking Sanity shirt that says, “I love giving homemade gifts, which one of the kids would you like?”

I would like to say that it was because I wanted to advertise my site, but the reality of it is, it was the only clean tee-shirt that was big and long…

And the reason that I needed a big and long tee-shirt?  Well becuase the only shorts that I have are my gym shorts… kinda like the bicylce shorts?  And well, I don’t like tight things or shorts, so I needed something to cover my hips.

Coach Betsy makes all the coaches come stand with her and introduce ourselves.  Guess who forgot what her team name was?

FURY. (The stupidest name for a team.)

As I look down the line, I realize that short of Coach Betsy, the head of the organization, Jennifer and I are the only two women.

I also realize that my shirt has a huge stain on it.  Which I did not realize that when I walked out of the house and now I’m standing in front of all these parents with an odd, off-white mark covering my boob.

Wonderful.

And so Jennifer and I stood there while they showed the kids a few moves.

First up the Matthews… big toe, big toe, little toe.  I couldn’t figure out what they meant by big toe and little toe.  Eventually it dawned on me that we’re talking about the toe that you hit the ball with.  Silly me… I thought you hit the ball with your foot.

I was not aware that we got specific.  Now I know.

Then the rollover.  Okay, I think.  I can do this.  When they break us up, I can help them with these moves.

Hold up!  Wait a minute….

What did he just call that move?  A Queef?  No… a coif?  I don’t know… I tried to look it up and couldn’t find anything but I do know that when you’re doing this move, the way you stand much resembles how someone would stand if they had to pee.

It’s not attractive.

At all.

So they separated us.  Jennifer (my co-coach) had the brilliant idea that we should separate because we would both be learning different things.  I panicked.  I didn’t know the guy that I was with.  I didn’t know how to play soccer.  I didn’t know what I was doing.

Wouldn’t be so bad if the kids would have.

But they didn’t.  Except the 10 year old boy who came over and showed me how to do the moves in slow motion, repeatedly.

I’m thinking that it should’ve been the other way around?

When we gathered back up as a group before the games began, I looked at Jennifer and might have mentioned that I felt like crying.  I had no clue what I was doing.

Her response?

Neither do they so don’t feel bad.

And then we paired up and played games, but my group had an odd number of kids, so I got to be a partner to Fancy Feet.  This is what I will always call her.  Because her feet do things that are unnatural.

The rules were simple.  Get the ball away from your opponent.  Easy enough, right?

I chased her around for a good 10 minutes.  She was nice though… she slowed down when she realized that I was huffing and puffing, dribbling the ball and doing all this fancy foot work.  And when I got my second wind and revved up again, she took off.

I never did get the ball.

An hour and a half later, we were done.  I hobbled to the car and when Sam asked if we could stop for ice cream, I didn’t think twice.

Crazy people love ice cream.

Until next time…