Boys With No Shirts (or more importantly, part two of a girly football game)

This post is dedicated to those of you anxiously awaiting an update on the Championship Powder Puff Football Game last night. Yeah... I'm laughing, too. I will, however, not only give that update, but also share my thoughts on half-naked teenage boys.

And some of you just sat up straighter.


First things first.

The freshmen girls did beat the sophomore team to secure their third place standing in this year's championship tournament. My girl stood her ground on defense with the rest of her team and endured the throat-clenching, hair-pulling, jersey-grabbing antics of an unorganized tenth grade offense. Final score was freshmen 12; sophomores ZERO. Woot Woot. We didn't hang around for the junior/senior game.


And now on to the more interesting stuff.

Last night was cold for our neck of the woods. We sat on a blanket (on the metal bleachers), huddled in a blanket, and watched others spend good money to warm their hands on slices of pizza or cups of hot chocolate. But even the brisk wind blowing could not stop groups of shirtless teenage boys from supporting their female classmates out on the field. On both sides, boys in pajama pants and shorts bravely faced the cold wearing nothing on top but coordinating body paint and letters proudly displaying their loyalty (F-R-E-S-H-M.... you get the idea). Hats on backwards, boomboxes playing, and flags waving, the girls were not lacking a cheerleading squad on either side.

When the freshmen girls scored the FIRST touchdown, their shirtless male counterparts made a victory lap around the track stopping only to wave their flag in the face of the sophomore boys. When the SECOND touchdown was made, the victory lap was repeated only to swap the flag-in-the-face move with all the freshmen boys dropping on the field to exhibit their strength in push-ups (to show their might over the sophomores, the daughter later informed me). While this was taking place, a sophomore boy snatched the flag of the freshmen.

Which led to a minor flag tussle.
Which got a teacher involved.
Which caused enough distraction for a freshman boy to snatch the boombox of the sophomores.
Which he promptly delivered to the group of shirtless senior boys sitting in the bleachers.
Which got another teacher involved.

Oh my goodness.

We laughed and clapped and completely forgot there was an actual game taking place on the field.

As the boombox-snatching freshman was escorted away from the scene of the crime, we went back to watching the game and the husband remarked that towards the end of the second half, the boys with only paint on their backs and chests to keep them warm were not as rowdy as they were in the beginning. The cold must have dampened their enthusiasm as hands were shoved into pajama pant pockets and they were more huddled together than chanting any great cheer. The final buzzer buzzed and the game was over. I think the boys disappeared faster than the girls who were, like last night, delivering their farewell hugs as they made their way off the field.

So, all in all, the last two nights have been a lot of fun. The daughter is already looking forward to next year and I gotta admit, I'm anxious to see what those boys come up with next.

And watching my girl play, too.

That's the most important part...

Right?

Powder Puff Dreams

For the first time in all of my kids' middle school/high school careers, we attended a sporting event for the sole purpose of watching one of our own take the field. I've never been envious of the notorious soccer mom running herself ragged to get from one game or event or class to another with all of her Nike-Reebok-Adidas wearing kids in tow, but I have to admit it was rather exciting to descend the concrete steps of those metal bleachers looking for a place to park myself. Equipped with a comfy blanket to sit on, we snatched a spot on the 50-yard line and as luck would have it, a trash-talking grandpa for the opposite team took up space right in front of us. The oldest broke open his motorcycle-riding-backpack that was stuffed with snacks, the husband began a verbal assessment of the opponent, and with the sound of a buzzer, the game was on.

Powder Puff Football.

It's the freshman year of the youngest. In the days leading up to her high school registration, she remarked to her dad that she intended to get the full high school experience. She sent me a text a few weeks ago announcing: I did it, Mom. Signed up for powder puff. What have I gotten myself into? Even as I admonished her for using her phone during school (It's study hall, Mom), I was at the same time cheering her on. You go, girl! 

So for the last week she has been at practice learning about football and taking defensive tactic training from her father. It's all been rather entertaining. She comes home from practice wound up about this sophomore or that senior and the girls who won't do anything because they're afraid of messing up their hair. She insisted we didn't need to be at the game last night because as she put it, We're gonna get killed, Mom.

Which brings me to another point.

Whose bright idea was it to pit the freshmen team against the seniors?

Yep. The senior girls took to the field in a intimidating formation that involved launching diapers and pacifiers and baby bottles at the huddled group of freshmen girls. It was rather sad and funny all at the same time. You don't need the details of the game- the seniors did win, but it was by no means a slaughter as predicted earlier by the daughter. We watched our baby girl take up her defensive stance and slightly prayed, Not the teeth, Lord. Protect the teeth ($5000 worth of orthodontics, you know). She held her own and we cheered them on. Even the trash-talking grandpa became eerily quiet as the clock wound down. When the final buzzer sounded and girls on the field hugged each other (as only girls in football jerseys can do), we gathered up our blanket and snacks and waited for our athlete to make her appearance. The husband leaned over and whispered to me, Well, at least we only had to do this one time.

Nope, I sadly shook my head. We're here tomorrow night, too. Losers play the losers; winners play the winners.

Those sophomores are going down.

Then I'll gladly hang up my soccer mom shoes.

At least till next year.

Getting What I Asked For

Today we register the youngest child for high school. Not sure how I feel about that (except this officially gives [husband] and I four years to plan our high-five, we're-going-to-Disneyland moment when she walks that platform to receive her diploma). Ha!



That was my facebook status on August 1st. My mom had remarked that I would be needing a box of tissues on that graduation day to which I replied that the middle and the youngest were already taking bets on whether or not I would cry the first day of school. As it turns out, I didn't even make it that far.

I took the daughter to the high school last night for her freshmen orientation. Her school is starting what they call Freshmen Academy this year which just basically means that freshmen are on a different bell schedule than the rest of the school. Taking into account this school has over 1600 students, I don't think that's a bad idea, so last night was just all about them.

We fought with her locker for a while which already had her monstrous-sized textbooks inside. Back on the first when the kids registered, they were given their books and lockers that day... again, not another bad idea. We knew this locker opened because the middle had already demonstrated it that particular day. Last night, though, we weren't having a lot of luck.

We weren't the only ones. Sheesh. I think the whole locker thing is half the battle. A man nearby was armed with a can of WD-40 to which we gladly accepted; I don't know that it did much good, though. We finally figured out that her best bet was to just get mad and give it a good yank. We even called the oldest brother and with his four years of locker expertise, he agreed.

You can bet I will praying about that darn locker.

I was hot and frustrated by that point while the girl of mine was cool and collected. After she was done messing with her locker, she said she would like to walk the halls to find all her classes. First hall, second hall... maybe up to a fifth hall (?) and then those halls break off to the right and left (think squares, the middle keeps repeating in my head)... all I did was follow her around like so many other moms in the building. It was somewhere in the middle of all that that I began to realize I really was not ready for this.

Each time she found a class, she would walk inside to introduce herself to the teacher. This was done while I waited in the hallway at her request. I was standing outside one particular door leaning my face against the cool concrete wall feeling like a complete dork (hey, can't think of a better word) and listening to the faint echoes of her voice from inside the room. It was at that point that the strangest thought occurred to me as tears welled up in my eyes,

What in the world have I done?

I raised this confident daughter (not alone, mind you) who is perfectly comfortable in her own skin. She didn't need her mom trailing behind and telling the teacher her strengths and weaknesses. She did all that on her own. Her brothers are just the same. Oh, I know they still need their mom for things like clean laundry, supper on the table, and the occasional listening ear, but for the most part, they are independent and determined and just how I always wished I could be.

This is why I had them making their own lunches in kindergarten * and learning to do dishes while standing on a step stool and teaching them to try to address problems (whether with a friend or with a teacher) on their own before they brought to me. They are turning into the young people adults I always wanted them to be and to tell you the truth, it scares me to death. I feel proud and helpless all at the same time.

The oldest is talking about spreading his wings and taking off on his own... just talking, Mom, he says. The middle is starting his own journey, following on the heels of his dad, in criminal justice... my boy, in law enforcement? And the youngest tells me just to wait in the hall... who is that girl?

She's mine.
They're all mine.
God help us all.



* and just so you don't think my kids went to kindergarten with candy and cupcakes and soda, we had the lunch-making rule: one PB & J sandwich, one piece of fruit, one snacky-type thing, and one juice box. I kept everything within their reach and it worked out very well, not to mention it gave me a little extra time to fix my own lunch (or at least no excuse not to).