Competitiveness

At soccer this morning I watched my seven year old play soccer on the Common. I remember myself as a seven year old, playing soccer on the Common. It’s true, the adage that parenting is a ticket back to your own childhood. I remembered that I was a complete space cadet of a soccer player, usually doing cartwheels on the field and totally missing the ball when it passed me by. Access all the action easily with the ลิงค์ ทางเข้า UFABET มือถือ.

Cartwheels seem to be a theme of my “competitive” sports career. And not, say, in gymnastics, where they might be appropriate. I was teased for my cartwheels as a lower school soccer player. And in high school, when I ran cross country, I always did a cartwheel at some point during the 3.1 mile course. My coach was always annoyed: “Lindsey, if you have enough energy to do a cartwheel in the home stretch, perhaps you could push yourself to run faster…?”

Mature, that was not. But it evinced my utter lack of interest in competitive sports. I qualified for the state finals in cross country my senior year and gave my spot to someone else on the team who was more interested in running. That was classic. I was not them and am not now at all competitive when it comes to sports or leisure activities. I just can’t muster the energy: it’s a game, people. People who don’t know me well are often surprised by this lack of interest in keeping score. But it’s absolutely true. And it makes me a lousy tennis opponent, or Scrabble competitor, or card player. I just don’t care.

Soccer was pretty much my last effort at any kind of team sport. That was another one of my father’s themes, growing up: that I should play team sports and not just solitary ones. What is more solitary, after all, than running? But I simply didn’t want to, and so I didn’t. And I still don’t. I do see, in the abstract, the value of playing on a team. (as an aside, you know that “there is no ‘I’ in team?” well does nobody notice that there is a “me”?). But I also understand having a complete lack of interest in it. I’ll see how it shakes out with Grace and Whit. So far they are still at the age where they pretty much need to be run like animals, and soccer provides a structured way to do that where someone else is in charge and I can just play word games on my iphone. So for now I like it.

A meandering Saturday morning post. I guess the (not very deep or revelatory) point is, I’m a loner who is not competitive about games.

Halloween

Halloween.

I’ve never been a big Halloween fan. In fact I’m a downright curmudgeon about it. In college it seemed like an excuse for women to dress like tramps and now it seems like an excuse for boys to wield weapons. Plus I find some of the stuff about it legitimately spooky.

So I’m kind of a loser mom when it comes to Halloween. I don’t decorate the house and I generally force them to trick or treat early and go to bed at a regular hour. Of course having a child with a nut allergy makes all of the candy extra fun and stressful.

Grace and Whit have had matching/coordinating Halloween costumes for four years. The first year, when she was just 3 and he was 9 months old, she was chicken and he was an egg. That was really great. I got a lot of comments about how “Hey you’re really taking a stance on the which came first thing, eh?” They were adorable.

The next year they were a firefighter (Grace) and a dalmation. Whit still occasionally emerges from his room wearing his dalmation costume, which is now skin-tight. Then the next year they were Tinkerbell and Peter Pan. I searched high and low to find a non-Disney Tinkerbell and I did. And last year they were Wonder Woman and Superman. Photos of the costumes here and here.

So this year it was clear early on that Whit was going to be something from Star Wars. Despite not having seen the movie, he is utterly obsessed. He wanted to be Captain Rex so I bought him a clone troopers costume (and a gun, which I still haven’t decided whether I’m going to give to him or not). Grace came to me several days after Whit had decided on his costume. She told me, eyes cast down but firm resignation in her voice, “Mum, I’ll be Princess Leia if you want.”

Of course I wanted! What a cute costume, perfect for her, plus not slutty and potentially warm enough if it is a classic New England Halloween. But something tugged in me. And I told her, then and there, that she didn’t have to match. She decided to be a witch and is very excited about it. It is a small thing, an infinitesimally small easing of the hand I keep on them.

Bad host mother

I am a host family to two families at the school my kids go to. Two families joining my son in the pre-K class tomorrow. I have met neither family. Oops. I failed to connect with either one in person at the barbeque in May. I did not call. I did email them both…?

Anyway, one of the mothers called me today. Shockingly I picked up the phone (me and the phone? not so much. my classic move is to receive a voicemail and respond by email. don’t take it personally. it’s me and my I-ness). She had a question. I did not have an answer, but I did convey with great enthusiasm and not a little pride that wow, I had the same question!

Oddly she did not seem super reassured by the fact that I shared her question. She forged on with another question. Another one that I did not have an answer to. And then, with my classic verbal diarrhea problem (perhaps I shy away from the phone because I know I am just plain bad at the phone?) I proceeded to regale her with a story about on my son’s first day at nursery school, when he was 2, I had simply not noticed that I was supposed to pick him up after an hour. So, wow (insert giggle) I got that call at 10:15 that said hey your 2 year old is sitting here waiting for you.

She, again, did not seem very delighted with this tale. Poor woman. She sure hit the Host Family Jackpot with me.

Holding on


Ronna Detrick’s post today called Holding On is ringing all of my bells. Oh yes I know this feeling. Sadly I have more of these edgy, dark, slippery days than of the sunny ones, and I want desperately to reverse this ratio. Sadly for me holding on sometimes does feel desperate, perhaps because I’ve been to the really dark place and am so afraid of going back. Perhaps because I am terrible at being out of control. Maybe it’s because I just don’t know how to trust myself. I don’t know. But I wish I had Ronna’s wisdom about knowing that the holding on place will pass, about having the trust and confidence in myself to weather it and the deep knowledge that I have the strength to stand on my own.

Perhaps that is the challenge of the next X years for me. Who am I kidding, perhaps? It is clearly, very clearly, that challenge. The universe is shouting it at me and I am trying my best to listen. May I learn to hold on without panic, to trust in myself, to know that I am good enough and strong enough to walk through the dark places.