One reason for gray sprouts...
The other day, I did something I never do.
I used my 8X magnification makeup mirror, which I am convinced was invented by someone who had something against 30-something women. But, instead of fixating on the wrinkles and scary pores on my nose, my eyes darted to something I thought I'd never see in my days of highlighting the 'do bi-yearly.
I saw a freaking gray hair people.
OK. Not just one, a couple no less. Now tell me how gray hairs are supposed to show up on a highlighted blonde-haired young lady like myself?
There have been a lot of stresses this year. Some I choose to not talk about on this blog. But, there's one I have not mentioned that has me on pins and needles tonight.
My 9-year-old son is playing tackle football.
That's right. I said it. I fully expect to feel the wrath of judgement from protective moms everywhere, so go ahead. I actually judge myself even right now. Ugh.
But, after two years of his begging, I gave in. Then, I waited until the last minute to sign him up hoping there wouldn't be a spot.
Unfortunately, I was told there was, but then I got a last minute moment of relief when an email went out that my son didn't actually make the second formed team for our neighborhood, and they couldn't find a coach for the third one that he was on.
Secretly feeling euphoric over this development, I waited...and then felt huge guilt when I did tell my son the possibility he might not play. His little face was so distraught over the possibility that I instantly shoved my protective mother persona in the closet and even WISHED it would work out for him. And, then it did. Sigh. (The protective mother has busted out of her confines and is now beating me over the head with hangers...wire hangers, of course.)
He had his first practice tonight and I decided it might be better if I did not attend. I do not know if I can handle watching him get pummeled over and over. He is a very tall kid and he weighs much more than he looks, but he is NOT football player stock. He's quite good at throwing and catching, so he might have a shot at quarterback if that hasn't already been sewn up by a coach's son or something.
But, wait. Quarterbacks get hit pretty hard though, don't they?
Excuse me while I go throw up.
I really don't need this stress in my life right now. Is it awful that I'm hoping he is so bad that he gets assigned the waterboy or something?
Why can't he be into swimming? Look at that wholesome boy, Michael Phelps! Do you think that nice tall boy ever begged his mom to get plowed over by kids twice his weight? No, he took his lanky, tall-boy genes right to a swimming pool where his mom could go on living without serious heart palpitations every time he competes. What a GOOD BOY!
My son just came home from practice and had this description of how hard it was:
I used my 8X magnification makeup mirror, which I am convinced was invented by someone who had something against 30-something women. But, instead of fixating on the wrinkles and scary pores on my nose, my eyes darted to something I thought I'd never see in my days of highlighting the 'do bi-yearly.
I saw a freaking gray hair people.
OK. Not just one, a couple no less. Now tell me how gray hairs are supposed to show up on a highlighted blonde-haired young lady like myself?
There have been a lot of stresses this year. Some I choose to not talk about on this blog. But, there's one I have not mentioned that has me on pins and needles tonight.
My 9-year-old son is playing tackle football.
That's right. I said it. I fully expect to feel the wrath of judgement from protective moms everywhere, so go ahead. I actually judge myself even right now. Ugh.
But, after two years of his begging, I gave in. Then, I waited until the last minute to sign him up hoping there wouldn't be a spot.
Unfortunately, I was told there was, but then I got a last minute moment of relief when an email went out that my son didn't actually make the second formed team for our neighborhood, and they couldn't find a coach for the third one that he was on.
Secretly feeling euphoric over this development, I waited...and then felt huge guilt when I did tell my son the possibility he might not play. His little face was so distraught over the possibility that I instantly shoved my protective mother persona in the closet and even WISHED it would work out for him. And, then it did. Sigh. (The protective mother has busted out of her confines and is now beating me over the head with hangers...wire hangers, of course.)
He had his first practice tonight and I decided it might be better if I did not attend. I do not know if I can handle watching him get pummeled over and over. He is a very tall kid and he weighs much more than he looks, but he is NOT football player stock. He's quite good at throwing and catching, so he might have a shot at quarterback if that hasn't already been sewn up by a coach's son or something.
But, wait. Quarterbacks get hit pretty hard though, don't they?
Excuse me while I go throw up.
I really don't need this stress in my life right now. Is it awful that I'm hoping he is so bad that he gets assigned the waterboy or something?
Why can't he be into swimming? Look at that wholesome boy, Michael Phelps! Do you think that nice tall boy ever begged his mom to get plowed over by kids twice his weight? No, he took his lanky, tall-boy genes right to a swimming pool where his mom could go on living without serious heart palpitations every time he competes. What a GOOD BOY!
My son just came home from practice and had this description of how hard it was:
"Mom, you know if mine and Dad's practice last night was a shirt size, it would be about a Medium. Well, if this practice was a shirt-size, it would be an EXTRA, EXTRA large!"Funny, I've got a medium-sized, stress-induced headache about now...and an EXTRA, EXTRA large bad feeling that this is the only beginning of my gray hair.
Labels: kids;sports
posted by Crazy MomCat @ 4:57 PM
5 Comments:
Should I go buy stock in Advil?
Hang in there! You might find that he is not good enough to make the first string and he has to sit on the bench?? Or not.
xo
LBC
ok Im focusing on the grey hair.
I found my first recently and named it and loved it.
(of course I then CAVED and yanked it)
Miz.
speaking of heart palpitations and michael phelps. ;-)
Football is statistically safer than cutting a kid loose on a bike in the neighborhood...that gear does a really good job of absorbing the blows.
I let my son play tackle football starting at 10...he did break a thumb, though it was more because he missed an awkward high five and less the actual game.
By the time high school rolled around he was done playing. Tall skinny kid, he wasn't great Varsity material, but really size doesn't matter until college.
He'll have fun! Go watch...most of the time the little boys playing are more funny than anything else.
Oy! That's so cute how he described the practice though :) I'm happy that he's found something he loves, but I would be totally freaking out just like you if I were in your shoes.
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