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Played in a scrimmage against my son's U10 soccer team last night, Parents versus Kids, and had loads of fun. The score was even, and I think the kids learned a lot. It's one thing to tell the kids, "Spread out!" and "Move up!" and "Watch your man!" And it's another thing to SHOW them.
Heh.
Did pretty well, until nearly the end of the game when my knees decided to close shop. "We're done!" they said, and promptly vamoosed, and Auntie went all in a heap to the ground. Fortunately, muscle memory does not fail, and I rolled right up to a sitting position. If my knees had not left the building earlier, I would have come back up to a standing position! Gave the Impossible Son heart failure, though. "Mom! Mom!! Are you okay? Do we need to call 911? Are you dead? Mom?? Mom? MOM!!!"
Because I was laughing so hard, I couldn't talk!
There were a lot of funny moments. Like when The Husbandly One scored a goal and whipped off his shirt to come running down the field, arms in the air with his shirt streaming behind like a flag. One of the kids turned and looked at me and said, "Coach THO is a pretty hairy guy, Auntie!"
I laughed and said, "He's my own personal shag carpet!" and then laughed even harder because... hee... SHAG!!
*is inappropriately amused*
One of the other dads had a handicap. His three year old son wanted to play, too, but he's too small, both in age and in size. So, he scooped his son up and at first tried to play with Wee-Man on his hip. Nope. So he tried a princess carry. Nope, that didn't work, either. He finally just lifted him up to his shoulders, and Wee-Man just hung on for dear life, giggling madly while his dad went galumphing up the field after the ball.
Yes, "galumphing" is a word. I say so.
The Impossible Son threw himself dramatically to the ground at one point, saying, "I'm so TIRED!" and I pulled him up and said, "Hey, how do you think I feel! I'm old!"
One of his team mates danced by and said, "You're not old! Now my mom is nearly 28... that's OLD!! You're not even close to her age!"
I didn't have the heart to tell her I'm 47, and struggled to keep a straight face. One of the other moms on the team, who is five years younger than me, was laughing hysterically, and said, "It must be the lighting out here!"
Well, you know, to a ten year old, anyone over the age of 20 is positively ancient.
And I toe-punched the ball on a goal kick, instead of hitting it with the inside of my foot, as I had intended. The Impertinent Daughter rushed up to me and said, "Mom!! No toe-punching! You're going to hurt yourself!!"
She was right...
Not pretty, is it. It split the side of my toe, too, and yeah, still hurts.
The things we do for love, right?
*goes off to look for more ice*
Heh.
Did pretty well, until nearly the end of the game when my knees decided to close shop. "We're done!" they said, and promptly vamoosed, and Auntie went all in a heap to the ground. Fortunately, muscle memory does not fail, and I rolled right up to a sitting position. If my knees had not left the building earlier, I would have come back up to a standing position! Gave the Impossible Son heart failure, though. "Mom! Mom!! Are you okay? Do we need to call 911? Are you dead? Mom?? Mom? MOM!!!"
Because I was laughing so hard, I couldn't talk!
There were a lot of funny moments. Like when The Husbandly One scored a goal and whipped off his shirt to come running down the field, arms in the air with his shirt streaming behind like a flag. One of the kids turned and looked at me and said, "Coach THO is a pretty hairy guy, Auntie!"
I laughed and said, "He's my own personal shag carpet!" and then laughed even harder because... hee... SHAG!!
*is inappropriately amused*
One of the other dads had a handicap. His three year old son wanted to play, too, but he's too small, both in age and in size. So, he scooped his son up and at first tried to play with Wee-Man on his hip. Nope. So he tried a princess carry. Nope, that didn't work, either. He finally just lifted him up to his shoulders, and Wee-Man just hung on for dear life, giggling madly while his dad went galumphing up the field after the ball.
Yes, "galumphing" is a word. I say so.
The Impossible Son threw himself dramatically to the ground at one point, saying, "I'm so TIRED!" and I pulled him up and said, "Hey, how do you think I feel! I'm old!"
One of his team mates danced by and said, "You're not old! Now my mom is nearly 28... that's OLD!! You're not even close to her age!"
I didn't have the heart to tell her I'm 47, and struggled to keep a straight face. One of the other moms on the team, who is five years younger than me, was laughing hysterically, and said, "It must be the lighting out here!"
Well, you know, to a ten year old, anyone over the age of 20 is positively ancient.
And I toe-punched the ball on a goal kick, instead of hitting it with the inside of my foot, as I had intended. The Impertinent Daughter rushed up to me and said, "Mom!! No toe-punching! You're going to hurt yourself!!"
She was right...
Not pretty, is it. It split the side of my toe, too, and yeah, still hurts.
The things we do for love, right?
*goes off to look for more ice*
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