April 3, 2008

Scenes From The Ballpark

I found myself watching Finn’s baseball game solo for the first three innings last night. Bill was with Drew and Porter at soccer practice.

This year I’ve been running about ten minutes late to every game, and that is no big deal unless your son is the starting pitcher. I’ve had no reason to believe Finn would ever fall into that category, but he did tonight and I was damn glad I was there to witness it, as he hasn’t pitched a lot in the past.

Bill and the duo arrived around the fourth inning. Bill wanted to know Finn’s stats, and telling him that he had done well so far wasn’t going to satisfy him. He wants to hear ESPNy words like, “He hit a stand up double to right field, stole third, and came home on Bert’s single.”

Finn hasn’t pitched enough for me to have my pitch-patter perfected yet, so I said, “He struck out Jay and Justin, he walked Peter, someone balked, he made a nice toss to get Lewis out at first, and he hit Bainbridge in the fanny on a 3-2 count.” I thought that was a fabulous report, but later I saw Bill up in the press box looking at Finn’s stats in the book. Maybe he thought I made up the part about Finn nailing the batter in the ass.

Although I had fed everyone before we hit the fields, twinsanity were hungry and restless. I’ve taken a stand against ball park food this season, and against junk food in particular.

We were sitting at the other team’s bleachers where I’d been chatting (baseball games are the core of my social life here in the Tiny Kingdom) and no one heard Drew ask me if he could get some Skittles at the concession stand. Everyone, however, heard me tell him that NO, he could ask me every night from now until the end of the world if he could get Skittles and I would always say no. Then they watched his face crumple and the tears fall down his cheeks and I won the award for Best Ballpark Mom Ever, right on the spot.

Enough with the paparazzi. I got a game to play.

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Two Years Ago in My Tiny Kingdom: Nurse Anne Reflects On African Toilets

April 1, 2008

I Can’t Shut Up About Snacks

You would think that everyone would have STOPPED the sports-related snack madness, but they haven’t. My third graders’ soccer team is STILL having after-game snacks. Nothing like Oreos at 10 am.

At least I’m not on my friend’s 4k T-ball team. They practice TWICE A WEEK from 4:30 to 5:30 pm and the team mom has commanded “healthy” snacks for each practice.  Not games, PRACTICES.  Who needs that kind of extra work, or food?

I don’t care if they’re shooting wheat grass

and chomping alfalfa sprouts;

I don’t want my kids doing it right before dinner twice a week.  Nor do I want to have to provide it.

Don’t EVEN get me started on the ridiculousness of kindergarteners practicing twice a week and having a game on Saturday. It’s nuts.

It occurred to me that’s part of the reason everyone’s so over scheduled. When we were growing up, ballet was once a week. Now an activity is two or three times a week.  That’s fine for a sixth-grader like Finn, who’s deep into the “learning to manage your time” lesson, but it’s ridiculous for six-year-olds.

We need to take it down a notch!

That will never happen in the Tiny Kingdom, at least with sports.

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One year ago in My Tiny Kingdom: How An Eight-Year-Old Views The World

February 19, 2008

Hey! You Do Too Much!

A couple of years ago there was a boy on one of my sons’ teams, and he was playing every sport offered that season. Often on Saturdays he’d go straight from the soccer game to his baseball game, and that still left lacrosse to do. He was a reasonably good athlete but his last name wasn’t Manning or Agassi so I couldn’t understand the pressure to practice and play three sports while trying to learn to add and subtract.

Then again, maybe I’m lazy. If each of my boys got to play unlimited sports, my fanny would never leave the minivan except to sit on hard metal bleachers or wash uniforms.

The Voice of Reason says the excess of activity is not limited to boys. The girls have softball, soccer, cheerleading, and she’s been fielding calls nightly from parents wanting her oldest to join yet another team. She’s refused.

Generally I limit the boys to one sport and one instrument per season.  This winter, however,  we banned winter sports entirely and it’s been the most enjoyable basketball season I never sat through. We didn’t have to attend games late on Friday nights or early on Saturday mornings. We were free to go to Auburn on weekends without coaches telling us where to be and what to do. We were constrained only by the guitar and drum schedules, which have been in place for years now and aren’t affected at the last minute by the weather.

How much is too much? Do people overschedule their children where you live? Are you guilty of doing so? If so, why, and what will it take to stop the madness? Or wait– are we in the minority for doing only a sport and an instrument?

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Three years ago in My Tiny Kingdom: You Vamp! 

February 5, 2008

Safety Tip:Road ID

I’m sure I’ve written about Bill’s exhausting exercise regime. He’s been training for upcoming triathlons in Memphis and San Francisco, so he spends a lot of time on the road running and biking.

It’s treacherous. We live near the high school, and we all know teens are nutty, swervy drivers. Bill runs and bikes miles in the dark. He doesn’t carry his Blackberry with him when he’s running, as he wears so few clothes that he has nowhere to put it. Plus, if he were knocked unconscious it would do him little good.

I don’t enjoy thinking about him getting hurt, but my mantra is prepare for the worst and hope for the best.

I just bought him an identification bracelet from RoadId.com.

Here’s a sample from their website:

I put his name and our phone numbers on it and Matt. 19:26, which refers to a verse that ought to keep him going on the uphill parts of his training.

I purchased the original bracelet, but RoadID offers other colors and products, including an id that fits on your shoe, and a flashing firefly light that can be seen up to a mile away.

If you have a walking, running or biking group this is a must. The Firefly light would also be handy for keeping track of your children at Halloween. In fact, readers, please leave your ideas for these products in the comments. I know their uses go far beyond sports.

Edward at RoadID has offered all my readers a discount if you use the code ThanksAnne348175 when you check out.

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You may also be interested to know that the die-hard triathlete swims in these:

I thought he was having an affair with a big-assed lady the first time I found them in the laundry. Never in a million years did I think he wore these to be aerodynamic in the water.

Damn. I found ANOTHER one.

It is just lucky for him that I love him so much, or I’d have to tell the world about his itty-bitty swimmies.

I wrote this for Works For Me Wednesday at Rocks in My Dryer.
My Previous Works For Me Wednesday tips:

How We Parent -Just Because You Asked (old school parenting)

A Cheater’s Guide To Spiffing Up Your House (put kids to work)

Food, Glorious Food (4 easy, family friendly recipes- shop for all on Sunday)

Detoxify Noxious Athletic Shoes (If I can’t unstink soccer cleats, it can’t be done)

Week O’ Recipes (the original 4 recipes to shop for on Sunday and cook for the week, plus a link to the famous Beef Balls)

December 5, 2007

G-Strings & Tube Socks

Apparently “Weagel Weagle” isn’t the only nonsensical verse of a football fight song out there.

When I wrote about the animus good-natured rivalry between Alabama and Auburn fans, I quoted the Auburn fight song, part of which causes many a confused Alabamian to ask, “What the hell is a weagle?”

Bodygetta Bodygetta Bodygetta Bah
Rah Rah Rah
Sis Boom Bah
Weagle Weagle
War Damn Eagle
Kick ‘Em In the Butt Big Blue!!
Hey!!!

Joy wrote in to say that she’d been taught to say “Regal eagle,” and she surmised that years of drunkenly attempting such linguistics had morphed the phrase into “weagle,” which seems a good explanation.

Kelly then pointed out that at Ole Miss the fans proudly yell a ditty which makes them seem confused, if not amnesiac:

Hotty Toddy, godalmighty,

Who the hell are we?

Flim, flam, bim bam,

Ole Miss, by damn!

As she said, “Flim flam? Also, we wonder who the hell they are too.”

That led me to wonder what else is being screamed in stadia* across the nation in the name of team spirit. Do share.

If you can beat “bodygetta bah,” Tiny Kingdom readers want to know about it!

*So excited to use my high school Latin. Thanks, Mr. Velotas!

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Many of you have insisted that I cannot technically be neutral between Alabama and Auburn, and you are correct. My parents were in a mixed marriage, commonly denoted by the license plate you see here:

Generally my parents sat on the Alabama side, but one year my mom got pissed and said she was tired of sitting with the enemy, so my dad bought two tickets on the Auburn side and two on the Alabama side. I sat with my mom, Aunt Su sat with my dad, and Aunt Lulu stayed home with the ancient babysitter who gave her half a candied orange slice as a super-special treat. If she was really lucky they watched Hee-Haw instead of the game.

Although I went to college out of state, I married a man who grew up in Auburn, and that sealed my fate. When pressed, marital harmony compels me to proclaim allegiance to Auburn.

While I don’t have a problem giving my children unusual names, I’ve taken a resolute stand against double first names (heretical in the South). My main activity as an Auburn fan is to revel in the fact that at least Auburn’s quarterback doesn’t have three names. John Parker Wilson is making it difficult on the announcers who have to spit out all those syllables every time he throws the ball.

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The night before the Iron Bowl we layered up to brave the weather and visited some tailgating friends. It was a large affair, complete with heated tent and guitarist, located improbably about ten feet from the parking lot, but whatever. As the musician tuned up to play, someone in the back of the crowd yelled, “Don’t you break that G-string!”

“That’s what all the girls say,” another man hollered.

I cringed and glanced at the boys. Finn gave me a knowing look while managing to seem a bit embarrassed, Drew was confused, and Porter was pissed.

“That’s not the G-string, it’s a B. I should tell that man that you remember the strings by saying ‘Easter Bunny Got Drunk At Easter.’”

This from my fervent guitarist who once responded to a man who said, “Anybody got a request?” by asking, “Can you play an E?”

He takes his notes seriously.

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Bill saw some childhood friends he hadn’t seen in ages. A guy named David told me that Bill was the first kid in town to wear tube socks, thus assuring himself a place in Auburn fashion history.

I was pleased to know that Bill was sexy long before Justin Timberlake was even born, much less driven to bring sexy back.

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I don’t know that I’ve ever written so much about sports in so short a time.

Those of you who are still looking for gift ideas can look at all my gift guides for easy shopping: Boy Toys, Teachers and Babies, the Hard to Buy For, and Tolerable Kids.

Those of you in town who are interested, I have a friend who makes the yummiest chocolate roulage! (You know, the flourless chocolate cake filled with whipped cream that’s rolled like a jellyroll).

You can give them as gifts or buy for yourself to serve as a holiday dessert. Each is $35 and serve 12-15 people each. They come frozen. This is not a mail thing, so unless you are planning to drive to Vestavia, you are out of luck. She bakes and freezes constantly between Thanksgiving and Christmas, and it’s first-come, first-served. Email me if you’re interested.