I Must be a Glutton for Punishment

I spoke too soon when I mentioned that things around here are slow. What the crap was a I thinking??? I should know by now that commenting on the ease of my life is like getting a bull horn and yelling directly into the heavens that my life is far too easy and I'd desperately like copius amounts of adversity. And, without fail, the heavens always see fit to answer my pleas. Yeah. I feel so blessed.

This time, though, I don't even know that I can complain a whole lot. I may have actually brought this on myself. It's not my fault, though. I'm functioning on a pregnant brain. I'm not hormonally capable of making a logical decision.

Number One attended a bunch of free sports camps through our city this summer. It was great because he got to try out a lot of sports that he'd never played before. This, of course, just had to include the one and only sport that mothers lose sleep over. It's the dreaded sport that renders boys unable to ever become fathers and drives up medical bills faster than...well, faster than anything I can think of. You guessed it, people. I let him try out football. And he liked it.

I wasn't too worried because the football camp was only two days long. Yes, he has talked about it ever since, but I was just sure that starting piano lessons again when school starts would have been plenty to get his mind off it. I mean, seriously, what eight year old wouldn't rather be safely seated at the piano than outside in the hot sun having his peers run screaming at his gut with every intention of knocking him senseless?? My kid. That's who.

So, the phone rang on Thursday and I decided to let Number One answer it. Big mistake! How could I ever have known that the city would decide to bring back youth football and that the coaches would call every single kid who played over the summer?? And, how could I have ever known that kids going into third through sixth grade would be playing TACKLE football? And, how could I ever have known that's would be who was calling when I let Number One answer the phone? (Honestly, I'd have listed the wrong number if I'd known those people actually intended to use it.)

Number One excitedly passed the phone to the King and listened to every word being said on the King's end of the conversation. Somehow, by the end of that conversation, we had agreed to sign him up for tackle football. Number One REALLY wants to play and the King totally regrets having been too much of a weenie to try it when he was younger. So, I allowed it.

We went today to sign him up. Can I just say that I came home with a LOT of padding?? His head had to be measured for a helmet. A helmet??? Does that mean someone might bump him in the head somehow?? Did I mention that this is my first born baby? He's got special pants with all sorts of padding in them. He is going to have huge shoulder pads (I mean HUGE! Bigger than the shoulder pads we saw women wear in the late 80's and early 90's). And then there was the "big" purchase. Honestly, I think it's pretty small, but Number One is beyond impressed with it. You guessed it, folks. My kid is the proud owner of a protective cup. Yep! There is apparently some risk of him damaging his family jewels.

So, now my kid is going to proudly wear the uniform of our city's high school. Of course, that means Pretty will need a cheerleading uniform to be worn at every game. And a matching hairbow. And some matching twisty-cutesy things that go on the front of her Keds. And a bull horn (as if you can't already hear her).

I tried talking Number One out of this, but one of the seniors who just graduated from our high school team lives across the street. Apparently the excrutiating surgery he had to have doesn't deter Number One. He just wants to be cool like his neighbor. And, our home teacher is going to be a senior this year. (Oddly, he had the SAME surgery as our neighbor, which also doesn't deter Number One). When our home teacher came over, I had him tell Number One all the risks involved. The part where he made it sound really fun and really safe didn't really help deter him. (You know who you are, ROSS!!! I'm watching you, Mr.!)

So, there you go. The heavens have decided it would be funny to watch me sweat through a season of tackle football with my first born baby. And the Beast is starting soccer. And Number One is still playing soccer. And Number One has scouting. And piano. (Just in case he decides piano is way more fun than being tackled.) I'm not going to be spread too thin at all...right? Yeah, I will. And, I'm stupidly just sure I can absolutely juggle it all. Why do I believe I can handle it all? That's easy. I'm a glutton for punishment.