Saturday, September 26, 2009

And so it begins...

Today was the first official soccer game of the season and Nate is the coach once again. Luckily, both of our sons are on the same team this time, so that means fewer games and practices to attend.

I've got to admit, I don't seem to relish my position as a 'soccer mom' as much as some women I know. The last time both boys played, the entire week had to be planned around soccer practices, and Saturdays were far too scheduled for my taste with multiple games.

Plus, there's all that equipment to haul around, the uniforms to constantly wash and keep track of (poor Noah once had to wear a mud-encrusted shirt last season because I forgot to make sure it was laundered the night before. Ooops!), there's the grass and dirt in the car, the water bottles, the orange slices, and the snacks.

Yes, the snacks! For some reason, those a ridiculously big deal.

(See the "snacks" video below. It's hilarious!)

Then, when you get through with all of that, half the time the kids are too tired, too hot, or too bored to even PLAY!

Thankfully, I'm not the type to care who wins or loses, unlike some of those parents, because frankly...

I barely know what's going on.

(Shh...don't tell anyone. It's our little secret, okay?)

No, really. I think I've said it before, but I'm seriously the most unathletic person on earth. In fact, it dawned on me the other day, I've never been part of a real athletic team in my entire life. I've never played soccer or run track or been a part of a softball or basketball team. Ever.

I distinctly remember a gym class in junior high when we were doing a relay where you had to run down, make a basket, and run back, passing the ball off to the next player. Well, I ran down, and shot the ball. And shot again. And again. And again. And pretty soon all the other teams were finished, but I was still there shooting the ball. And shooting it. And still shooting it. And after several minutes of me humiliating myself in front of the entire class, I finally made a basket. And the crowd went wild. Because they were so darn relieved it was over.

It's pretty sad and pathetic, I know. So of course I WANT my kids to play sports. And we all know Nate will demand the kids play sports, even when they don't want to.

Last soccer season, the whole thing was kind of a mess. The schedule was wrong. The promised picture packages and trophies never happened. It was a general disappointment for kids and parents. So when Nate told me he'd been asked to coach again, I groaned, especially since Nate convinced two of our friends to sign up and be on the team too.

Hopefully, this season will be better.

Here's Zachary taking a little break from the game.

And Noah pointing out his games on the schedule.

Does everyone do this? It's the kids' absolute favorite part of the game.


I'll leave you with this favorite video clip of mine from Everybody Loves Raymond about t-ball and "approved snacks".

Friday, September 18, 2009

Sporting Gift Bag

One of the reasons I love stamping is the ability to customize every project I make. Noah had a birthday party to attend today, so I pulled out the Sporting stamp set and some ink pads and punches, and used them to decorate a simple craft bag and card for the birthday boy.
  • Stamps: Sporting
  • Ink: White Craft ink, Chocolate Chip, Night of Navy, Cranberry Crisp (retired)
  • Accessories: Craft gift bag, Star punch, Large star punch, Small Oval punch, Cranberry Crisp ribbon (retired), gold brad, mounting tape

Fun, easy, and cheap. Doesn't get much better than that, right?

Thursday, September 3, 2009

The Difference Between Men and Women

This morning my husband tried on a pair of pants and realized they were now too small in the waist. It brought to my attention the difference between men and women in this particular situation.

See, when women try on something from their closet that's too small:
  • They feel guilt. If it fit before, and it doesn't fit now, they obviously must have somehow 'let themselves go'.
  • They rehang the jeans in a prominent location for 'motivation'.
  • They look at the offending jeans every day and grit their teeth a little.
  • They think about how the pants fit fine a few months ago, and how much happier they were back then - back before they became such a slob.
  • They vow not to buy any more new clothes until they're the size they wore 5, no, 10 years ago.
  • They curse their metabolism.
  • They curse their body type.
  • They curse the fashion industry for designing clothing for women without hips.
  • They curse skinny people, especially naturally skinny people.
  • They pull out their high school yearbooks and wonder why they thought they were so fat back then anyhow.
  • They join Weight Watchers. Again.
  • They start drinking ridiculous amounts of water and peeing too frequently.
  • They begin reading food labels and keeping track of things that had no meaning to them before like calories, carbs, fat grams, and fiber.
  • They stop buying yummy food and start buying things with 'lowfat', 'light', 'reduced fat', and 'healthy' in the titles.
  • They log everything that passes their lips into a journal or notebook or onto a weight loss website.
  • They 'blow it' one day and go on a binge of fruit snacks and Goldfish crackers because it's the only thing in the house resembling junk food.
  • They start ordering salad dressing on the side.
  • They park the car a little further away and walk.
  • They take the stairs.
  • They lose a few pounds and celebrate by baking chocolate chip cookies.
  • They gain back those pounds plus a few more and stop baking cookies, brownies, and cupcakes, essentially punishing the whole family for their own lack of self control.
  • They buy a gym membership.
  • They buy new work out shoes and sports bras.
  • They purchase a treadmill because it's really too hard to get to the gym with kids in tow and they're too embarrassed to work out in front of other people anyhow.
  • They duck whenever anyone pulls out a camera and push the kids in front of them to hide their lower body when forced to be photographed against their will.
  • They analyze every photo they ever see of themselves, trying to guess their approximate weight at the time the picture was taken, as well as the roundness of their face, and the girth of their arms, compared to now.
  • They stop giving out candy for Halloween and become those annoying people who hand out erasers and cheap pencils.
  • They watch fashion and makeover shows to see how to dress to hide their obvious body flaws.
  • They feel angry that the media has caused them to feel so ashamed of their womanly curves that brought such sweet children into this world and nourished their little bodies for so long.
  • They curse the same children for making their hips spread, their boobs sag, and their stomach look like a road map.
  • They rebuke those little brats for being wild and driving them to eat emotionally.
  • They curse the Krispy Kremes they ate yesterday.
  • They curse the makers of M&M's, especially the peanut ones, and those new coconut flavored M&M's, which I personally haven't tried yet, but have heard are quite delightful.
  • They also curse the makers of potato chips, movie theatre popcorn,ice cream, and all Olive Garden restaurant locations for serving their delicious fettuccine alfredo and accompanying salad and breadsticks.
  • They research liposuction and wonder if there's some sort of discount for getting a tummy tuck and breast lift at the same time; or a two-for-one deal for bringing in a friend.
  • They give up on the idea of plastic surgery, at least for now, because one or more of the kids are eventually going to need braces and/or glasses and, with any luck, some type of college fund.
  • They stop leaving the house because the one pair of jeans they own that actually fit are often in the wash.
  • After missing yet another Enrichment Night/soccer practice/Pampered Chef party due to the little laundry situation, they finally resolve to buy another pair of jeans, swearing they'll get rid of them as soon as they lose the weight.
  • While out shopping for the aforementioned jeans, they have a mini breakdown in the dressing room when they realize that they're actually up not just one, but TWO sizes, and the only jeans that will now sufficiently cover their butt crack when they sit down are 'Mom Jeans'.
  • Still in the dressing room, they lean against the wall and weep silently after overhearing the 18-year-old in the next stall loudly lament to her BFF that the size 2's she's trying on are just too big.
  • Finally, they shamefully wear the new larger jeans and realize that, because they are not cutting off circulation to the lower half of their body, the jeans are actually quite comfy.
And men?

Well, when men discover that their pants are too small, they shrug, and then they just go out and buy new pants.