Go Mom!

I am writing this on the pre-night of a serious competitive sporting event for my only daughter. I have a love/hate relationship with these kinds of events. Why do I have this twisted relationship with my kids’ sporting events, you ask? First of all, I personally stink at all activities that require any kind of coordination, so I have so much pride in having remarkably athletic children (that’s the love part), and secondly, I detest the person whom I become at these venues (that’s the hate part). “Sports Mom” is not a good look on me. And I detest all of the other parents at these affairs, because their behavior amplified, makes me reflect on the worst part of my own self. “Sports Mom Multiplied” is not a good look on any of us. The kids, on the other hand, are great. They are fun. They roll with the “ups and downs”, and they just enjoy the actions of doing their sport. However, usually, the rest of us “adults” decide that these events are for us to showcase our worst possible demons and traits, and to make the deeply flawed mistake of trying to live vicariously through our children. Today, I will do my best to “cheer quietly from my heart”, as my daughter, directly and enthusiastically requested from me. Today, I will try to keep things in perspective, and I will try to keep my ego in check. This will be a much more challenging task, than trying to physically win a States championship, or anything like that. I hope to prevail. My daughter hopes that I prevail, too. She’s rooting for me.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

The Best Games

When my four children were younger, they all played a lot of different sports on a lot of different teams. We spent most of our weekends traveling from one sporting event, to another. My second son, in particular, was devoted to soccer, so we understand the ins and outs of travel soccer, extremely well.

It occurred to me this week, that I never really enjoyed “blow out” games. We often would wake up early in the morning and travel several hours and sit in the blazing sun, for the enjoyment of watching young men and young women really hone their skills, and to play at highly competitive levels. Blow out games offered nothing to either team and their players, nor to the bystanders watching the games. In blow out games, one team was completely humiliated and annihilated, and the winning team was not even challenged at all. These blow out games never allowed for anyone on either team to really grow and to become better and to learn from one another. These games often felt pointless and discouraging and embarrassing. One team often got overinflated in their perceived greatness, and yet disappointed, like the deflating feeling of getting a trophy, for just participating. The defeated team often got too discouraged and they sometimes lost their vision and drive for future improvement.

On the other hand, when two teams played, who were highly matched in skills and talent, the games were always close. The endings of these games were always nail-biters. Both teams had a excellent chance to win the game, and they put everything they had into winning it. Despite the stress, and sometimes even when being a fan of the team that ended up losing, these close games were the best kinds of games for the kids to play in, and for the people to watch. All of the team members from both teams, usually (even if just in secret) had great respect for each other, and for each other’s abilities. The players knew they had played other players who were excellent, and devoted players, and who were just as eager and fervent to excel and to win. Each player, at each position, brought out the best of their opponent, and they all became better players for challenging each other to play at the highest level of the game. Sometimes fights broke out during these tense games. Sometimes there were calls for cheating and rough play because the energy of the game was so cutthroat. Still, in their respective huddles, the teams appreciated the stealth and the abilities of their opponents. They knew that by playing the opposing team, in a hard won battle, they had become better players themselves, and they were grateful for the opportunity to grow and to improve. Often the players would learn techniques and strategies from each other’s plays, and utilize those techniques in their future competitions. There is no doubt, in my mind, that the hardest won games, the games that came down to the very wire, were the best for everyone involved (despite my shot nerves and quickly beating heart). I never doubted this fact, even during those tough times, when I had to cheer up my own defeated and discouraged player, on the long ride home.

“I’ve failed over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed.” – Michael Jordan

“Do you know what my favorite part of the game is? The opportunity to play.” -Mike Singletary

Sports are a microcosm of society. - Billie Jean King

Have You Heard the News Today?

Fortune for the day – “Tend to your vital heart, and all you worry about will be solved.” – Rumi

I will not look at the news today.

I will not look at the news today.

I will not look at the news today.

I will not touch my face today.

I will not touch my face today. (You have no idea about how much you touch your face, until some entity tells you not to do it. I was literally resting my head in my hands, reading the warnings about not touching your face, due to this %$#^&**^ coronavirus.)

I will not touch my face today.

Today, I will do my best to heed Rumi’s above-mentioned advice. My two middle sons are home for their spring break from college. Due to studying needs and lack of money issues, home for spring break became their best option for this year. Staycation, home sweet home. Can I get a whoop, whoop?

“What can I do to make this break at home for you guys, “special?”, I asked them yesterday, as I took a brief pause from Twitter’s CoronavirusFlorida2020 and threw a frozen pizza into the oven.

“Oh don’t worry about it, Mom,” my second son said, earnestly. “I already knew that it was going to suck.”

Now, in all fairness, this son has spent this break, so far, taking practice MCATs, which are eight hour long tests, a pop. That does suck. This is the same child who once told me that he didn’t like to have get-togethers with his soccer team at our house, because I act too “homely.” He doesn’t mince words. In drawing that conversation out a little bit more, while trying not to get hysterical, it seems he meant that I behaved a bit too down-home friendly and welcoming to the soccer boys, not ugly. From then on, I knew to be much bitchier when his soccer mates came around. Ha!

I will end today’s ridiculous, pointless blog post (give me a break, I spent all day yesterday obsessing about the coronavirus and had little time to read or to watch anything actually more interesting and worthwhile, than every three minute coronavirus updates) with an idea my friend texted earlier. We middle-aged women should really be renamed, “Queenagers.” I love it! My Queenager-ness trumps all teenagers, living at the house and otherwise. Today I am a Queenager who will not watch the news nor touch my queenly (not homely) face.

Confession to Make

Driving around this weekend, I saw the life that I used to live, for years and for years and for years. That life was standing or sitting on the sidelines of so many sports fields and courts, cheering for my kids while they were playing soccer, basketball, baseball, football, lacrosse, softball, running track, tennis, etc. etc. Granted, I’m still a tennis mom, but I like to think that I am a less intense and obnoxious “stage mom” than I was in prior years. We’ll see about that during high school tennis season in the spring.

Someone recently told me that accusations are confessions. I had to sit with that one for a while. I really had to ponder as to what that means and if I agree with it. I decided that I do. Luckily, for the rest of us parents, on sports sidelines, there is always THAT one parent who is so over-the-top with their “cheering/sideline coaching/pushing/berating/protecting/yelling/screaming/demeaning”, that our own ridiculousness pales in comparison. We all get high and mighty about THAT parent, rolling our eyes, pitying the poor child and the poor spouse, smugly proud of keeping our own competitive ugliness, a little more contained and hidden out of view. At least, we’re not getting kicked off of the field. Hmmm-hmmm.

That’s when it dawned on me that the statement “accusations are confessions” does make sense. It is NOT saying that what we are accusing the other person of, is not happening. THAT over-the-top parent is just demonstrating, in a very extreme way, what we don’t like about ourselves. We project all of our embarrassment and shame on to THAT parent because we don’t want to own the part of ourselves that has similar tendencies, though perhaps not as extreme. Perhaps THAT parent is the most honest parent among us, because they are owning and showing their true feelings and ego issues, in a very out loud and honest way.

I decided that for now on, when I get annoyed at someone or something and start to feel the accusations rising to the surface of my mind, I am going to look a little harder for my confession in the accusation. It has been said that the people who drive us craziest are often the ones who are most like us. Self awareness is all of the rage right now and self awareness teaches us a lot – especially about the only person we have the power to change – ourselves.