I've always contended (and widely admitted) that I possess a very special level of patience (i.e. None) and that I'm a Now. Now. Now! person as a rule. This knowledge and acceptance has mislead me, folks. I thought that my Now. Now. Now! way of life would figure quite nicely into a Go. Go. Go! existence. It does not. Oh noooo, it does not.
I am not a Go. Go. Go! person. At All. If anything, I'm more of the "you go and I'll watch... but do it now, already" variety. And how has all this come to light? Two words: Team Mom. Ohhhh, how I have come to despise those two words. Seriously, it gives me the kind of heinie cringe one might expect when seeing someone get punched in the face, up close.
My lack of blogging, here lately, can be directly attributed to having entered the charred gates of baseball hell. Willingly. Indeed, the crazy bug crept up in my brain and whispered to me, "Go on. It'll be FUN!" My heinie hasn't stopped cringing since.
Oh, it's fun. It's a blast sitting out in the stands from 5:30pm to 9:00pm (or later) every Friday night and then hitting rinse/repeat to do it from 2:00pm - 6:00pm on Sunday afternoons. But that's only for One. Spawnling. I received actual game schedules recently... and then I curled up in a corner and slavered myself with peanut butter. It's nuts, I tell you. Nuts. Nuts that any person would willingly enter into two kids playing sports, on two different leagues, in two different towns (however close they are), when one of them is a TRAVELING team and THEN go open his/her big fat mouth and say, "Oh yeah, I could do the Team Mom thing."
I am certifiable.
*giggle* But not as certifiable as Shaggy's Asst. Coach. Oh no... he took the cake on that one this past weekend when he announced he was taking ELEVEN fifteen and sixteen year olds to Buffalo Wild Wings for a team dinner after practice. Mr. Clean and I went along to watch the entertainment. And boy, were we entertained.
Did you know that when in the presence of adults at the end of a table meant for 17 people, 11 teenagers will crowd around ONE table meant for 8 at the opposite end? As though the adults had leprosy?
Did you know that if one of them (teens) should get up to go to the bathroom or take an arcade-game-playing break, all of the others will scheme with scary grins on their faces and then pour various noxious substances into said poor soul's drink? And then be surprised when the cute waitress insists they PAY for the ruined drinks?
Did you know a teenager will actually DRINK a 32 oz. soft drink AFTER it's had salt, ketchup, mustard, and Hot Wing sauce added to it? (yeah, I almost lost my dinner over that one as well)
But really, the most entertaining part of the whole evening was the Asst. Coach's face when he realized just how big a hole he'd dug for himself. I'd say it was at least 6 feet deep. I kinda doubt he's going to try that again without Coach along for the ride.
So. Even with the best of intentions, taking my giant messenger bag with me everywhere I go, I have not written anything beyond a few snatches of idea here and there. I keep thinking I'll go to practice and use those hours to curl up at the top corner of the bleachers, turn on the iPod, and write away. And every practice, I get it all out... and then put it all up when one mother or another wants to talk about baseball or pedicures... because I'm the freaking Team Mom and I imagine it'd be rude to excuse myself to my corner. Because, as snarky as I can be, I have an intense fear of being judged rude -- even when the outcome makes me want to publicly lose my shit like a five-year-old and then throw F-bomb grenades at anyone within striking distance.
Friday, I'm going to curl up at the top of those bleachers and I'm going to write... even if it kills me to do so. Of course, after writing that, I imagine I might just get all settled in and focused on the work... and then get whanged in the head with a stray baseball. That'd be lovely.
Really? Nothing else going on around here. I'll blog soon about a new dish I created (one I've probably already promised to y'all but I have no pics so I need to cook it first!) and I'm working on a new cupcake recipe involving a secret deep dark chocolate cake recipe, paired with my previous bourbon cherry pastry cream, and almond butter cream frosting. I'm thinking a sassy little chocolate covered cherry might look just right on top. Or maybe just a maraschino w/ stem.
FYI... to let you a little further into my life... I just got beaned in the head by a nerf dart by one of my dear spawnlings. They love me.
Where was I again?
Oh yes, things to come... Hopefully, I'll be able to get here a little more often. I think you readers, what few you are, are SO pretty for sticking with me through these silent periods. I've seen a few new folks on the site meter but they're still lurking in the background. Leave a comment. I love commenters!
I had something else to add but Shaggy has just sat on Doodlebug's face and let something disgusting rip... so now Doodlebug is green with crocodile tears streaming down his face.. and American Idol just started so I'm outta here.
I am not a Go. Go. Go! person. At All. If anything, I'm more of the "you go and I'll watch... but do it now, already" variety. And how has all this come to light? Two words: Team Mom. Ohhhh, how I have come to despise those two words. Seriously, it gives me the kind of heinie cringe one might expect when seeing someone get punched in the face, up close.
My lack of blogging, here lately, can be directly attributed to having entered the charred gates of baseball hell. Willingly. Indeed, the crazy bug crept up in my brain and whispered to me, "Go on. It'll be FUN!" My heinie hasn't stopped cringing since.
Oh, it's fun. It's a blast sitting out in the stands from 5:30pm to 9:00pm (or later) every Friday night and then hitting rinse/repeat to do it from 2:00pm - 6:00pm on Sunday afternoons. But that's only for One. Spawnling. I received actual game schedules recently... and then I curled up in a corner and slavered myself with peanut butter. It's nuts, I tell you. Nuts. Nuts that any person would willingly enter into two kids playing sports, on two different leagues, in two different towns (however close they are), when one of them is a TRAVELING team and THEN go open his/her big fat mouth and say, "Oh yeah, I could do the Team Mom thing."
I am certifiable.
*giggle* But not as certifiable as Shaggy's Asst. Coach. Oh no... he took the cake on that one this past weekend when he announced he was taking ELEVEN fifteen and sixteen year olds to Buffalo Wild Wings for a team dinner after practice. Mr. Clean and I went along to watch the entertainment. And boy, were we entertained.
Did you know that when in the presence of adults at the end of a table meant for 17 people, 11 teenagers will crowd around ONE table meant for 8 at the opposite end? As though the adults had leprosy?
Did you know that if one of them (teens) should get up to go to the bathroom or take an arcade-game-playing break, all of the others will scheme with scary grins on their faces and then pour various noxious substances into said poor soul's drink? And then be surprised when the cute waitress insists they PAY for the ruined drinks?
Did you know a teenager will actually DRINK a 32 oz. soft drink AFTER it's had salt, ketchup, mustard, and Hot Wing sauce added to it? (yeah, I almost lost my dinner over that one as well)
But really, the most entertaining part of the whole evening was the Asst. Coach's face when he realized just how big a hole he'd dug for himself. I'd say it was at least 6 feet deep. I kinda doubt he's going to try that again without Coach along for the ride.
So. Even with the best of intentions, taking my giant messenger bag with me everywhere I go, I have not written anything beyond a few snatches of idea here and there. I keep thinking I'll go to practice and use those hours to curl up at the top corner of the bleachers, turn on the iPod, and write away. And every practice, I get it all out... and then put it all up when one mother or another wants to talk about baseball or pedicures... because I'm the freaking Team Mom and I imagine it'd be rude to excuse myself to my corner. Because, as snarky as I can be, I have an intense fear of being judged rude -- even when the outcome makes me want to publicly lose my shit like a five-year-old and then throw F-bomb grenades at anyone within striking distance.
Friday, I'm going to curl up at the top of those bleachers and I'm going to write... even if it kills me to do so. Of course, after writing that, I imagine I might just get all settled in and focused on the work... and then get whanged in the head with a stray baseball. That'd be lovely.
Really? Nothing else going on around here. I'll blog soon about a new dish I created (one I've probably already promised to y'all but I have no pics so I need to cook it first!) and I'm working on a new cupcake recipe involving a secret deep dark chocolate cake recipe, paired with my previous bourbon cherry pastry cream, and almond butter cream frosting. I'm thinking a sassy little chocolate covered cherry might look just right on top. Or maybe just a maraschino w/ stem.
FYI... to let you a little further into my life... I just got beaned in the head by a nerf dart by one of my dear spawnlings. They love me.
Where was I again?
Oh yes, things to come... Hopefully, I'll be able to get here a little more often. I think you readers, what few you are, are SO pretty for sticking with me through these silent periods. I've seen a few new folks on the site meter but they're still lurking in the background. Leave a comment. I love commenters!
I had something else to add but Shaggy has just sat on Doodlebug's face and let something disgusting rip... so now Doodlebug is green with crocodile tears streaming down his face.. and American Idol just started so I'm outta here.
I wish I was able to go with you to watch the entertainment. :) Give me heads up next time... lol