Welcome to my world, it's a heckuva life,
dreaming of verticals and fast forty times.
Sweating in the stands and chasing babies on the track
Waiting for the players, giving pats on the back.
Falling to sleep with Tony Franklin in my ear,
We're dropping the Wing T and using his gear.
Running the spread and it's changing our game,
If i start screaming "Trips", please, i'm not to blame.
It's the coaches' wife life, rah! rah!
It's the coaches' wife life. ree! ree!
Rolling into the fieldhouse at six thir tay,
Bringing supper to the coaches cause they work on Sun-Day.
Watching film and drawing plays, and watching film again,
Maybe they'll be home tonight by nine, maybe ten.
Feed the kids at 6 and reheat the stuff at eight
Doing phone interviews on our dinner date.
Kids keep calling us and No, they're not ours--
"Can you move me to receiver, Coach, I'm gonna be a star!"
It's the coaches' wife's life, 4th and 10,
It's the coaches' wife's life, let's do it again.
The kids get special prizes every time that Daddy's late
T'shirts, athletic tape, leftover food is great.
Riding the tractor, rolling dummies down the hill,
Coaches kids are used to the cheapest of thrills.
It's the coaches' wife's life, punt and pray
It's the coaches' wife's life, day to day.
Praying every Friday,and wishing for a win
the pressure's always there and i'm only a fan.
Reading the papers, hope the sports guy was cool.
Help us out, dude, we're an up-and-coming school.
My fridge is a shrine to the teens in red and black,
My cupboards are stacked in case the players attack.
The closets are stocked with every shirt you can imagine,
My favorite one reminds us to "Eat, Pray, Win!"
Heading to the banquet, it's the end of the year.
Walk in 15 minutes late, and what do I hear?
A bouquet of roses and a shout out to me,
10 weeks of heaven's worth it, cause they're so pretty!
the coaches' wife's life, playoff hopes,
the coaches' wife's life, there's always next year!
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Friday, November 5, 2010
Senior Night
"No scores are known?
Then look down field,
There in the twilight sky the numbers run and blink
And total up the years;
Our Sons this day are grown."
Ray Bradbury
Senior Night. Hard to believe another season has come and now is almost gone. Certainly things aren't ending the way we hoped they would. If most of us (even the wives;)had our way, we'd be playing next Friday, and the next, and on into December, and Christmas shopping would take a back seat to playoffs; and Senior Night would be just a small step in closing things down. But things don't always play out the way we wish, and tonight ends what for some parents and players began 10 or 12 years ago: 40 pound linebackers swallowed by shoulder pads intended to protect them; awkward quarterbacks with tiny arms looking for open receivers who aren't quite sure what route to run; and little boys on the sidelines who have more interest in mud puddles than pile-ons. Things have certainly changed. Forty pounds linebackers are now vicious assassins with 5 o'clock shadows, and the little boys who played in the mud watch the game eagerly for their sign to run in.
I watch these boys, who were freshmen when we got here, taller, stronger, and so much different in just four years. The high school freshmen are now soon-to-be college freshmen and their priorities and goals will change and they will leave all of this behind and take with them what they need to know to be as successful after high school as they were in high school. When I see them, that's exactly what I see, success. Good grades, talented musicians, skilled athletes, responsible teenagers who are role-models to the kids who wear their jerseys on Friday nights.
No one promised them a 10-0 season, no one promised them a play-off appearance or a scholarship with their name in the paper. Unlike rec league, there's no trophy at the end of the season for every kid on the team. But they played the game anyway, practicing in the scorching heat, lining up in the coldest of rains, and limping through a play to get the first down. Sometimes they get what they deserve and sometimes they don't. When they don't it's easy to point fingers, assign blame, and dig up excuses. It's easier, though, to look at what they are promised and what they leave with once the scoreboard turns off and the stadium lights go dark.
They leave with friends, teammates who can only understand what it's like to win a game no one thought you would win. Teammates who know what it's like to stop a ranked team on 4th and 5 when everyone thought they'd score. Teammates who feel the pain of a loss no one was prepared for. Teammates who share the same locker room stories, road trip stories, and inside jokes that no one else would appreciate.
They leave with a work ethic that says you don't quit when things get tough or don't turn out the way you want. They leave with the discipline of pressing on when things aren't going your way and people aren't on your side. It's tough to play a game when the crowd isn't cheering for you. It's the same in life. That's what they leave with.
What's really important, though, is what they leave behind. Tonight is senior night, the time to celebrate what these players have accomplished and part of what they accomplish will be what they have taught the underclassmen. If next year's team can say that their determination, their pride for their team, their hard work came from watching their senior leaders, then that's a legacy.
"What was less is now, incredibly, more!
Man, then, is the thing
That teaches zeros how to cling together and add up!
The cup stood empty?
WEll, now, look!
A brimming cup."
Then look down field,
There in the twilight sky the numbers run and blink
And total up the years;
Our Sons this day are grown."
Ray Bradbury
I watch these boys, who were freshmen when we got here, taller, stronger, and so much different in just four years. The high school freshmen are now soon-to-be college freshmen and their priorities and goals will change and they will leave all of this behind and take with them what they need to know to be as successful after high school as they were in high school. When I see them, that's exactly what I see, success. Good grades, talented musicians, skilled athletes, responsible teenagers who are role-models to the kids who wear their jerseys on Friday nights.
No one promised them a 10-0 season, no one promised them a play-off appearance or a scholarship with their name in the paper. Unlike rec league, there's no trophy at the end of the season for every kid on the team. But they played the game anyway, practicing in the scorching heat, lining up in the coldest of rains, and limping through a play to get the first down. Sometimes they get what they deserve and sometimes they don't. When they don't it's easy to point fingers, assign blame, and dig up excuses. It's easier, though, to look at what they are promised and what they leave with once the scoreboard turns off and the stadium lights go dark.
They leave with friends, teammates who can only understand what it's like to win a game no one thought you would win. Teammates who know what it's like to stop a ranked team on 4th and 5 when everyone thought they'd score. Teammates who feel the pain of a loss no one was prepared for. Teammates who share the same locker room stories, road trip stories, and inside jokes that no one else would appreciate.
They leave with a work ethic that says you don't quit when things get tough or don't turn out the way you want. They leave with the discipline of pressing on when things aren't going your way and people aren't on your side. It's tough to play a game when the crowd isn't cheering for you. It's the same in life. That's what they leave with.
What's really important, though, is what they leave behind. Tonight is senior night, the time to celebrate what these players have accomplished and part of what they accomplish will be what they have taught the underclassmen. If next year's team can say that their determination, their pride for their team, their hard work came from watching their senior leaders, then that's a legacy.
"What was less is now, incredibly, more!
Man, then, is the thing
That teaches zeros how to cling together and add up!
The cup stood empty?
WEll, now, look!
A brimming cup."
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Coach Enters Chili Cook-Off, or that man is in my kitchen!!
Fall is one of my favorite times of the year, next to summer of course. Nothing, not even Christmas, beats sun, sand, beach, pool, etc. Fall brings football, Halloween, the half-marathon, and plenty of other fun things, so I get excited at the first sign of school buses and falling leaves. This year our church held a fall festival the day of Halloween and one of the events of the day was a Chili Cook-Off. Well, coach wouldn't be working that day, so he decided he would enter a chili of his own to be judged. Now, let me just preface the remainder of the blog with this: the man doesn't cook. Occasionally, he will throw steaks on the grill, or fry an egg sandwich out of desperation; but really that's the extent of it. It's no flaw in his character, he is simply a busy man with a stay-at-home wife to do such things.
So let's set the stage. The day before the festival, Coach presents to me a grocery list of all the things he will need to buy for his never-before-made chili. In all seriousness, he is prepared to buy approximately 20 items, 15 of which I tell him we already have in the pantry, you know, the things we women folk call "staples." I whittle his list down to a mere $10, and once he returns he is ready to cook. One would think that this being "his idea" and "his chili" would mean that i just sit back and watch the Ole Miss game while he stands over a hot stove, stirring and chopping. One would be wrong.
His first mistake is to open the cabinet doors looking for the necessary pots and pans. Did I mention that this is "my kitchen?" With a toddler in the house, there is a definite method to the madness that is my kitchen. One cabinet holds only things that are safe for Tate to pull out, rearrange, or sit in. Other cabinet doors, the ones with child safety locks on them, are a bit more tricky. His first choice of cabinet was one of the locked ones. Things get a little hectic sometimes, what with trying to unload a dishwasher with a baby sitting on the door, and then pulling out the things i have just put in a cabinet. So most unloading moments go something like this: Baby sitting on dishwasher door, steak knife in hand, me grabbing pots and pans and throwing them, thrusting them, stacking them, and shoving them into whatever opened door is available. Then securing baby latch lock just seconds before baby reaches cabinet doors to undo all that hard work. Occasionally there is an errant handle sticking out but somehow i've managed to afix the baby lock and all is well in the world for the moment. (Knife has been wrestled from toddler and placed in its official place).
So when Coach opens, rather roughly, the baby-locked cabinet and pots, pans, and skillets come flying out to his feet, he is not a happy cook. This is my cue to return to the kitchen and aid in whatever way as to keep him from using language that would make Ozzy Osbourne proud. Need I remind everyone that frustration does not make for a happy cook, can I get a witness ladies? So once Coach has his things in place and I have been assigned my duties (it's a no-go on the Ole Miss game by this point) of cutting onions, bell peppers, garlic, and the other mystery ingredients that will make this a shoo-in to win, it's time to clean all of these things: knives, cutting boards, separate bowls for each ingredient until it's time to combine them. He did it just like Rachel Ray and all those other "professional" chefs who cook for a living, and have SOMEONE ELSE clean up for them. He was enjoying this a little too much.
Fast forward a couple of hours and I'm back in the kitchen, my kitchen remember, and I'm taste-testing, oohing and aahing over this chili he's created. Now I don't mean to sound bitter, because it was pretty good. But just for fun I'd like to see him create Chili (or anything for that matter) with a baby in a high chair, begging for something in baby talk, a 9 year old at the table doing 4th grade math, and another who wants to read to me while I'm cooking so he can get outside and play. NOW, make me some chili, Coach. And while you're at it, throw some cornbread in the oven to go with it.
Whew! All I can say is that the Chili was really good, but unfortunately, "our" chili as he agreed to call it, did not win the cook-off, and he took it a little hard; losing is never fun, no matter what the competition. But I think we both learned a lot from this weekend. For him, church cook-offs are not region games; they're meant to be fun. For me, come hell or highwater, do whatever it takes to keep that man out of my kitchen unless he is unloading take-out bags.
I Love You, Coach!
So let's set the stage. The day before the festival, Coach presents to me a grocery list of all the things he will need to buy for his never-before-made chili. In all seriousness, he is prepared to buy approximately 20 items, 15 of which I tell him we already have in the pantry, you know, the things we women folk call "staples." I whittle his list down to a mere $10, and once he returns he is ready to cook. One would think that this being "his idea" and "his chili" would mean that i just sit back and watch the Ole Miss game while he stands over a hot stove, stirring and chopping. One would be wrong.
His first mistake is to open the cabinet doors looking for the necessary pots and pans. Did I mention that this is "my kitchen?" With a toddler in the house, there is a definite method to the madness that is my kitchen. One cabinet holds only things that are safe for Tate to pull out, rearrange, or sit in. Other cabinet doors, the ones with child safety locks on them, are a bit more tricky. His first choice of cabinet was one of the locked ones. Things get a little hectic sometimes, what with trying to unload a dishwasher with a baby sitting on the door, and then pulling out the things i have just put in a cabinet. So most unloading moments go something like this: Baby sitting on dishwasher door, steak knife in hand, me grabbing pots and pans and throwing them, thrusting them, stacking them, and shoving them into whatever opened door is available. Then securing baby latch lock just seconds before baby reaches cabinet doors to undo all that hard work. Occasionally there is an errant handle sticking out but somehow i've managed to afix the baby lock and all is well in the world for the moment. (Knife has been wrestled from toddler and placed in its official place).
So when Coach opens, rather roughly, the baby-locked cabinet and pots, pans, and skillets come flying out to his feet, he is not a happy cook. This is my cue to return to the kitchen and aid in whatever way as to keep him from using language that would make Ozzy Osbourne proud. Need I remind everyone that frustration does not make for a happy cook, can I get a witness ladies? So once Coach has his things in place and I have been assigned my duties (it's a no-go on the Ole Miss game by this point) of cutting onions, bell peppers, garlic, and the other mystery ingredients that will make this a shoo-in to win, it's time to clean all of these things: knives, cutting boards, separate bowls for each ingredient until it's time to combine them. He did it just like Rachel Ray and all those other "professional" chefs who cook for a living, and have SOMEONE ELSE clean up for them. He was enjoying this a little too much.
Fast forward a couple of hours and I'm back in the kitchen, my kitchen remember, and I'm taste-testing, oohing and aahing over this chili he's created. Now I don't mean to sound bitter, because it was pretty good. But just for fun I'd like to see him create Chili (or anything for that matter) with a baby in a high chair, begging for something in baby talk, a 9 year old at the table doing 4th grade math, and another who wants to read to me while I'm cooking so he can get outside and play. NOW, make me some chili, Coach. And while you're at it, throw some cornbread in the oven to go with it.
Whew! All I can say is that the Chili was really good, but unfortunately, "our" chili as he agreed to call it, did not win the cook-off, and he took it a little hard; losing is never fun, no matter what the competition. But I think we both learned a lot from this weekend. For him, church cook-offs are not region games; they're meant to be fun. For me, come hell or highwater, do whatever it takes to keep that man out of my kitchen unless he is unloading take-out bags.
I Love You, Coach!
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Road Rules: Yes, I'm RUnning--Got a problem with that?
Dear Cars and Drivers,
It's Jennifer, the girl you passed on the road this morning. I was the one running, ponytail swinging in the wind, visible breaths coming from my mouth in the cool crisp air. You know, the one, you almost hit but got lucky and looked up from your cell phone just quickly enough to swerve and miss me. You don't scare me, though; you're not the first SUV to send me jumping to the edge of the road, but you got me thinking. Maybe we need a little bit of an introduction and maybe a few ground rules, just to make the roads safer for me and less liable for you.
First of all, yes I am running. By choice. I set my alarm, rolled out of bed and into my tennis shoes for the enjoyment of a workout, not to be taunted by 2 ton machines driven by distracted drivers.
Secondly, I am on the road because if you'll notice, there are no sidewalks. Our town did not earn the honor of "Best Places to Live and Workout" in Runner's World magazine, and so I'm expecting you to share the roads. If there were a sidewalk i would certainly use it, but i'm not going to stay home because there isn't one.
And yes, i may be pushing a stroller and Yes, there is a real baby in there. No need to slow down and rubber neck as you pass us. ANy idea how much a babysitter goes for these days?
One word for you-- Texting. Need i say more? There are laws against it because we already have statistics. I don't want to be one more statistic and I'm sure you also don't want to make headlines for striking a woman pushing a jog stroller b/c you were reminding your spouse to TIVO your favorite show via ILLEGAL text.
McDonalds. It's called fast food because you can get it quickly, not because you are supposed to drive fast while you eat it. Let's leave it at this. If you have to steer with your knee in order to consume your Value Meal, you are literally one knee jerk away from making my husband a widower. And he's a big guy.
A little consideration, please. I'm not asking that you go out of your way to give me the whole lane to run in, but really, if it's 6 am and you are the only car on the road would it really kill you to move into the center lane so that my obituary doesn't read "Died while running," or "fought a Buick and lost."
And just a little warning. You may not be able to see it, but I do have my cell phone with me and I wouldn't even hesitate to call the police and share with them your tag number, your estimated speed, or your extracurricular activities I spot as you careen past me.
Now, isn't that easy. We can all agree that a little courtesy on both sides of the road will go along way in encouraging others to take up running, walking, or cycling as a pasttime. If we can do this, maybe then we WILL be chosen as one of those cities that magazines praise for their safe roads, considerate drivers, and low obesity rates. And when you pass me and I wave, I'm just being friendly. Wave back, or better yet, just smile. Keep both of those hands on the wheel:)
Lots of Love,
The Girl in the Nikes
It's Jennifer, the girl you passed on the road this morning. I was the one running, ponytail swinging in the wind, visible breaths coming from my mouth in the cool crisp air. You know, the one, you almost hit but got lucky and looked up from your cell phone just quickly enough to swerve and miss me. You don't scare me, though; you're not the first SUV to send me jumping to the edge of the road, but you got me thinking. Maybe we need a little bit of an introduction and maybe a few ground rules, just to make the roads safer for me and less liable for you.
First of all, yes I am running. By choice. I set my alarm, rolled out of bed and into my tennis shoes for the enjoyment of a workout, not to be taunted by 2 ton machines driven by distracted drivers.
Secondly, I am on the road because if you'll notice, there are no sidewalks. Our town did not earn the honor of "Best Places to Live and Workout" in Runner's World magazine, and so I'm expecting you to share the roads. If there were a sidewalk i would certainly use it, but i'm not going to stay home because there isn't one.
And yes, i may be pushing a stroller and Yes, there is a real baby in there. No need to slow down and rubber neck as you pass us. ANy idea how much a babysitter goes for these days?
One word for you-- Texting. Need i say more? There are laws against it because we already have statistics. I don't want to be one more statistic and I'm sure you also don't want to make headlines for striking a woman pushing a jog stroller b/c you were reminding your spouse to TIVO your favorite show via ILLEGAL text.
McDonalds. It's called fast food because you can get it quickly, not because you are supposed to drive fast while you eat it. Let's leave it at this. If you have to steer with your knee in order to consume your Value Meal, you are literally one knee jerk away from making my husband a widower. And he's a big guy.
A little consideration, please. I'm not asking that you go out of your way to give me the whole lane to run in, but really, if it's 6 am and you are the only car on the road would it really kill you to move into the center lane so that my obituary doesn't read "Died while running," or "fought a Buick and lost."
And just a little warning. You may not be able to see it, but I do have my cell phone with me and I wouldn't even hesitate to call the police and share with them your tag number, your estimated speed, or your extracurricular activities I spot as you careen past me.
Now, isn't that easy. We can all agree that a little courtesy on both sides of the road will go along way in encouraging others to take up running, walking, or cycling as a pasttime. If we can do this, maybe then we WILL be chosen as one of those cities that magazines praise for their safe roads, considerate drivers, and low obesity rates. And when you pass me and I wave, I'm just being friendly. Wave back, or better yet, just smile. Keep both of those hands on the wheel:)
Lots of Love,
The Girl in the Nikes
Sunday, September 19, 2010
A Coach and His Player
I think i'm like everyone when it comes to Friday night football. Nothing beats an evening with like-minded people, pulling for the same outcome, encompassed by the sights and sounds of high school football. Few people, when asked, could accurately describe the atmosphere that surrounds a friday night on the field, in the stands, or tailgating in the parking lot before the game, though most would give a valiant try. Much as we like, words just don't do it justice. Despite that, years later men recount their days on the gridiron with as much detail, passion, and pride as the boys who actually played in the game the night before. To them, the picture in their heads is as clear as it was twenty years ago. Often, their stories sound very similar. And that's a good thing. It's nice to know that no one can take away our moments and our memories, even if they're only in our heads.
The next best thing to our actual memories are the photographs that capture a moment that may never come again. When our memories fail us, when words just aren't enough, we can flip to the photos and all of a sudden we're back to a season, a game, a place we thought we'd left behind. We remember a friend, a coach, a teammate, and a moment that defined us. And sometimes a picture pops up and answers an often-asked question and explains something that some people have never understood, until then.
I'll admit, when i first became a coach's widow, er wife, I really had no idea what i was getting myself into. Sure, i expected practices every afternoon, and of course the big game on Friday. I was ready for that, and excited to be a part of it. But the rough stuff? Let's just say it's a live and learn kind of thing. The first time you hear your husband's name shouted from the stands with an epithet and not a cheer, it hurts; and the second and the third . . .? nah, it doesn't get any easier. Fortunately, skin gets thicker as the games add up. And as the games add up, so too does the real picture of football. How many times do our coaches give rides home to kids who wouldn't play football if they didn't? How many times do coaches hand out lunch money to kids who may not eat that day? How many times do coaches open their homes to boys who, at that particular moment, have nowhere else to go? I'll say it again--that's the stuff I was totally unprepared for. Yet, THAT'S the stuff that I love the most.
A couple of years ago, I attempted to answer an oft-asked question about the coaching profession. Why would anyone put in the hours, put up with the criticism, the uncertainty of a career determined by teenagers, for what equals out to less than minimum wage? Sure, it sounds great going into it. Teach a couple of classes, math or social studies maybe, then spend the afternoon calling plays, leading drills, and blowing the whistle. Sit back at the end of the day and watch the film, making notes while sipping a glass of sweet tea from the comfort of the recliner.
Ha! If only the job were that simple, yet the game really is. Take a group of young men, share with them your knowledge, inspire them with your passion, and teach them to respect the game. In between that, teach them to catch a pass, throw a ball, read a defense, run a route, and handle wins and losses with equal grace.
When I first saw the picture on the left, it hit me. There's the answer: Why do coaches spend more time with each other than their own families? Why do they stay up late writing reference letters for kids they haven't seen in two years? Why do they take a fall sport and turn it into a year round job? Because some day one of those boys will call and ask you to be the best man at his wedding. Because one day the kid you put your arm around will show up at the field to watch you coach the state championship game. One day the kid you were toughest on will come back and thank you for not letting him quit. One day the kid you thought hated you will tell you he hopes one day that HIS kid will play for you.
Thanks, Abbey, for the great picture from Friday night. We have no idea what is being said between those two, and that's the point. Some things are better left between a coach and his player.
The next best thing to our actual memories are the photographs that capture a moment that may never come again. When our memories fail us, when words just aren't enough, we can flip to the photos and all of a sudden we're back to a season, a game, a place we thought we'd left behind. We remember a friend, a coach, a teammate, and a moment that defined us. And sometimes a picture pops up and answers an often-asked question and explains something that some people have never understood, until then.
I'll admit, when i first became a coach's widow, er wife, I really had no idea what i was getting myself into. Sure, i expected practices every afternoon, and of course the big game on Friday. I was ready for that, and excited to be a part of it. But the rough stuff? Let's just say it's a live and learn kind of thing. The first time you hear your husband's name shouted from the stands with an epithet and not a cheer, it hurts; and the second and the third . . .? nah, it doesn't get any easier. Fortunately, skin gets thicker as the games add up. And as the games add up, so too does the real picture of football. How many times do our coaches give rides home to kids who wouldn't play football if they didn't? How many times do coaches hand out lunch money to kids who may not eat that day? How many times do coaches open their homes to boys who, at that particular moment, have nowhere else to go? I'll say it again--that's the stuff I was totally unprepared for. Yet, THAT'S the stuff that I love the most.
A couple of years ago, I attempted to answer an oft-asked question about the coaching profession. Why would anyone put in the hours, put up with the criticism, the uncertainty of a career determined by teenagers, for what equals out to less than minimum wage? Sure, it sounds great going into it. Teach a couple of classes, math or social studies maybe, then spend the afternoon calling plays, leading drills, and blowing the whistle. Sit back at the end of the day and watch the film, making notes while sipping a glass of sweet tea from the comfort of the recliner.
Ha! If only the job were that simple, yet the game really is. Take a group of young men, share with them your knowledge, inspire them with your passion, and teach them to respect the game. In between that, teach them to catch a pass, throw a ball, read a defense, run a route, and handle wins and losses with equal grace.
When I first saw the picture on the left, it hit me. There's the answer: Why do coaches spend more time with each other than their own families? Why do they stay up late writing reference letters for kids they haven't seen in two years? Why do they take a fall sport and turn it into a year round job? Because some day one of those boys will call and ask you to be the best man at his wedding. Because one day the kid you put your arm around will show up at the field to watch you coach the state championship game. One day the kid you were toughest on will come back and thank you for not letting him quit. One day the kid you thought hated you will tell you he hopes one day that HIS kid will play for you.
Thanks, Abbey, for the great picture from Friday night. We have no idea what is being said between those two, and that's the point. Some things are better left between a coach and his player.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
What Mom Really Means
Last week i wrote (vented) about words and phrases that Tucker and Tanner frequently use that, how shall i put this, drive me nuts. Well, i figured that if i were going to dissect their language and all the hip, new things kids are saying these days, it would only be fair to analyze my own vocabulary, all the unhip, old-fashioned things we moms keep repeating. After thinking long and hard about this blog, and all the important statements, questions, commands, complaints, etc, I should address, i realized that this will not only be good for Tucker and Tanner (and one day Tot), but billy might also really benefit from a deeper understanding of many of my utterings. What really got me started was at dinner tonight as i'm serving up chili in bowls. The utensils are on the table, the drinks have been poured, and the condiments for chili within arm's reach. Coach looks at me and says, "Do we have any onions?"
Now let me just set the stage. It is thursday night, after 8:00. the three of them have just returned from football practice and it is almost the end of a very busy week: practices, revival, bootcamp, homework. I, too, had just returned from a shopping trip with a less than willing partner who decided that since i wouldn't share my chick-fil-a coke with him, not only would he not eat his nuggets but he would also scream the whole way home, the whole 17 miles from exit to exit, screaming despite the radio and the music HE likes, despite the windows rolled down and the wind whipping through his golden blonde hair, despite my promises of his own drink when we get home.
Ahem, back to the onions. What Coach really means by asking if we have onions is "I want onions with my Chili." So what Mom really means when she says, "no we don't have any" is, you have a better chance of growing hair on your head right now than getting me to cut onions on a Thursday night at 8:15. So that led to this and all the other WMRM's:
What Mom Really Means When . . .
I ask you, "Tucker are those your shorts on the floor in front of the TV?"
WMRM: PICK those shorts up and do with them whatever needs to be done!
I ask you if you want me to help you study for your test.
WMRM: Bring me your study sheets we are GOING to study.
Has anyone checked the mail?
WMRM: somebody/ anybody has about 5 seconds to thrust a handful of junk mail and bills into my face.
Is Tate in there?
WMRM: Basically the same as the above. SOMEONE put a hand on that baby and get him out of the toilet, off the kitchen table, or away from my wallet PRONTO!
This is your school project and it's your job to do well on it.
WMRM: You and i are working on this project together buddy, b/c don't you realize that if you turn in some piece of crap project the teacher is going to think I"M the one who is lazy and uncreative. your name may be on the posterboard, but my reputation is at stake.
"Hey, let's do something different for supper tonight. that sounds fun, right?"
WMRM: Daddy is working tonight and you boys are stuck with me, so basically it's whatever i can find in the fridge/freezer. now smile:)
Don't stay out too late tonight--film can wait."
WMRM: I'll see you about 4:00 this morning after you've watched film, done laundry, and eaten God only knows what after midnight. Just be careful coming home:)
And finally, You boys are killing me!!
WMRM: Despite the fact that i rarely get a moment of rest, diapers never go away, and homework is sometimes a nightmare, I couldn't imagine my life without y'all!
Now let me just set the stage. It is thursday night, after 8:00. the three of them have just returned from football practice and it is almost the end of a very busy week: practices, revival, bootcamp, homework. I, too, had just returned from a shopping trip with a less than willing partner who decided that since i wouldn't share my chick-fil-a coke with him, not only would he not eat his nuggets but he would also scream the whole way home, the whole 17 miles from exit to exit, screaming despite the radio and the music HE likes, despite the windows rolled down and the wind whipping through his golden blonde hair, despite my promises of his own drink when we get home.
Ahem, back to the onions. What Coach really means by asking if we have onions is "I want onions with my Chili." So what Mom really means when she says, "no we don't have any" is, you have a better chance of growing hair on your head right now than getting me to cut onions on a Thursday night at 8:15. So that led to this and all the other WMRM's:
What Mom Really Means When . . .
I ask you, "Tucker are those your shorts on the floor in front of the TV?"
WMRM: PICK those shorts up and do with them whatever needs to be done!
I ask you if you want me to help you study for your test.
WMRM: Bring me your study sheets we are GOING to study.
Has anyone checked the mail?
WMRM: somebody/ anybody has about 5 seconds to thrust a handful of junk mail and bills into my face.
Is Tate in there?
WMRM: Basically the same as the above. SOMEONE put a hand on that baby and get him out of the toilet, off the kitchen table, or away from my wallet PRONTO!
This is your school project and it's your job to do well on it.
WMRM: You and i are working on this project together buddy, b/c don't you realize that if you turn in some piece of crap project the teacher is going to think I"M the one who is lazy and uncreative. your name may be on the posterboard, but my reputation is at stake.
"Hey, let's do something different for supper tonight. that sounds fun, right?"
WMRM: Daddy is working tonight and you boys are stuck with me, so basically it's whatever i can find in the fridge/freezer. now smile:)
Don't stay out too late tonight--film can wait."
WMRM: I'll see you about 4:00 this morning after you've watched film, done laundry, and eaten God only knows what after midnight. Just be careful coming home:)
And finally, You boys are killing me!!
WMRM: Despite the fact that i rarely get a moment of rest, diapers never go away, and homework is sometimes a nightmare, I couldn't imagine my life without y'all!
Saturday, August 7, 2010
More Panther Football???
"Can she pleeeease stop writing about Panther football?" I know some of you are saying that right now, but y'all i just can't help it. It's getting to be that time of year, High 5 Sports is on, the Falcons are at training camp, the practice fields are full every afternoon, and Jackson County football's cup is overflowing! So y'all bear with me one more post; it's football season and there's a lot to be excited about.
My faithful blog followers already know that a couple of months ago I started a little prayer for the Panthers, praying for their summer sessions and for a winning season. I talked about how God had brought us here, kept us here, and is working His will into everything that happens here. I know many of you are also praying for our boys and our coaches and community, and y'all I think it's working.
I also shared the news about a month ago that money and scholarships had been provided to our program so that our entire team could go to FCA camp and experience an environment where Christianity and Football go together. In case you haven't heard, several of our players gave their lives to Christ at that camp, and if you ask the coaches, most will tell you that they came back as a different team. No doubt a stronger, smarter, wiser team than they left. That was just the beginning.
Not long after they returned from FCA camp, the coaching staff held a football camp for little boys. Pre-registration forms had the coaches expecting approximately 50-60kids. Pretty good number, we thought. Night one saw over 100 future Panthers show up to sweat it out on the practice field just like the big boys do. The next three nights the coaches worked their magic and put on a camp that set a precedent for all other camps that follow.
It doesn't end there. The first official week of practice came and went and saw close to 90, yes 90, players covering the practice field. The same school that fielded 40 boys the first year we showed up now has to order more equipment and jerseys to suit everyone up. Players from other counties have moved in and joined the team, kids who have been students at JCCHS for the last couple of years are now first-time Panthers on the gridiron, and the faithful few who have worn the Panther jersey since they were freshmen are now our senior leaders. Good things are happening.
Today was picture day and senior picnic at Hurrican Shoals, a Panther tradition as long as we've been here. Ninety-one players lined up for the team picture this morning, and over 200 players, parents, coaches, and family members celebrated the beginning of the season tonight at the park with a covered dish cook-out. These weren't parents dropping their kids off only to pick them up later. These were parents who brought casseroles, chips, and lawn chairs and did the whole meet and greet thing, biding the time til they can share the bleachers on Friday nights. Exciting things are happening.
It's kind of like a puzzle, I guess. You ask for one big thing in the beginning, say a winning season. And little by little, things start happening, one piece here, one piece there, until finally they all fit together and in the end you realize you got what you asked for. Sometimes it takes a little time, a lot of patience, and of course, a lot of work. At least that's the way I hope it works. Either way, it's pretty cool to watch how God keeps dropping those pieces down for us. I guess it's up to us, though, to put them together and make the final product happen.
So Y'all keep on praying and watching for the pieces to fall!
My faithful blog followers already know that a couple of months ago I started a little prayer for the Panthers, praying for their summer sessions and for a winning season. I talked about how God had brought us here, kept us here, and is working His will into everything that happens here. I know many of you are also praying for our boys and our coaches and community, and y'all I think it's working.
I also shared the news about a month ago that money and scholarships had been provided to our program so that our entire team could go to FCA camp and experience an environment where Christianity and Football go together. In case you haven't heard, several of our players gave their lives to Christ at that camp, and if you ask the coaches, most will tell you that they came back as a different team. No doubt a stronger, smarter, wiser team than they left. That was just the beginning.
Not long after they returned from FCA camp, the coaching staff held a football camp for little boys. Pre-registration forms had the coaches expecting approximately 50-60kids. Pretty good number, we thought. Night one saw over 100 future Panthers show up to sweat it out on the practice field just like the big boys do. The next three nights the coaches worked their magic and put on a camp that set a precedent for all other camps that follow.
It doesn't end there. The first official week of practice came and went and saw close to 90, yes 90, players covering the practice field. The same school that fielded 40 boys the first year we showed up now has to order more equipment and jerseys to suit everyone up. Players from other counties have moved in and joined the team, kids who have been students at JCCHS for the last couple of years are now first-time Panthers on the gridiron, and the faithful few who have worn the Panther jersey since they were freshmen are now our senior leaders. Good things are happening.
Today was picture day and senior picnic at Hurrican Shoals, a Panther tradition as long as we've been here. Ninety-one players lined up for the team picture this morning, and over 200 players, parents, coaches, and family members celebrated the beginning of the season tonight at the park with a covered dish cook-out. These weren't parents dropping their kids off only to pick them up later. These were parents who brought casseroles, chips, and lawn chairs and did the whole meet and greet thing, biding the time til they can share the bleachers on Friday nights. Exciting things are happening.
It's kind of like a puzzle, I guess. You ask for one big thing in the beginning, say a winning season. And little by little, things start happening, one piece here, one piece there, until finally they all fit together and in the end you realize you got what you asked for. Sometimes it takes a little time, a lot of patience, and of course, a lot of work. At least that's the way I hope it works. Either way, it's pretty cool to watch how God keeps dropping those pieces down for us. I guess it's up to us, though, to put them together and make the final product happen.
So Y'all keep on praying and watching for the pieces to fall!
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