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Volunteer Cliche

Yesterday on our way to the CVS, Kid 2 and I found ourselves in traffic beside an unusual car. It was a Ford Fit--tiny car--adorned with just about every gun lover's creed. "If You're Honkin', I'm Reloadin'',  "Eat and Sleep AirSoft", "My Other Car is a Ford GT" and a carefully altered Starbucks sign that said "guns and coffee" instead of whatever it usually says. There was also a bumper sticker that read "I heart Piranhas" along with the requisite buxom babe that one of the Dukes of Hazard eventually married. Oh, and there was a monster truck decal too. There may have been a tiny sticker that said "Please Hate Me" but I might have misread that one. The car was driven by a grizzled guy in his mid-fifties. His left arm hung out the driver's side window, his hand dangling a cigarette. His passenger was in his early thirties. He too had his arm out the window with a cigarette in hand. There were no p...
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Remind me: why did I have kids?

Sometimes I hate my kids. Not "hate" as in "hate crimes" or "hate mail", more like hate as in an intense dislike of squash or peas. But still, sometimes I fervently dislike them. Mostly my kids are nice so when they're not, it shows. Number 1, the tweener was just whining about maaaathhhh and how it's soooooooo haaarrdd and how she's sooooooo baddddd at it. And of course "everyone else is really good at it". In fairness, she is taking accelerated algebra and she's no math natural. She has to work hard--which she often forgets. She doesn't have to work much to do well in any other class, so she feels that she's the butt of a giant cosmic joke. After all, everyone is equally good at everything, so why should she suffer? She is smart enough not to go the "it's nooooottt faairrrr" route. So she whined and I was not completely sympathetic. I said something like "Just go to X period and you'll be fine. Th...
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Basketball Twenty Years Later

I played three on three basketball yesterday morning. I think I last played about 20 years ago. The good news is that I can see the floor better, meaning I can anticipate and react faster. Mentally that is. Physically I am a bit of a wreck. I can't really run because of my back so instead I try to skittle as fast as I can from one basket to the other. I can't jump higher than about six inches but that may be my utter lack of conditioning. As for shooting--I had no muscle memory of even how to shoot. I had four points but only because I flung the ball upward while I stood under the basket. Today I woke up and the only thing that isn't sore are my hips. I had a blast and my surgeon reassured me this morning that unless I run two marathons a month or do something similarly bizarre, my hips will be fine. Basketball, volleyball, biking--it's all okay. After we played b-ball there was a holiday party hosted by the amazing woman who makes all the weekly arrangements for soccer...
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