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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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A Sunny Day in March With My Cast

It's sunny and cold today. The snow is shrinking quickly, though not quite fast enough. I am on my second week in my walking cast. Tomorrow may be the day I am finally liberated from any cast at all and "get" to progress to wearing just a brace. A brace with sneakers, but still not a cast. If you've ever had a cast you know the day-to-day indignities, the insecurity, the balance issues, the importance of not tripping others and not being tripped and the balance issues. Yes, I said 'balance issues' twice. The first two weeks or so I fell on average twice a day. Some days I fell four times. My son would hear me topple and yell "Are you all right? Are you all right?!!" and rush to my side. The worst fall I took was on the carpeted floor in the living room. I managed to break a few Xmas ornaments with a crutch and smacked my head hard on the hardwood floor. I fell twice on the highly polished hard wood kitchen floor at my little six-year-old charge...
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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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