Fall Morning Confessions

I am most aware of how bad a mom I am during school programs and children's sporting events. I hate them. My kids used to go to a small private school, and they had two programs a year, a holiday program and a spring program. The programs ran about two and a half hours. I am pretty sure if for some reason, my theology is wrong and I go to hell when I die, it will be an eternal school program, complete with uncomfortable metal folding chairs, and a squirmy baby that I am responsible for.

I have wonderful kids. Witty, interesting creative kids. I do not have kids that get the solos in the school programs. This does not affect my view of my children at all, but it does make the school programs unbearable. If I am lucky, my kid might be the one to mutter some unintelligible thing about when, or where or why Thomas Jefferson was born, or married, or died, or something. I am sitting through these things for no pay off whatsoever! All around me are proud fathers with video cameras, and mothers with shining eyes beaming up at the stage, hand clasped over chest as their offspring begins to mutter. I am looking at the program they handed out at the door, desperately trying to figure out where exactly we are, and how much more time is left until I can burst out of those heavy gymnasium doors and breathe in sweet freedom.

Second to school programs for parenting induced misery are sports. XY10 is a passionate, apparently talented football player. In spite of careful, nay, maniacal planning on my part, I have not been able occupy every single Saturday from September to ummm....like...January I think, so I have to go to Pop Warner football games every now and again. Today was one of those days.

The game was about fifteen miles north of where we live.

It is not a nicer area.

I was very concerned about the weather. November tends to be warm in Southern California, especially when you are sitting in barren high school football bleachers at 10:00am. I was concerned about the heat because I was wearing one of XY17's old jerseys from when he played football. Spectacularly flattering, especially the tight band around my upper arm, squeezing the fat all around. Mmmm, nice. I needn't have worried, the weather was beautiful. The sun wasn't too strong and there was a breeze. There was a down side to the breeze. The unidentifiable, unpleasant smell it brought. I complained to my husband, Roser. As you all know by now, I am not the type to suffer in silence.

"It smells a lot worse about 1o miles north of here, where the cattle farms are."

"Yeah, but at least up there you know what you're smelling. That's a huge improvement over not knowing what you're smelling." By now he was ignoring me, looking down at the field, so I was left to ponder on my own, how nice it was to have a cool breeze, and how disconcerting it was to have no idea what I am sucking into my lungs via my nose.

Sitting with me, enjoying the experience nearly as much as I am is XX5. She sat still for....let me see....zero minutes. I for some reason let her bring two small teddy bears. It was a terrible idea, because she wanted me to play with her, because, like I said, there were two. When I finally convinced her that, no, I wouldn't play with her, she wanted to bounce them up and down all over the bleachers. I was getting dizzy thinking about all the germs and what people brought on their shoes and deposited right where she was playing. She wasn't excited about waving her teddy bears around in the air. So she didn't.

XX5 has a little bit of a bug phobia. By little bit, what I mean is, when she sees butterflies, XX5 says, "Ewwww...."

Today, at the football game she had that exact reaction to a butterfly going by. We started talking about different bugs and which ones are harmless. She asked me about dragonflies. She just happened to be wearing a t-shirt with dragonflies on it, so I said,

"There are two on you right now." I didn't even get a chance to point to her shirt. Her eye got huge and she started screaming, jumping and frantically brushing herself off. She spent very little time on the ear-splitting scream, and then went to wailing as though she had seen the specter of her own death.

"That wasn't very funny," XX13 said, dragging her eyes away from the field for a moment to look at me with contempt. She made no attempt to help me breath, as XX5 was now wrapped completely around me sobbing into my neck.

"I wasn't trying to be funny," I protested weakly, "Just a little clever." It didn't matter, I was being ignored again.

After I disentangled myself from XX5, I began wishing I had brought the November issue of "Food and Wine" with me. I know it's rude to read in the stands, but football game are just a little longer than I find bearable. I was honestly trying to follow the game, but football is not a very straight-forward sport. Plus, I don't care. All I know is if my son's team wins, he will be happy and chatty in the car on on the way home, if they lose he will be sullen and quiet. So I hope they win. I haven't had much coffee, and I don't trust the snack bar coffee, so maybe losing wouldn't be so bad. No, No! I don't mean it. I hope they win.

XX5 says,

"I don't like this, this is no fun at all." Then, in case I didn't get it, she repeats it.

"Mommy! This is no fun for me!"

Really? Cause it's a hoot for me.

As we were leaving, I asked XX13,

"Did you have fun? Do you understand football?"

"Yeah, it was fun. I pretty much understand football."

Traitor.