THis week I'll work at a paid job for 43 hrs.
Study for 12-14 hrs.
Attend soccer training for my peeps 8hrs.
Attend the piano lesson 30 mins.
Cook 6 hrs or less if I'm lucky.
Pack 20 lunches.
Wash 10 loads of laundry, with at least 12 pairs of soccer socks.
Apply for 4 jobs.
Make 5 pennies magically cover $100 worth of expenses.
http://link.brightcove.com/services/link/bcpid1315753316/bclid1437076151/bctid1432781806
And listening to fun new tunes all the way.
23 April 2008
08 April 2008
Only Half
Leave It to Beaver we are not.
Our family is more train wreck in nature. Divorce. Abuse. Drugs. Poverty. Childhood is a thing we survived, my sister and I.
My brothers 17 and 13 years my junior, had the Leave It to Beaver lifestyle. Two parents who treasure them, and tell them so on a regular basis. A hippie/yuppie of a father and a precious balanced woman for a mother, mature before the arrival of their children. Always a nice house to live in, pantrys full of food, the latest toys, money for the sports they wanted to play. An international childhood. It makes sense then why they do not understand where we girls come from.
They have no concept of what we lived, it was not even in the same section of the library, they relaxed over in the private reference, while we were backlogged, in a bin out the back. Books in dire need of repair.
I do not mind, I have thrived. My sister crazy as she is, has survived in her own way, occassionally at the expense of those around her. Witnessing selfish behavior all through her childhood, it should not be surprising.
We know the whole story of their childhood, it is no shocker they are attending university, one in undergrad and the other in graduate school. They have only looked at a sliver of our lives. Until they do. We love them.
You can't caste stones until you read the whole book, look further than your earliest memory, choose to find out why your oldest sister acts crazy, there are reasons.
THey are only half brothers, until then.
Our family is more train wreck in nature. Divorce. Abuse. Drugs. Poverty. Childhood is a thing we survived, my sister and I.
My brothers 17 and 13 years my junior, had the Leave It to Beaver lifestyle. Two parents who treasure them, and tell them so on a regular basis. A hippie/yuppie of a father and a precious balanced woman for a mother, mature before the arrival of their children. Always a nice house to live in, pantrys full of food, the latest toys, money for the sports they wanted to play. An international childhood. It makes sense then why they do not understand where we girls come from.
They have no concept of what we lived, it was not even in the same section of the library, they relaxed over in the private reference, while we were backlogged, in a bin out the back. Books in dire need of repair.
I do not mind, I have thrived. My sister crazy as she is, has survived in her own way, occassionally at the expense of those around her. Witnessing selfish behavior all through her childhood, it should not be surprising.
We know the whole story of their childhood, it is no shocker they are attending university, one in undergrad and the other in graduate school. They have only looked at a sliver of our lives. Until they do. We love them.
You can't caste stones until you read the whole book, look further than your earliest memory, choose to find out why your oldest sister acts crazy, there are reasons.
THey are only half brothers, until then.
26 March 2008
And NO I have not been drinkin'
Today, all day, I have been a fine upstanding citizen.
Cleaned my kitchen, dining and lounge room. Vacuumed.
Filed my income tax return, early.
Had lunch at the Chicken with my Dad. Agreed to enter he and his mates into the Association of Former Students Golf Tournament, even though both my brothers go to our rival school and they'll get snarky about the golf. Whatever. There is a reason they call me the mature one in the family.
So tonight I dropped 2 out of 3 kids off at soccer training. One of the kids had to be picked up at 9pm.
I left the house, I noticed driving home from Easter that my headlights were hitting a wee bit low. Rio Grande Boulevard is 1.2 miles long, I spent one mile of my drive behind a small forest green Ford truck, squinting at the contents of bed. There was a black wire dog crate, the kind that you can unclasp and fold flat if you need to. Initially I thought there was a two-bummed furry white dog in the crate. So I got closer, thinking I might need to get my eyes checked. I contemplated driving with my brights on but I thought it might be a tad rude. Right before my turn off and after a stopsign under a streetlamp, I figured it out.
I tried to take a photo, however, my camera only works after dinner and a movie, and only if I whisper sweet nothings about a house, with a 2 car garage, and a dog and long walks on the beach.
Two lambs, shorn, one wearing a blue jumper (one pampered dogs wear), stuffed into the back of a dog crate in the back of a small green Ford F-150. The lambs were not happy, when I rolled the window down to take the photo, they were baa-ing away-poor little ticked off lambies, naked and squished.
Only in Texas. And NO I have not been drinkin'
Cleaned my kitchen, dining and lounge room. Vacuumed.
Filed my income tax return, early.
Had lunch at the Chicken with my Dad. Agreed to enter he and his mates into the Association of Former Students Golf Tournament, even though both my brothers go to our rival school and they'll get snarky about the golf. Whatever. There is a reason they call me the mature one in the family.
So tonight I dropped 2 out of 3 kids off at soccer training. One of the kids had to be picked up at 9pm.
I left the house, I noticed driving home from Easter that my headlights were hitting a wee bit low. Rio Grande Boulevard is 1.2 miles long, I spent one mile of my drive behind a small forest green Ford truck, squinting at the contents of bed. There was a black wire dog crate, the kind that you can unclasp and fold flat if you need to. Initially I thought there was a two-bummed furry white dog in the crate. So I got closer, thinking I might need to get my eyes checked. I contemplated driving with my brights on but I thought it might be a tad rude. Right before my turn off and after a stopsign under a streetlamp, I figured it out.
I tried to take a photo, however, my camera only works after dinner and a movie, and only if I whisper sweet nothings about a house, with a 2 car garage, and a dog and long walks on the beach.
Two lambs, shorn, one wearing a blue jumper (one pampered dogs wear), stuffed into the back of a dog crate in the back of a small green Ford F-150. The lambs were not happy, when I rolled the window down to take the photo, they were baa-ing away-poor little ticked off lambies, naked and squished.
Only in Texas. And NO I have not been drinkin'
25 March 2008
She Failed Taks Math.
So I spent Easter with some very lovely folks, was reminded I haven't blogged in a very long time, and made a Funky Monkey run - the handbag was my treasure, begging to go home with me.
So my oldest son has asked several times for a ride to the hairdressers for a trim. He is very fond of his hair, far worse than most women I know. When he was little he liked a number 2 buzz cut, and would run his hand over the spikey short hair often.
Today we had a hour and a half after school/work before soccer training, so I handed him some money and his phone. We talked about what he was going to have done. "Less than an inch off, Mum, that's exactly what I'll tell her"
Okeydokey, I dropped him and ran home to whip up dinner.
Yesterday in the green.
He walked into the hairdressers, told her he wanted a trim, less than one inch off, please.
I got a text, it said simply "come get me".
By the time I got to the stopsign at the end of our street I received a second text, saying, "don't come , i'm halfway home, i walked". I picked him up. And I think he looks lovely, however, I did tell him I would gladly go all mummabear on the hairdresser for him if he wanted me to.
And it is just so sad that the hairdresser, she doesn't know what one inch is.
He is handling it really well. Dr. Pepper therapy helps.
Sad little Taks Maths Failure of a hairdresser though. 29 October 2007
Interest
I have interest.
And then I remember, I am single, I have more than one child.
INTEREST. It is not something I have time for. I work. I cart children here, there, and everywhere. I play soccer to burn off the stress of life. I don't have time for interest.
But those eyes, and that quick lovely smile.
I am interested.
And then I remember, I am single, I have more than one child.
INTEREST. It is not something I have time for. I work. I cart children here, there, and everywhere. I play soccer to burn off the stress of life. I don't have time for interest.
But those eyes, and that quick lovely smile.
I am interested.
26 September 2007
Liver and Fitness
Motherhood is not an overly valued profession. Sad. Really but had I sluffed my children off to be cared for by others from their infancy and continued in my march for the pristine career. I would be much more employable.
Kind of a bugger.
Not in the least my children are healthy well balanced individuals who live lives of tolerance in spite of their very naughty father and his wacky beliefs. I would like to stick that on my resume. That I have kept children sane and off drugs when a week with their father should by all means have driven them very quickly to both, probably at the same time.
So rejection is in the eye of the beholder.
I choose to take my rejection letter with a spot of rum and a side of exercise.
Cheers
Kind of a bugger.
Not in the least my children are healthy well balanced individuals who live lives of tolerance in spite of their very naughty father and his wacky beliefs. I would like to stick that on my resume. That I have kept children sane and off drugs when a week with their father should by all means have driven them very quickly to both, probably at the same time.
So rejection is in the eye of the beholder.
I choose to take my rejection letter with a spot of rum and a side of exercise.
Cheers
25 September 2007
London
At the weekend I was asked what car I would drive if I had infinite amounts of money. Curious question, I am unsure if it was a veiled slam on my Honda Pilot, or not. Doesn't matter, I do not dwell on those matters.
I would have to say a Mini Cooper.
They are zippy.
They are fuel efficient.
They are obscenely cute, with more bounty hunter than barbie.
Probably though, if I had the money to spare, I would fly to London and take my friend who is ever so far away from home to a James Blunt concert.
Cheers.
Right after I deposited tuition for university in a trust fund x 3.
I would have to say a Mini Cooper.
They are zippy.
They are fuel efficient.
They are obscenely cute, with more bounty hunter than barbie.
Probably though, if I had the money to spare, I would fly to London and take my friend who is ever so far away from home to a James Blunt concert.
Cheers.
Right after I deposited tuition for university in a trust fund x 3.
21 September 2007
Dear Abbey.
Obviously this is tattooed on my forehead, in ink that only complete strangers can read.
The diabetic single father of nine behind me in line at the grocery. He occassionally sneaks chocolate, he knows it is wrong but he does it anyway.
The barista at my local coffee house - she'd had a fight with her boyfriend, he pushes her, controls her, she doesn't know why she is telling me this, but she is.
The elder at the church speaking about plans for the community center, the help for the downtrodden and addicted, for those who've made poor choices in life or for whom poor choices were made for them and they were left abandoned with what life had dealt them.
The single mother at the football game, she's lonely, and so very tired. I should take my kids over, we could sit on the patio and talk.
It's Wednesday. I already know more about those around me than really I care to. That's ugly and terrible. I actually do not mind listening. I just would like a paycheck so that while I'm listening the sounds of the last of my coins dropping would stop intruding.
The diabetic single father of nine behind me in line at the grocery. He occassionally sneaks chocolate, he knows it is wrong but he does it anyway.
The barista at my local coffee house - she'd had a fight with her boyfriend, he pushes her, controls her, she doesn't know why she is telling me this, but she is.
The elder at the church speaking about plans for the community center, the help for the downtrodden and addicted, for those who've made poor choices in life or for whom poor choices were made for them and they were left abandoned with what life had dealt them.
The single mother at the football game, she's lonely, and so very tired. I should take my kids over, we could sit on the patio and talk.
It's Wednesday. I already know more about those around me than really I care to. That's ugly and terrible. I actually do not mind listening. I just would like a paycheck so that while I'm listening the sounds of the last of my coins dropping would stop intruding.
18 September 2007
Bloody Unemployment
Bloody hell!
Over and over and over in my mind.
Bloody bleeding hell.
I hate being unemployed. I hate looking for bloody jobs. It sucks. It makes me want to cry.
Which. I. Also. Hate.
Bills turn up every day, seems like anyway. Most often it does not phase me. Occasionally, it royally ticks me off. I keep paying all the bills and money leaks out like sand in a hour glass, evey minute of every single day. I bought a house, lovely really, but the a/c - the inspection said it was up to snuff and now that the honeymoon is well and truely over, it's not. Repairs - it needs, which lead to ... you guessed it - more bloody bills!!!!
And then, on top of the jobless, financial strife, you toss in the prick of an ex - I am certain that they are not all pricks, because I myself have actually met some nice ex's. Well, he doesn't worry me, except how he is in fact giving his child an ulcer! So bloody well piss off. Please go and get mauled by a kangaroo and don't bother your offspring ever again - honestly it would be better for them.
I have hit the sauce. Overdue. Certainly. Like Twins.
Possibly Conjoined, the vino and I.
Cheers.
Over and over and over in my mind.
Bloody bleeding hell.
I hate being unemployed. I hate looking for bloody jobs. It sucks. It makes me want to cry.
Which. I. Also. Hate.
Bills turn up every day, seems like anyway. Most often it does not phase me. Occasionally, it royally ticks me off. I keep paying all the bills and money leaks out like sand in a hour glass, evey minute of every single day. I bought a house, lovely really, but the a/c - the inspection said it was up to snuff and now that the honeymoon is well and truely over, it's not. Repairs - it needs, which lead to ... you guessed it - more bloody bills!!!!
And then, on top of the jobless, financial strife, you toss in the prick of an ex - I am certain that they are not all pricks, because I myself have actually met some nice ex's. Well, he doesn't worry me, except how he is in fact giving his child an ulcer! So bloody well piss off. Please go and get mauled by a kangaroo and don't bother your offspring ever again - honestly it would be better for them.
I have hit the sauce. Overdue. Certainly. Like Twins.
Possibly Conjoined, the vino and I.
Cheers.
01 July 2007
Drive By Shooting
I entertained myself well.
This was my first attempt to snap peep #2.
Camp hair, forgot to wear a hat, and have more blond bits now.
Total
8 days at summer camp as a counselor
7 nights
18 hours sleep
yowser!
4 bags
10 loads of washing
holymoleytoledo!
7 nights
18 hours sleep
yowser!
4 bags
10 loads of washing
holymoleytoledo!
Summer Camp
Timber bunk beds
New Campers
Staff meetings
Deer
Softball
Kickball
Rain
Craft hut
Rain
Canteen
Starlight singing
20 girls in one cabin
3 showers
3 loos
Morning mayhem maddness
Best cinnamon rolls on the planet
6:15 am morning run
Atlas Deer
The River
Counselor Float Brigade
Basketball
Gazebos
Rain
Mail Call
Rain
Ultimate frisbee
Couples softball
Cafeteria tables
Food trays
Pearl divers (deep sink washers)
Tarzan yells
Salad
Steak fingers
Rock Melon
Rest time
Chinese Fire Drill to recover from rest time
Games night
42
Lollies
Talent show
Laughing so hard your cheeks seize up
New friends
Listening to 18 fifteen year old girls
Rain
Flip flops and crocs
Mud fights
Photos
Mud kickball
Tire Swing
Jumping from the top of a high tree into the current
Convincing your 7 new friends it is truely lovely and they too NEED to jump out of the tree
woo - hoo
When do I get to go back?
New Campers
Staff meetings
Deer
Softball
Kickball
Rain
Craft hut
Rain
Canteen
Starlight singing
20 girls in one cabin
3 showers
3 loos
Morning mayhem maddness
Best cinnamon rolls on the planet
6:15 am morning run
Atlas Deer
The River
Counselor Float Brigade
Basketball
Gazebos
Rain
Mail Call
Rain
Ultimate frisbee
Couples softball
Cafeteria tables
Food trays
Pearl divers (deep sink washers)
Tarzan yells
Salad
Steak fingers
Rock Melon
Rest time
Chinese Fire Drill to recover from rest time
Games night
42
Lollies
Talent show
Laughing so hard your cheeks seize up
New friends
Listening to 18 fifteen year old girls
Rain
Flip flops and crocs
Mud fights
Photos
Mud kickball
Tire Swing
Jumping from the top of a high tree into the current
Convincing your 7 new friends it is truely lovely and they too NEED to jump out of the tree
woo - hoo
When do I get to go back?
22 June 2007
Summertime relaxing?
Speed camp. Swim team. Soccer camp. Soccer training. School day camp. Camp camp.
It's a different kind of manic. But I love it. Some days, I want to rip their little blond eyebrows off, sans wax. But mostly, I am blissfully enjoying unemployment. Ferrying squatty bodies here and there and everywhere in between. Avoiding humidity, going to films, eating late dinners, playing soccer in the park. Washing tooo many towels to count. Sunblock now comes in dry varieties - lovely.
Job hunting bites huge lumps of slimey lizard guts.
It's a different kind of manic. But I love it. Some days, I want to rip their little blond eyebrows off, sans wax. But mostly, I am blissfully enjoying unemployment. Ferrying squatty bodies here and there and everywhere in between. Avoiding humidity, going to films, eating late dinners, playing soccer in the park. Washing tooo many towels to count. Sunblock now comes in dry varieties - lovely.
Job hunting bites huge lumps of slimey lizard guts.
24 May 2007
Not Lacking Insight.
He is blond. An Australian Texan who speaks Japanese and loves soccer with a passion beyond his years. He has flown 40,730 miles already, loves spicy Kung Pao Chicken and Aloo Naan.
We were driving home from dropping his older brother off, he emplored "please Mum just listen to this song, I know you don't like that word, but it's a really good song, and I love it,please, please...". He sits in the very back of the car, farthest from the radio controls. So we listened.
now you can too. http://youtube.com/watch?v=tWXvV5DALuY
He is 10 years old.
And already NOT LACKING INSIGHT
Extra lamingtons and lollies for that kid.
We were driving home from dropping his older brother off, he emplored "please Mum just listen to this song, I know you don't like that word, but it's a really good song, and I love it,please, please...". He sits in the very back of the car, farthest from the radio controls. So we listened.
now you can too. http://youtube.com/watch?v=tWXvV5DALuY
He is 10 years old.
And already NOT LACKING INSIGHT
Extra lamingtons and lollies for that kid.
22 May 2007
A Guard against QUICK remarraige.
I did not read back through the papers. After the judge's final orders. Last June.
Mostly because it pissed me off. And a fair amount because I am just stubborn as all get out. I just did not want to. It is frustrating and infuriating and saddening, to read in bold black print what a bastard I devoted 13 years to.
Completely. Lacking. Insight. The federal judge summed up in 7 months what I knew for years and years and years. I did not verbalize those thoughts. Growing up hearing about the dastardly deeds of my wayward father, I am hesitant to negatively communicate what is obvious to the general population.
I am a glass half full girl. I like to look for the sunny side of folks. Always. Leads to a happier life, not always obsessing about what everyone else is doing wrong, or at the least worse than I am. I like Dr. Pepper with my extremely healthy porridge for breakie. I love team sports. I want to win. I will not chuck a dark tantrum if I don't though.
For years I gave everything I had. Trying to make it work, we had babies, little treasures that I did not want to have the heartwrench of broken family in their sweet lives. He took all the sunny I had to give him and spat on it, walking away telling 'the holy ones' how flawed and insignificant I was. They believed him. I did not.
Completely.Lacking.Insight.
He forgot I was from Texas. I can earn a damn fine living without a man. I can raise happy well adjusted intellegent kids. Yes he took me to a completely new country. I thrived there. He took me to court in two countries. I won.
So I did not read the documents again. I had talked with my lawyer and thought I was all clear last December, apparently, I misunderstood. We are in fact, still married.
Bloody hell.
At least for the next 14 days. He has petitioned for divorce. He has had a girlfriend for a few months that I know of. Not sure how they get that all to fly in their version of the bible. I guess though if you can justify beating your kids and controlling your wifes every move, adultery doesn't seem to really be outside the lines at all?
Schmae.
I can not decide whether to accept the papers or be a pain in the arse.
Mostly because it pissed me off. And a fair amount because I am just stubborn as all get out. I just did not want to. It is frustrating and infuriating and saddening, to read in bold black print what a bastard I devoted 13 years to.
Completely. Lacking. Insight. The federal judge summed up in 7 months what I knew for years and years and years. I did not verbalize those thoughts. Growing up hearing about the dastardly deeds of my wayward father, I am hesitant to negatively communicate what is obvious to the general population.
I am a glass half full girl. I like to look for the sunny side of folks. Always. Leads to a happier life, not always obsessing about what everyone else is doing wrong, or at the least worse than I am. I like Dr. Pepper with my extremely healthy porridge for breakie. I love team sports. I want to win. I will not chuck a dark tantrum if I don't though.
For years I gave everything I had. Trying to make it work, we had babies, little treasures that I did not want to have the heartwrench of broken family in their sweet lives. He took all the sunny I had to give him and spat on it, walking away telling 'the holy ones' how flawed and insignificant I was. They believed him. I did not.
Completely.Lacking.Insight.
He forgot I was from Texas. I can earn a damn fine living without a man. I can raise happy well adjusted intellegent kids. Yes he took me to a completely new country. I thrived there. He took me to court in two countries. I won.
So I did not read the documents again. I had talked with my lawyer and thought I was all clear last December, apparently, I misunderstood. We are in fact, still married.
Bloody hell.
At least for the next 14 days. He has petitioned for divorce. He has had a girlfriend for a few months that I know of. Not sure how they get that all to fly in their version of the bible. I guess though if you can justify beating your kids and controlling your wifes every move, adultery doesn't seem to really be outside the lines at all?
Schmae.
I can not decide whether to accept the papers or be a pain in the arse.
06 April 2007
Chook and Pig.
Friends in the Kitchen.
Waking for the day is a pain in the patootie when it's still dark.
Not a fan.
I am much better now that I am at least of adult age, cheery and pleasant are still talents I aim for, mainline caffiene helps. Wonderful. That first sip is damn fine, not quite mainline but close.
So do my mates, Chook and Pig ... you can't possibly be cranky when those two sit blissfully above your kitchen sink.
04 April 2007
Staples.
The proper name is staples. It is the stuff that fills my handbag of a morning not when I begin my day but a bit after that, the essentials, flotsam is how my mind thinks of it. Complete misuse of the word- floating debris of a ship, not-so-much. More the nitty-gritty items that I utilise throughout my workday. The polar airconditioned environment of the cave in which I work, demands both the cardigan (thank you Mr. Roger's for teaching me at a very young age what an essential item the cardigan truely is) and the multiples of lip coverage. One day I will end up lip-less, due to a society where it is acceptable behavior to set the air-con to arctic degrees - THE HIDDEN DANGERS OF WORKING WITH THE MENOPAUSAL. Yet another thesis potential.26 March 2007
Jr. High, the revisiting.
Angst. Stress. Awkward bodies. Braces. Mean Girls. Boys that only look at your breasts. Being superior at sports. Crushes.
Some things change from Jr. High. Praise the baby Jesus that they do! Braces are a thing of the long past, and my body is strong and fit, and by no means awkward. Angst is no longer prevalent, daily.
Some things never change. Mean girls grow into mean bitter women, I have learned how to steer clear of them, and boys that stare at your breasts, yup no different, another thing that has not changed, those are the men you still would not touch with a ten foot pole.
Crushes.
- informal. - an intense but usually short-lived infatuation.
Pure Jr. High Bliss.
One need not be in Jr.High School to enjoy one. I am far past Jr.High, but enjoy I will. There is no potential for the crush to go anywhere, I have children and woodsy, athletic rock climbing men might not be so interested in my children, however I can enjoy the warm fuzzy of a wee little crush.
Some things change from Jr. High. Praise the baby Jesus that they do! Braces are a thing of the long past, and my body is strong and fit, and by no means awkward. Angst is no longer prevalent, daily.
Some things never change. Mean girls grow into mean bitter women, I have learned how to steer clear of them, and boys that stare at your breasts, yup no different, another thing that has not changed, those are the men you still would not touch with a ten foot pole.
Crushes.
- informal. - an intense but usually short-lived infatuation.
Pure Jr. High Bliss.
One need not be in Jr.High School to enjoy one. I am far past Jr.High, but enjoy I will. There is no potential for the crush to go anywhere, I have children and woodsy, athletic rock climbing men might not be so interested in my children, however I can enjoy the warm fuzzy of a wee little crush.
23 March 2007
Happy St. Pat's!
In honour of St. Patricks Day.
We are spectacularly gifted at being able to grow collosal mountains of clover out the front, for all the gifted gardeners who drive by to tsk.
Cheers.
05 March 2007
Half Off.
Usually I love it.
Half price books. Duty Free shopping. TJ Maxx. Tuesday Morning. Myers Boxing Day sales. Outlet malls. End of season clearance.
Never to be underrated. Always a bargain to be had.
We play soccer. We are a team made up of older people, it's relative - we are all in our 30's or 40's. We play in the city league. It is fun and social, and we like to win. Always. Who doesn't, ok, aside from the throwback beatnik hippies really? So we play. Hard at times. There is bruising, and joints that groan in displeasure for a day or so after the match. But again we like to win. I am willing to run beyond my age to chase down and prevent someone from getting their dream shot. And whichever hemisphere I live in I choose to play with persons of like mind. I want to play smart, wisdom does come as our brains wrinkle. So my sweeper is a bit OCD in his directions to players on the pitch in front of him, insessently calling out to go right, drop, stay tight, take him wide ... yada, yada,yada. I am not lacking in confidence in my abilities so there is no squashing for me. My time in Oz, taught me many things, give as well as I get has been invaulable, in a friendly cheeky way rather than with malice.
I speak often with my children about sportsmanship. One of my kids struggles, taking every play to heart and being intensely competitive, the poor child can not help it, the genetics came from two very athletic parents, we've handicapped him from birth. So I take note. I teach and practice good sportsmanship always, it would be a disservice to the child to do any less. He is a cherib, it would be devestating to set a sore example for him. I have high standards. So I play, competitive yet aware.
Tonight, we played infants. Not really, half were in Uni and half in high school. But young, far before their brains have fully developed. One thing as you age becomes aparrent ... play to your strengths. Play smart rather than fast. We are old, but we can look at a pitch and see the pass. And play it. We were up by one. Blissfull really when two of the kids goals we handed them on silver platters through a lapse in concentration - happens as we age. \
So.
We've 7 minutes left.
The youngens are getting frustrated and aggro. Best to just politely hold them out until the ref calls time.
And remember that with age comes brain wrinkles and the wisdom that it's just a social game and there's no need for a tantrum over a soccer match at 7pm on a Sunday evening.
Half off is not so great at is used to be, they were half our age but a win is a win, anyway it is just a game.
Cheers.
Half price books. Duty Free shopping. TJ Maxx. Tuesday Morning. Myers Boxing Day sales. Outlet malls. End of season clearance.
Never to be underrated. Always a bargain to be had.
We play soccer. We are a team made up of older people, it's relative - we are all in our 30's or 40's. We play in the city league. It is fun and social, and we like to win. Always. Who doesn't, ok, aside from the throwback beatnik hippies really? So we play. Hard at times. There is bruising, and joints that groan in displeasure for a day or so after the match. But again we like to win. I am willing to run beyond my age to chase down and prevent someone from getting their dream shot. And whichever hemisphere I live in I choose to play with persons of like mind. I want to play smart, wisdom does come as our brains wrinkle. So my sweeper is a bit OCD in his directions to players on the pitch in front of him, insessently calling out to go right, drop, stay tight, take him wide ... yada, yada,yada. I am not lacking in confidence in my abilities so there is no squashing for me. My time in Oz, taught me many things, give as well as I get has been invaulable, in a friendly cheeky way rather than with malice.
I speak often with my children about sportsmanship. One of my kids struggles, taking every play to heart and being intensely competitive, the poor child can not help it, the genetics came from two very athletic parents, we've handicapped him from birth. So I take note. I teach and practice good sportsmanship always, it would be a disservice to the child to do any less. He is a cherib, it would be devestating to set a sore example for him. I have high standards. So I play, competitive yet aware.
Tonight, we played infants. Not really, half were in Uni and half in high school. But young, far before their brains have fully developed. One thing as you age becomes aparrent ... play to your strengths. Play smart rather than fast. We are old, but we can look at a pitch and see the pass. And play it. We were up by one. Blissfull really when two of the kids goals we handed them on silver platters through a lapse in concentration - happens as we age. \
So.
We've 7 minutes left.
The youngens are getting frustrated and aggro. Best to just politely hold them out until the ref calls time.
And remember that with age comes brain wrinkles and the wisdom that it's just a social game and there's no need for a tantrum over a soccer match at 7pm on a Sunday evening.
Half off is not so great at is used to be, they were half our age but a win is a win, anyway it is just a game.
Cheers.
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