School starts next Wednesday.
Soccer's a comin'...
There's just no stopping that train. Coach Daddy is psyched for a new season and Jenna is, well...
I'll be honest. She's nonplussed.
Our social experiment this Fall consists of evaluating Jenna's athletic apathy when juxtaposed with her little sister's involvement in same endeavor on same team.
I have a feeling that we are getting ready to throw all 'non-competitive' sporting events right out the window. Even the least interested athlete becomes interested in something when competing against a sibling. It doesn't take Freud to tell you that.
In the meantime? Coach Daddy and I are basking in the final three or four days of summer vacation (read: keeping Jenna and The Hannimal from maiming each other until they become the responsibility of teachers for the majority of the daytime hours).
On the record though? If summer vacay is any indication, Jenna needs to work on her defense...in general. The Hannimal is dishing out a lot these days. Coach Daddy is excited to see that enthusiasm on the field as opposed to at the dinner table where it is ill-placed.
Stay tuned for MLS light - the soccer equivalent of MGD 64. If you've wasted money on MGD 64, you know exactly what I'm talking about. If you haven't? You're a smarter cookie than I.
14 August 2010
08 July 2010
It's been awhile...
But after basketball season, we had Field Day. It was months ago, but I've only been able to think about it recently. It was a hard day, and it took its toll on both mother and child. There were several events held that day and I am happy to report that there were no impromtu visits to the hospital that day. No injuries.
The thing about injuries is this (and, in a way, I am grateful): It's super hard to sustain an injury at Field Day whilst not actively participating in any of the typical events. The morning of the big day, we loaded up the little one with sunscreen and potassium in order to give her an edge against the heat. We laced up the shoes, braided the hair, and set off.
The Hannimal and I arrived right after the softball throw was complete (it was the only event that I missed) and saw a kid being hauled away in tears with some ice on his head. To my great relief, my little sportstress was not the cause of this debacle. As a matter of fact, as I found out later, the ball she threw did not come close to hitting a child...and in all actuality, to say that the ball was "thrown" by her is really a misnomer. Her teacher told me that this event was not Jenna's best. But no worries - we had many more events to go.
However, after being relieved that Jenna did not hit the kid in the head with the ball, I realized that Jenna was very upset because she did not throw the ball very far. It was a strange moment for me, because it actually seemed as if she cared about being competitive. I was sad for her, yet elated in a way because I thought, perhaps, this might be the catalyst by which to garner some athletic interest.
You see where this is going, right?
Next up was the relay race, the 30 yard dash, and the long jump. The relay race was a complete disaster. I believe I've mentioned before that Jenna's love for running is rather non-existent. She walked it. She started out running; however, they were running in groups of five, and the four went ahead of her so fast that she just decided to walk. It was awesome.
As far as the next event is concerned, we can call it a "dash" all we want, but there was no dashing. There was very little that could be considered walking quickly; however, there was much that could be called drudgery and, perhaps, slow motion. The girl just wasn't feeling it.
After the first three events, we were ready for lunch. The littlest sportstress was overcome with competing in this event. She had a hot dog, a bag of chips, two bags of cookies, and a sprite. The girl just needed some fuel, that's all. So, while she was carb loading in preparation for the last event of the day, The Hannimal and I sat with her and then were very surprised to see Coach Daddy arrive for a pep talk! It was in the cards. Jenna was primed for the long jump. She's all leg, so we were fairly confident that this might just be her event.
4'3"
Not bad. Not bad, indeed.
Even the judges were impressed. Wait. That's not right.
The judges were using positive reinforcement to stop her from playing in the sand. It seems that sand is a very powerful force to a six year old. In the same way that women, once a month, are drawn to cheesecake like a moth to a flame, a large pile of sand is simply irresistible and renders children deaf to adults trying to lure them out. It cannot be done.
That's not entirely true. Mothers know that there exists on this planet only one force stronger than the pull of sand.
As Jenna explained her sadness at not having won an event to me, I explained to her about my Field Day days. It seems that, as a child, my athleticism was similar to Jenna's. I was generally average - not noteworthy; however, there was one event in which I received a blue ribbon every single year. And I was pretty sure that the last event of the day would not only be Jenna's blue ribbon event, but that she would have the fire in her belly necessary to achieve mightily.
That event, ladies and gentleman, is The Snowcone Challenge.
She came, she saw, she conquered.
That snowcone didn't stand a chance with my baby.
Until next time, always remember, "One man's relay race is another girl's snowcone."
The thing about injuries is this (and, in a way, I am grateful): It's super hard to sustain an injury at Field Day whilst not actively participating in any of the typical events. The morning of the big day, we loaded up the little one with sunscreen and potassium in order to give her an edge against the heat. We laced up the shoes, braided the hair, and set off.
The Hannimal and I arrived right after the softball throw was complete (it was the only event that I missed) and saw a kid being hauled away in tears with some ice on his head. To my great relief, my little sportstress was not the cause of this debacle. As a matter of fact, as I found out later, the ball she threw did not come close to hitting a child...and in all actuality, to say that the ball was "thrown" by her is really a misnomer. Her teacher told me that this event was not Jenna's best. But no worries - we had many more events to go.
However, after being relieved that Jenna did not hit the kid in the head with the ball, I realized that Jenna was very upset because she did not throw the ball very far. It was a strange moment for me, because it actually seemed as if she cared about being competitive. I was sad for her, yet elated in a way because I thought, perhaps, this might be the catalyst by which to garner some athletic interest.
You see where this is going, right?
Next up was the relay race, the 30 yard dash, and the long jump. The relay race was a complete disaster. I believe I've mentioned before that Jenna's love for running is rather non-existent. She walked it. She started out running; however, they were running in groups of five, and the four went ahead of her so fast that she just decided to walk. It was awesome.
As far as the next event is concerned, we can call it a "dash" all we want, but there was no dashing. There was very little that could be considered walking quickly; however, there was much that could be called drudgery and, perhaps, slow motion. The girl just wasn't feeling it.
After the first three events, we were ready for lunch. The littlest sportstress was overcome with competing in this event. She had a hot dog, a bag of chips, two bags of cookies, and a sprite. The girl just needed some fuel, that's all. So, while she was carb loading in preparation for the last event of the day, The Hannimal and I sat with her and then were very surprised to see Coach Daddy arrive for a pep talk! It was in the cards. Jenna was primed for the long jump. She's all leg, so we were fairly confident that this might just be her event.
4'3"
Not bad. Not bad, indeed.
Even the judges were impressed. Wait. That's not right.
The judges were using positive reinforcement to stop her from playing in the sand. It seems that sand is a very powerful force to a six year old. In the same way that women, once a month, are drawn to cheesecake like a moth to a flame, a large pile of sand is simply irresistible and renders children deaf to adults trying to lure them out. It cannot be done.
That's not entirely true. Mothers know that there exists on this planet only one force stronger than the pull of sand.
As Jenna explained her sadness at not having won an event to me, I explained to her about my Field Day days. It seems that, as a child, my athleticism was similar to Jenna's. I was generally average - not noteworthy; however, there was one event in which I received a blue ribbon every single year. And I was pretty sure that the last event of the day would not only be Jenna's blue ribbon event, but that she would have the fire in her belly necessary to achieve mightily.
That event, ladies and gentleman, is The Snowcone Challenge.
She came, she saw, she conquered.
That snowcone didn't stand a chance with my baby.
Until next time, always remember, "One man's relay race is another girl's snowcone."
19 April 2010
The end of the season...
Though it was a short and very non-competitive season, Jenna finished up with her usual style and panache. The last game was played against her own teammates as there were not enough kidlets present to play for the other team, so a couple got transferred. Luckily, it wasn't like Dodgeball in High School where the captains had to pick the ones to come over to the other team. That could have been bad.
The worst part about this situation is the fact that they were all wearing the same color uniforms, so the game was truly a disaster of epic proportions. By the time the little ones ran down the court each time they had forgotten which kid was on which team. It was anarchy. I should also admit here that I forgot which kid was on which team as well because The Hannimal was busy with the fire alarm on the gymnasium door. All of these things preclude me from having a truly detailed report on this outing.
I will say that this game lasted forever. I have no idea who the timekeeper was, but it became increasingly obvious that he/she needed a new watch because I know those kids ran up and down that court without scoring for no fewer than 45 minutes. It really doesn't sound like a lot of time, but trust me --- if you were there, you would understand. It seemed like days.
The highlight of the game was Jenna's truly being convinced that the pizza party was right after the game. She came over to where I was sitting and informed me that she needed to stop playing in the game because her stomach was hurting and she wanted to be able to eat pizza at the party. I told her that the party was in four days.
Jenna, true to form, did not believe me and so the next time she ran down the court while her teammates were playing basketball, Jenna left the action in order to verify with the coach that the party was, indeed, right after the game.
The look on the coach's face was, at once, disbelief, amusement, anger, and pity. It seems like a lot of emotion to be having at once, but if any person on earth can cause all of these reactions at once, it's my Jenna.
Her disappointment was palpable and truly affected the rest of her performance during the game. For the last 7 or so minutes (in mommy time, that's 4 hours), Jenna walked, nay sauntered up and down the court. Had I known that a lack of potential pizza could cause such disdain, I would never have believed it. To be sure, I would petition the FedEx Forum to shut down the Coletta's in an attempt to render the Tigers' future opponents practically immobile. She looked as if she had lost her best friend and was searching for her across a vast desert of thick mud. Regardless of the accuracy of my similes, she looked as if she was actually moving in slow motion.
I had no idea that the only reason she had been running all season was for pizza. Everything makes so much more sense now. It's as if a giant light has been shone on the entire season.
Jenna was searching for her moment. That one unattainable moment wherein she would find herself with a completion like no other...for Jay Gatsby, it was Daisy...for my Jenna, it was Pepperoni.
Who's to say which is more noble? At least Jenna eventually got Pepperoni whereas, Gatsby got shot by a madman after losing Daisy yet again.
It does make one wonder though.
Final score: Blue 10, Blue 2
And because Coach Daddy and I have no idea which team Jenna was on, it may have been a win or it may have been a loss. We will never know.
In our book, however, and as is generally the case with all sports of the non-competitive variety, all of the Blues are winners.
And my Jenna is no exception.
The worst part about this situation is the fact that they were all wearing the same color uniforms, so the game was truly a disaster of epic proportions. By the time the little ones ran down the court each time they had forgotten which kid was on which team. It was anarchy. I should also admit here that I forgot which kid was on which team as well because The Hannimal was busy with the fire alarm on the gymnasium door. All of these things preclude me from having a truly detailed report on this outing.
I will say that this game lasted forever. I have no idea who the timekeeper was, but it became increasingly obvious that he/she needed a new watch because I know those kids ran up and down that court without scoring for no fewer than 45 minutes. It really doesn't sound like a lot of time, but trust me --- if you were there, you would understand. It seemed like days.
The highlight of the game was Jenna's truly being convinced that the pizza party was right after the game. She came over to where I was sitting and informed me that she needed to stop playing in the game because her stomach was hurting and she wanted to be able to eat pizza at the party. I told her that the party was in four days.
Jenna, true to form, did not believe me and so the next time she ran down the court while her teammates were playing basketball, Jenna left the action in order to verify with the coach that the party was, indeed, right after the game.
The look on the coach's face was, at once, disbelief, amusement, anger, and pity. It seems like a lot of emotion to be having at once, but if any person on earth can cause all of these reactions at once, it's my Jenna.
Her disappointment was palpable and truly affected the rest of her performance during the game. For the last 7 or so minutes (in mommy time, that's 4 hours), Jenna walked, nay sauntered up and down the court. Had I known that a lack of potential pizza could cause such disdain, I would never have believed it. To be sure, I would petition the FedEx Forum to shut down the Coletta's in an attempt to render the Tigers' future opponents practically immobile. She looked as if she had lost her best friend and was searching for her across a vast desert of thick mud. Regardless of the accuracy of my similes, she looked as if she was actually moving in slow motion.
I had no idea that the only reason she had been running all season was for pizza. Everything makes so much more sense now. It's as if a giant light has been shone on the entire season.
Jenna was searching for her moment. That one unattainable moment wherein she would find herself with a completion like no other...for Jay Gatsby, it was Daisy...for my Jenna, it was Pepperoni.
Who's to say which is more noble? At least Jenna eventually got Pepperoni whereas, Gatsby got shot by a madman after losing Daisy yet again.
It does make one wonder though.
Final score: Blue 10, Blue 2
And because Coach Daddy and I have no idea which team Jenna was on, it may have been a win or it may have been a loss. We will never know.
In our book, however, and as is generally the case with all sports of the non-competitive variety, all of the Blues are winners.
And my Jenna is no exception.
04 April 2010
In an odd turn of events...
Team Maroon is on a two game winning streak. Things have happened so quickly around here what with the endorsements and all that I haven't had a chance to update in awhile. My sincere apologies to all.
In all seriousness, Jenna's team has really turned around in the past few weeks. I have witnessed dribbling, passing, shooting and no fewer than three baskets attempted and made. Jenna has been kind enough (or distracted enough) to leave the cleaning lady alone and she has only been averaging one full on 'lay down at center court' move per game - down from 3.5 which was her average early on in the season. "Baby steps," I repeat to myself. "Baby steps."
Other colloquial phrases that are commonly used this season include, but are not limited to:
Slow and steady wins the race.
Patience is a virtue.
Give a man a fish and something something something.
Why aren't women made with builds capable of concealing a flask?
At any rate, Jenna's shooting is absolutely horrifying, but she does not know this nor would this knowledge stop her from trying. She has a tendency to throw the ball straight up - - - from wherever she might be in relation to the basket. She has hit two coaches at center court...twice. However, in her defense, the coaches should really pay more attention to a six year old with questionable motor skills weilding a basketball.
My favorite of her new basketball tactics is to announce where she is going to pass the ball. Columbo, she's not:
MIKAYLA!! CATCH!!!!!!!!!!
Sadly, nine times out of ten, Jenna has already thrown the ball straight up into the air before she has gotten the announcement off her chest. As one can imagine, I spend much of my time watching the game with my hands covering my eyes. Sometimes, I'm scared to look and I will admit, it alters the amount of information that I can correctly relay.
Having said all of this, Jenna's running has improved by a mile. She is super fast now that she has regressed to once again, running like a horse.
I forgot - the other colloquialism often running through my head during games:
You've got two coconuts and you're banging them together...
Which would be something...because then I could have a pina colada - if I could find a place to hide my flask.
Tuesday's match-up features a fiercely competitive navy blue team trying to break our winning streak. One of Navy's team members cries a lot, so we may have an advantage there; however, Jenna is a very sensitive sort and one cannot rule out the possibility of this being a ploy on the other team's part to take out one of our team members.
Then again, the one that cries might just be crying in anticipation of getting the stew knocked out of her by one of Jenna's wayward shot attempts. I doubt Jenna could throw the basketball into the Grand Canyon.
It isn't if you win or lose, it's how you play the game...
I saved that one for the last, because I'm not entirely sure if that makes me feel better or worse...
In all seriousness, Jenna's team has really turned around in the past few weeks. I have witnessed dribbling, passing, shooting and no fewer than three baskets attempted and made. Jenna has been kind enough (or distracted enough) to leave the cleaning lady alone and she has only been averaging one full on 'lay down at center court' move per game - down from 3.5 which was her average early on in the season. "Baby steps," I repeat to myself. "Baby steps."
Other colloquial phrases that are commonly used this season include, but are not limited to:
Slow and steady wins the race.
Patience is a virtue.
Give a man a fish and something something something.
Why aren't women made with builds capable of concealing a flask?
At any rate, Jenna's shooting is absolutely horrifying, but she does not know this nor would this knowledge stop her from trying. She has a tendency to throw the ball straight up - - - from wherever she might be in relation to the basket. She has hit two coaches at center court...twice. However, in her defense, the coaches should really pay more attention to a six year old with questionable motor skills weilding a basketball.
My favorite of her new basketball tactics is to announce where she is going to pass the ball. Columbo, she's not:
MIKAYLA!! CATCH!!!!!!!!!!
Sadly, nine times out of ten, Jenna has already thrown the ball straight up into the air before she has gotten the announcement off her chest. As one can imagine, I spend much of my time watching the game with my hands covering my eyes. Sometimes, I'm scared to look and I will admit, it alters the amount of information that I can correctly relay.
Having said all of this, Jenna's running has improved by a mile. She is super fast now that she has regressed to once again, running like a horse.
I forgot - the other colloquialism often running through my head during games:
You've got two coconuts and you're banging them together...
Which would be something...because then I could have a pina colada - if I could find a place to hide my flask.
Tuesday's match-up features a fiercely competitive navy blue team trying to break our winning streak. One of Navy's team members cries a lot, so we may have an advantage there; however, Jenna is a very sensitive sort and one cannot rule out the possibility of this being a ploy on the other team's part to take out one of our team members.
Then again, the one that cries might just be crying in anticipation of getting the stew knocked out of her by one of Jenna's wayward shot attempts. I doubt Jenna could throw the basketball into the Grand Canyon.
It isn't if you win or lose, it's how you play the game...
I saved that one for the last, because I'm not entirely sure if that makes me feel better or worse...
14 March 2010
Mid-Season break is over...
For some reason, Jenna's team played three games and then had three gamedays off for Spring Break. All things being equal, I think they should have practiced every day during Spring Break because "Breaking" is something at which Jenna, especially, is already familiar. At our last game, we took on the Navys. The Navy Blues were a force to be reckoned with and after the first five minutes, it became increasingly evident that what both teams lacked in skill, both made up for in sheer grit.
In the thirty minute practice prior to the matchup, Jenna hit the coach in the head with the basketball when a shot went awry. That is to say, she threw the ball straight into the air, high, and the coach was caught unawares. Practice went on and the coach decided from that moment forward that she would be more captivated by her surroundings on the high probability of facial laceration.
My intent with this entry was to list the high points of the basketball game; however, there were none. Jenna played in her usual style of independent play - in lay terms, she was generally at the opposite end of the court from the one she should have been at. That being said, Jenna did emerge as quite the defensive force during this outing.
The coach explained the defensive stance to Jenna and she did a remarkable job at blocking her opponent. Imagine, if you will, a skilled mime doing the part of climbing out of the invisible box. Or, if that doesn't work for you, imagine a dog or a cat looking at himself in the mirror. Jenna perfectly mirrored the moves of whichever opponent had the ball.
The girl may not be able to shoot and she may not have any idea what to do with a basketball, but she may have a brilliant future in Pantomime. If you see her in Central Park, give her a couple of bucks, will you? Because I'm fairly confident that her basketball scholarship is going to fall through.
Final Score:
Navy Blue 2, Maroon, 2.
Stay tuned for tomorrow's updatee when Maroon takes on Royal Blue in a cage match.
In the thirty minute practice prior to the matchup, Jenna hit the coach in the head with the basketball when a shot went awry. That is to say, she threw the ball straight into the air, high, and the coach was caught unawares. Practice went on and the coach decided from that moment forward that she would be more captivated by her surroundings on the high probability of facial laceration.
My intent with this entry was to list the high points of the basketball game; however, there were none. Jenna played in her usual style of independent play - in lay terms, she was generally at the opposite end of the court from the one she should have been at. That being said, Jenna did emerge as quite the defensive force during this outing.
The coach explained the defensive stance to Jenna and she did a remarkable job at blocking her opponent. Imagine, if you will, a skilled mime doing the part of climbing out of the invisible box. Or, if that doesn't work for you, imagine a dog or a cat looking at himself in the mirror. Jenna perfectly mirrored the moves of whichever opponent had the ball.
The girl may not be able to shoot and she may not have any idea what to do with a basketball, but she may have a brilliant future in Pantomime. If you see her in Central Park, give her a couple of bucks, will you? Because I'm fairly confident that her basketball scholarship is going to fall through.
Final Score:
Navy Blue 2, Maroon, 2.
Stay tuned for tomorrow's updatee when Maroon takes on Royal Blue in a cage match.
28 February 2010
Maroon v. Purple
Well, first, I would be remiss if I didn't call out ESPN for not posting the full results from Friday night's game on its Bottomline. It seems to me that ESPN must be getting incomplete data from the scores from around the nation. Thank goodness, I have this medium to post full results. I would hate for any scouts to miss out on Jenna's achievements.
In an odd turn of luck, the cleaning lady happened through the gymnasium during practice instead of during the game. I would also like to add that I hope, beyond all hope, that she is, indeed, Hispanic because Jenna once again made a beeline for her; however, this time, she said "Hola, Miss Cleaning Lady. Como estas?" The Cleaning Lady had a look on her face that I recognized as the same one that very famous people give stalkers.
During practice, there were a few (ok, two) moments that led me to believe that our team might, indeed, be a legitimate contender in non-competitive basketball. Jenna hit the rim once and hit the backboard once...both times with the ball, which is a glorious feeling! Unfortuntately, she also threw the ball straight up into the air the other 12 times she ran the same drill.
Our major obstacle this week was with catching the ball. Jenna has an uncanny ability to not pay attention in general; however, that ability is magnified by about 1000 times when an object is being passed to/thrown at her. I use both phrases because at times it is unclear as to the intent of the thrower as many of them are lacking in skills albeit to a lesser degree than Jenna, yet still to a larger degree than most normally developed six year olds. Jenna got hit in the face once and in the shoulder once. If she had even been following the game remotely - even in her periphery - she would not have gotten hit in the face with the ball. I don't know what she was looking at, but it wasn't anything involving basketball.
The bright spot of the game when Jenna's laziness and lack of interest produced a new defensive strategy that I'm sure will be picked up by all non-competitive coaches and their players. Keep in mind only three players are playing at a time while I try to describe the new play invented by my daughter that I have decided to call Malaise (due primarily to the lack of ease that I felt):
Purple scores a basket leaving Maroon to take the ball up the court. Jenna decides that it would be better for the team if she just stays behind underneath Purple's basket on the off chance that Purple comes back that way (I can only assume this is what she was thinking - otherwise, it's just too depressing). So her two other teammates run down on offense while Jenna is doing her impersonation of Feste the Clown (does anyone know where I can buy the child a lyre to go with her sneakers?). Go figure Purple steals the ball from Maroon and brings the ball back down. Jenna is primed for optimal defense, right? At the very least she has proximity on her side.
Had she any idea that a) the other team would be coming back in her general direction, or that b) she was about to be faced with the spoils of her own design (read: 3 on 1 with her being the 1), it is entirely plausible that her master plan would have been successful. As it stands, however:
Purple 10, Maroon 4
In the wise words of Farmer Fran, "We live to play another day."
In an odd turn of luck, the cleaning lady happened through the gymnasium during practice instead of during the game. I would also like to add that I hope, beyond all hope, that she is, indeed, Hispanic because Jenna once again made a beeline for her; however, this time, she said "Hola, Miss Cleaning Lady. Como estas?" The Cleaning Lady had a look on her face that I recognized as the same one that very famous people give stalkers.
During practice, there were a few (ok, two) moments that led me to believe that our team might, indeed, be a legitimate contender in non-competitive basketball. Jenna hit the rim once and hit the backboard once...both times with the ball, which is a glorious feeling! Unfortuntately, she also threw the ball straight up into the air the other 12 times she ran the same drill.
Our major obstacle this week was with catching the ball. Jenna has an uncanny ability to not pay attention in general; however, that ability is magnified by about 1000 times when an object is being passed to/thrown at her. I use both phrases because at times it is unclear as to the intent of the thrower as many of them are lacking in skills albeit to a lesser degree than Jenna, yet still to a larger degree than most normally developed six year olds. Jenna got hit in the face once and in the shoulder once. If she had even been following the game remotely - even in her periphery - she would not have gotten hit in the face with the ball. I don't know what she was looking at, but it wasn't anything involving basketball.
The bright spot of the game when Jenna's laziness and lack of interest produced a new defensive strategy that I'm sure will be picked up by all non-competitive coaches and their players. Keep in mind only three players are playing at a time while I try to describe the new play invented by my daughter that I have decided to call Malaise (due primarily to the lack of ease that I felt):
Purple scores a basket leaving Maroon to take the ball up the court. Jenna decides that it would be better for the team if she just stays behind underneath Purple's basket on the off chance that Purple comes back that way (I can only assume this is what she was thinking - otherwise, it's just too depressing). So her two other teammates run down on offense while Jenna is doing her impersonation of Feste the Clown (does anyone know where I can buy the child a lyre to go with her sneakers?). Go figure Purple steals the ball from Maroon and brings the ball back down. Jenna is primed for optimal defense, right? At the very least she has proximity on her side.
Had she any idea that a) the other team would be coming back in her general direction, or that b) she was about to be faced with the spoils of her own design (read: 3 on 1 with her being the 1), it is entirely plausible that her master plan would have been successful. As it stands, however:
Purple 10, Maroon 4
In the wise words of Farmer Fran, "We live to play another day."
23 February 2010
And so it begins...
Jenna's team had its first basketball game last night. As it turns out, she is on what is called a non-competitive league. After what I witnessed last night, I believe that this terminology is apt. I would almost say that "non-competetive" is an understatement, but as we are only one game into the season, I am trying to stay positive. After we got home, I had to watch six hours of basketball on ESPN in order to erase the memories of what I had seen. I'm feeling a little better today.
Jenna is on the "maroon" team. She and four other players complete the bench. Three kids play at a time. For some reason, there are two #4's on her team. She is one of them. Last night, the maroon team played the blue team. Rules that exist in non-competitive basketball are a little different from the rules of traditional basketball in that traveling, fouling, and double dribbling are not only not illegal, they are, evidently, encouraged. For the record, Jenna excels at each of the aforementioned three.
She has also learned a good deal about "smack talk." In the middle of the game she was seen walking up to an opposing team member and heard saying "You are going down." The opposing team member said, "What are you talking about? You don't have any points at all!" Lucky for the maroon team, technical fouls are not called either; however, we did have two timeouts for untied shoelaces.
To say that Jenna's team needs practice would be putting it rather mildly. To say that Jenna's team needs to learn what the object of the game of basketball is would probably be more accurate. I saw a lot of running, some hopping, much waving at me and a little bit of impromptu gymnastics, but very little basketball.
I must, however, give credit where credit is due. Jenna did hit the bottom of the rim and came closer than anyone else on her team to scoring a bucket. The entire maroon section of the bleachers erupted in laughter when I couldn't contain my enthusiasm and screamed:
SHE HIT THE RIM!!!!!! WITH THE BALL!!!!!
It was a rather proud moment. Unfortunately, my elation was shortlived because right after that the cleaning lady came through the gymnasium with her large cart of supplies causing Jenna to run to the opposite end of the court from the one at which her teammates were playing and say, "Hi Miss Cleaning Lady!" I'm not sure what else she said, because I was crying too hard, but it must have been a lengthy conversation because she didn't return to play for what seemed to be an excruciating amount of time.
Once she did return, she was tired. She decided to lay down fully outstretched at center court for a moment or two before she was, thankfully, benched.
Final Score: Blue Team 4, Maroon Team 0
My eyes have finally stopped bleeding and I am hoping that with the help of a fifth of rum and a coke, I can erase all of these memories. At least until Friday, when Maroon takes on Purple in a loser leave town match...
Until then...may all of your basketball be, at the very least, competitive.
Jenna is on the "maroon" team. She and four other players complete the bench. Three kids play at a time. For some reason, there are two #4's on her team. She is one of them. Last night, the maroon team played the blue team. Rules that exist in non-competitive basketball are a little different from the rules of traditional basketball in that traveling, fouling, and double dribbling are not only not illegal, they are, evidently, encouraged. For the record, Jenna excels at each of the aforementioned three.
She has also learned a good deal about "smack talk." In the middle of the game she was seen walking up to an opposing team member and heard saying "You are going down." The opposing team member said, "What are you talking about? You don't have any points at all!" Lucky for the maroon team, technical fouls are not called either; however, we did have two timeouts for untied shoelaces.
To say that Jenna's team needs practice would be putting it rather mildly. To say that Jenna's team needs to learn what the object of the game of basketball is would probably be more accurate. I saw a lot of running, some hopping, much waving at me and a little bit of impromptu gymnastics, but very little basketball.
I must, however, give credit where credit is due. Jenna did hit the bottom of the rim and came closer than anyone else on her team to scoring a bucket. The entire maroon section of the bleachers erupted in laughter when I couldn't contain my enthusiasm and screamed:
SHE HIT THE RIM!!!!!! WITH THE BALL!!!!!
It was a rather proud moment. Unfortunately, my elation was shortlived because right after that the cleaning lady came through the gymnasium with her large cart of supplies causing Jenna to run to the opposite end of the court from the one at which her teammates were playing and say, "Hi Miss Cleaning Lady!" I'm not sure what else she said, because I was crying too hard, but it must have been a lengthy conversation because she didn't return to play for what seemed to be an excruciating amount of time.
Once she did return, she was tired. She decided to lay down fully outstretched at center court for a moment or two before she was, thankfully, benched.
Final Score: Blue Team 4, Maroon Team 0
My eyes have finally stopped bleeding and I am hoping that with the help of a fifth of rum and a coke, I can erase all of these memories. At least until Friday, when Maroon takes on Purple in a loser leave town match...
Until then...may all of your basketball be, at the very least, competitive.
18 February 2010
Interview.
So I thought it might be a good idea to ask Jenna if she was looking forward to playing basketball and see what her feelings were with regard to the sport as a whole.
Two weeks ago, I had the privelege of taking her to a Tigers game and though she missed the first 20 or so minutes due to an obsession with the largest cup of Dippin' Dots on the planet, she seemed to enjoy the game once she started to watch it. I thought exposing her to the sport live as opposed to via television could help her to understand what a truly wonderful endeavor basketball is.
I interviewed the littlest athlete this morning and it went something like this...
Me: Why do you want to play basketball?
Jenna: Because I know how to dribble the ball good. Like three or four times.
(I'll try not to interject too often here, but her answer is a flat out lie. She has never dribbled a basketball in her life.)
Me: Why will you like playing basketball?
Jenna: Because you get to throw the ball and in soccer you don't.
Me: How many points do you think that you get for a basket?
Jenna: Three or four.
Me: What is a foul?
Jenna: A foul means a break because somebody did somebody wrong.
Me: How long does a game last?
Jenna: Two hours.
Me: Can you run for two hours?
Jenna: Maybe one and a half hours.
Me: Can you run fast?
Jenna: Oh yeah, of course I can run fast. I ran around the gym three times yesterday. And I wasn't the last one. I was the next to last one.
(Again, I must interject on the grounds that this answer is, for the most part, untrue as well. Jenna can only run fast if she is pretending to be a horse. Short of that, the child is not speedy.)
Me: What are you most looking forward to?
Jenna: Scoring a goal! 6-0!
Me: What do you dislike about basketball?
Jenna: The ball is orange and I wish it would be purple.
Me: How do you feel about playing basketball?
Jenna: Great fun and exciting, by the way, I spelled exciting yesterday and it was so easy.
Me: What kind of shoes would you like to get for basketball?
Jenna: Unfortunately, probably sneakers would be the best. White sneakers with purple stripes though. Definitely.
It remains to be seen what the season will hold, but the good news is that pictures are scheduled for tomorrow for the team. Smiles should be easy to come by...for now.
Two weeks ago, I had the privelege of taking her to a Tigers game and though she missed the first 20 or so minutes due to an obsession with the largest cup of Dippin' Dots on the planet, she seemed to enjoy the game once she started to watch it. I thought exposing her to the sport live as opposed to via television could help her to understand what a truly wonderful endeavor basketball is.
I interviewed the littlest athlete this morning and it went something like this...
Me: Why do you want to play basketball?
Jenna: Because I know how to dribble the ball good. Like three or four times.
(I'll try not to interject too often here, but her answer is a flat out lie. She has never dribbled a basketball in her life.)
Me: Why will you like playing basketball?
Jenna: Because you get to throw the ball and in soccer you don't.
Me: How many points do you think that you get for a basket?
Jenna: Three or four.
Me: What is a foul?
Jenna: A foul means a break because somebody did somebody wrong.
Me: How long does a game last?
Jenna: Two hours.
Me: Can you run for two hours?
Jenna: Maybe one and a half hours.
Me: Can you run fast?
Jenna: Oh yeah, of course I can run fast. I ran around the gym three times yesterday. And I wasn't the last one. I was the next to last one.
(Again, I must interject on the grounds that this answer is, for the most part, untrue as well. Jenna can only run fast if she is pretending to be a horse. Short of that, the child is not speedy.)
Me: What are you most looking forward to?
Jenna: Scoring a goal! 6-0!
Me: What do you dislike about basketball?
Jenna: The ball is orange and I wish it would be purple.
Me: How do you feel about playing basketball?
Jenna: Great fun and exciting, by the way, I spelled exciting yesterday and it was so easy.
Me: What kind of shoes would you like to get for basketball?
Jenna: Unfortunately, probably sneakers would be the best. White sneakers with purple stripes though. Definitely.
It remains to be seen what the season will hold, but the good news is that pictures are scheduled for tomorrow for the team. Smiles should be easy to come by...for now.
03 February 2010
Positive Reinforcement?
I think our first home game was my favorite of all the games that I had the privelege of observing. We played a team comprised of first and second graders. Our team was comprised of kindergarteners and first graders. I'm not sure how familiar you are with age differences in children, but it's not so much like it is when one is trying to justify dating someone several years older or younger than oneself. For example, when I was 25, there was nothing wrong with dating a 30 year old, right? Of course not - Coach Daddy is five years older than I am.
That said, there is a world of difference between a 5 year old and a 7 year old. There is a world of concepts that are easily grasped by a 7 year old that would leave a 5 year old in the dark.
One such concept is competition.
We went to the first home game elated by our certain home field advantage and when our little team left that day it was still elated. The elation came not from winning the game but from some kind of misguided rule in childrens' sports whereby even if the team loses in an abyssmal fashion, the children still receive snacks on par with a victory celebration. I must admit here, that I am against this practice - after this game, it was clear that not only were cupcakes inappropriate, but that they most certainly conveyed the wrong message to this team.
Highlights from this game include, but are not limited to:
~one child's crying in the center circle for a full six minutes due to the fact that she was not picked to be goalie (once we were allowed a substitution, she was able to come off the field)
~our team's scoring another two goals for the opposition
~Jenna's leaving the field in the middle of the game to go to the bathroom (this was a stellar moment for Coach Daddy)
~Jenna and her best friend holding hands for much of the second half of the game
~one child's attempt to beat the holy hell out of an opposing team member for laughing at the little girl crying in the center circle (it was my hope for the remainder of that doomed season that we could channel that rage into lust for the ball; alas, it was not meant to be)
I believe my mother (who has no understanding of the sport of soccer - much like our team) said it best when she asked me about the field:
Mom: What is the deal with that other goal at the end of the field? Don't we use that one?
Me: That's our goal, and no...we don't use it.
To be more apt, we never moved across the midfield line that day. The final score was 21-0 (again, though, using our math the score was actually 19-0 as we did score two of their goals for them) and those numbers do not even come close to appropriately describing the chasm between the two skill sets at play. It was like watching my grandmother try to outrebound Wilt Chamberlain - in a word, futile.
Our girls were picking flowers and playing princess. The opposing team was playing the sport as best they could while dodging the obstacles put in place by our team. To the credit of the other team, they successfully dodged our midfield trap comprised of Jenna and her best friend making daisy chains and hugging (a lofty defensive strategy that would prove an integral facet contributing to Coach Daddy's early onset of cirrohsis), our goalie's flat disregard for staying anywhere near the goal and the blinding distraction caused by constant head shaking of our girls' fathers. So, all in all, we must give the other team credit where credit is due.
And to our team? Well, I like to think that the cupcakes were earned based on the style and potential resale value of some pretty good looking daisy chains, because I refuse to believe that a soccer team allowing 21 (well, 19) points by the opposition is in need of cupcakes.
A friend once called me a "soccer mom." As you can see, I wholeheartedly beg to differ. To date, I have seen no soccer. To date, I have seen tears and daisy chains. And I must say, when Coach Daddy cries like that, it is heartbreaking.
That said, there is a world of difference between a 5 year old and a 7 year old. There is a world of concepts that are easily grasped by a 7 year old that would leave a 5 year old in the dark.
One such concept is competition.
We went to the first home game elated by our certain home field advantage and when our little team left that day it was still elated. The elation came not from winning the game but from some kind of misguided rule in childrens' sports whereby even if the team loses in an abyssmal fashion, the children still receive snacks on par with a victory celebration. I must admit here, that I am against this practice - after this game, it was clear that not only were cupcakes inappropriate, but that they most certainly conveyed the wrong message to this team.
Highlights from this game include, but are not limited to:
~one child's crying in the center circle for a full six minutes due to the fact that she was not picked to be goalie (once we were allowed a substitution, she was able to come off the field)
~our team's scoring another two goals for the opposition
~Jenna's leaving the field in the middle of the game to go to the bathroom (this was a stellar moment for Coach Daddy)
~Jenna and her best friend holding hands for much of the second half of the game
~one child's attempt to beat the holy hell out of an opposing team member for laughing at the little girl crying in the center circle (it was my hope for the remainder of that doomed season that we could channel that rage into lust for the ball; alas, it was not meant to be)
I believe my mother (who has no understanding of the sport of soccer - much like our team) said it best when she asked me about the field:
Mom: What is the deal with that other goal at the end of the field? Don't we use that one?
Me: That's our goal, and no...we don't use it.
To be more apt, we never moved across the midfield line that day. The final score was 21-0 (again, though, using our math the score was actually 19-0 as we did score two of their goals for them) and those numbers do not even come close to appropriately describing the chasm between the two skill sets at play. It was like watching my grandmother try to outrebound Wilt Chamberlain - in a word, futile.
Our girls were picking flowers and playing princess. The opposing team was playing the sport as best they could while dodging the obstacles put in place by our team. To the credit of the other team, they successfully dodged our midfield trap comprised of Jenna and her best friend making daisy chains and hugging (a lofty defensive strategy that would prove an integral facet contributing to Coach Daddy's early onset of cirrohsis), our goalie's flat disregard for staying anywhere near the goal and the blinding distraction caused by constant head shaking of our girls' fathers. So, all in all, we must give the other team credit where credit is due.
And to our team? Well, I like to think that the cupcakes were earned based on the style and potential resale value of some pretty good looking daisy chains, because I refuse to believe that a soccer team allowing 21 (well, 19) points by the opposition is in need of cupcakes.
A friend once called me a "soccer mom." As you can see, I wholeheartedly beg to differ. To date, I have seen no soccer. To date, I have seen tears and daisy chains. And I must say, when Coach Daddy cries like that, it is heartbreaking.
22 January 2010
A brief history of soccer
If you're like me, you have problems watching soccer. Though empirically, the men playing soccer are better looking than men participating in any other sport, it is still with great difficulty that I observe any sporting event where both teams may end a game having scored one or two goals. Riveting, it is not. I am a sports fan who likes goals and baskets - and lots of them. Needless to say, when Jenna came home from school in the fall and informed us that she wanted to play soccer, I was nonplussed. I thought of leisurely Saturday mornings replaced with hours and hours of watching children run around in no organized fashion (it has been said that I have a touch of psychic ability) and also, I thought of grass stains and broken bones (not necessarily in that order).
I vacillated somewhat between dread and anticipation prior to the season's start. But then I thought of purchasing tiny little cleats, and the world seemed bright again...
After volunteering my husband to be the Head Coach of Jenna's soccer team, and after he started speaking to me again, the team started practicing for their first big game. Coach Daddy would come home after practice and get straight into the bourbon in hopes of erasing all of the memories of said practice. After a week or so, I learned to have the bourbon waiting for him at the front door, not unlike a dysfunctional June Cleaver. As the weeks wore on, it became increasingly evident that Coach Daddy was unlikely to turn this group of girls into a well oiled soccer machine. His breaking point came before the first game when practice had to be halted for a full twenty minutes when one of the girls spotted a rainbow.
Though lacking in the competitive spirit, Jenna's team (and, specifically, Jenna) had flair. The verve and panache of which I spoke in a previous entry would prove integral to both this team's lack of success as well as its inability to operate as a cohesive unit. Interestingly enough, my biggest fear of being bored with a lack of scoring would prove to be unfounded. These soccer games contained more points than many NFL games that I have witnessed.
Unfortunately, the points were scored against us rather than by any of our own team members - unless you count the goals that we scored for the opposing teams (which, in retrospect, I do - in order to stave off the flashbacks).
Our first game was very exciting. We lost 6-0; however, we scored two of their goals for them, so technically we lost 4-0. That said, one of the girls on the opposing team was clearly brought in from a Junior High School on the other side of the tracks. She was nine feet tall and she scored their only 4 goals. If we look at this game mathematically, it looks like this:
Goals scored - Ineligble player/Witness Protection Program Participant/Ringer - Inability to locate goal = 0
Technically, I like to think of this game as a 0-0 tie leading me back to my original assessment that soccer does not have enough scoring. That said, it was the most exciting game I had seen up until that point in the soccer world...even if the reality in which I choose to live resulted in a game where there were no net goals scored.
Jenna's contribution to this game was palpable - her very domineering presence on the field was enough to give the other team pause. She played for approximately 15 minutes total, in increments of 4-5 minute stretches. We lost her at one point when she wandered off to the swingsets near the field and the sheer volume of Gatorade the child consumed was impressive. After her first break, she asked if she could have a hot dog. She was denied her request, took her place on the bench and when asked to rotate in for the final 6 minutes she informed us that she was tired and that she did not like to run.
I must admit, however, with regard my initial worries about the soccer experience, it not only came as quite the relief when I found that my daughter would come home with the cleanest uniform on the team, but also once I realized that the liklihood of a broken bone was low due to her proximity to the action on the field. My fears were allayed after the first game; however, they were to be replaced with other emotions.
Obviously, it was going to be a long season. We were optimistic after the first game as the other team had not truly, in our somewhat misguided opinion, beaten us. Very soon, however, we would find that optimism to be replaced with dread and a season long nausea akin to one associated with Norwalk Virus.
I vacillated somewhat between dread and anticipation prior to the season's start. But then I thought of purchasing tiny little cleats, and the world seemed bright again...
After volunteering my husband to be the Head Coach of Jenna's soccer team, and after he started speaking to me again, the team started practicing for their first big game. Coach Daddy would come home after practice and get straight into the bourbon in hopes of erasing all of the memories of said practice. After a week or so, I learned to have the bourbon waiting for him at the front door, not unlike a dysfunctional June Cleaver. As the weeks wore on, it became increasingly evident that Coach Daddy was unlikely to turn this group of girls into a well oiled soccer machine. His breaking point came before the first game when practice had to be halted for a full twenty minutes when one of the girls spotted a rainbow.
Though lacking in the competitive spirit, Jenna's team (and, specifically, Jenna) had flair. The verve and panache of which I spoke in a previous entry would prove integral to both this team's lack of success as well as its inability to operate as a cohesive unit. Interestingly enough, my biggest fear of being bored with a lack of scoring would prove to be unfounded. These soccer games contained more points than many NFL games that I have witnessed.
Unfortunately, the points were scored against us rather than by any of our own team members - unless you count the goals that we scored for the opposing teams (which, in retrospect, I do - in order to stave off the flashbacks).
Our first game was very exciting. We lost 6-0; however, we scored two of their goals for them, so technically we lost 4-0. That said, one of the girls on the opposing team was clearly brought in from a Junior High School on the other side of the tracks. She was nine feet tall and she scored their only 4 goals. If we look at this game mathematically, it looks like this:
Goals scored - Ineligble player/Witness Protection Program Participant/Ringer - Inability to locate goal = 0
Technically, I like to think of this game as a 0-0 tie leading me back to my original assessment that soccer does not have enough scoring. That said, it was the most exciting game I had seen up until that point in the soccer world...even if the reality in which I choose to live resulted in a game where there were no net goals scored.
Jenna's contribution to this game was palpable - her very domineering presence on the field was enough to give the other team pause. She played for approximately 15 minutes total, in increments of 4-5 minute stretches. We lost her at one point when she wandered off to the swingsets near the field and the sheer volume of Gatorade the child consumed was impressive. After her first break, she asked if she could have a hot dog. She was denied her request, took her place on the bench and when asked to rotate in for the final 6 minutes she informed us that she was tired and that she did not like to run.
I must admit, however, with regard my initial worries about the soccer experience, it not only came as quite the relief when I found that my daughter would come home with the cleanest uniform on the team, but also once I realized that the liklihood of a broken bone was low due to her proximity to the action on the field. My fears were allayed after the first game; however, they were to be replaced with other emotions.
Obviously, it was going to be a long season. We were optimistic after the first game as the other team had not truly, in our somewhat misguided opinion, beaten us. Very soon, however, we would find that optimism to be replaced with dread and a season long nausea akin to one associated with Norwalk Virus.
19 January 2010
It was always in the cards...
Jenna was just one of those kids who never, ever did anything that she wasn't told to do (physically speaking - verbally she says things that she shouldn't say a lot). She never climbed out of the crib, never attempted to scale a baby gate, never went where she wasn't supposed to go. When my youngest was about a year old, I realized that where one excelled verbally, the other would excel physically. And, holy wow, that is a complete understatement.
The Hannimal (whose name was earned, not ascribed lightly, mind you) taught Jenna (3 years her senior) how to climb over a gate. The Hannimal taught Jenna all kinds of things that never entered Jenna's realm of thought to try.
Unfortunately, Jenna's ambition was found almost immediately to exceed her ability.
Herein lies the problem.
When I had to teach Jenna how to jump, I knew that we weren't looking at a future WNBA player, future Women's World Cup competitor, or even a worthy table tennis adversary. As far as I can tell, though we keep trying, sports and all things athletic fit Jenna about as well as period pieces fit Tom Cruise. That is to say, not well and with much nausea.
As we ready ourselves for the third try in a series of athletic related endeavors, we must ask ourselves why? Why does my lovely daughter insist on being completely pumped for basketball season even though I know that she is going to draw fouls with the same ability that Georgia O'Keefe has of making flowers look downright dirty. Because once we draw the foul, we get the opportunity to put the ball through the hoop - while everyone is watching...
I woke up in a cold sweat this morning with the realization that my daughter could, very well, ruin one of my greatest pleasures in life - the sport of basketball. It's possible that after stomaching an entire season of 6 year olds playing this sport that I might never recover. I may never be able to enjoy the sound of the swoosh again. Could it be?
Part of me thinks that I must stop this from happening. I must sign her up for singing lessons, or tap dancing lessons, or art class instead. However, I cannot.
For I know, deep down inside, that I will always be able to enjoy the sound of the swoosh. The swoosh will always bring me back to the empirical love for the sport.
And, of course, the good news is if Jenna's basketball team is anything like her soccer team from last fall, I won't have to worry about getting tired of hearing the swoosh.
The Hannimal (whose name was earned, not ascribed lightly, mind you) taught Jenna (3 years her senior) how to climb over a gate. The Hannimal taught Jenna all kinds of things that never entered Jenna's realm of thought to try.
Unfortunately, Jenna's ambition was found almost immediately to exceed her ability.
Herein lies the problem.
When I had to teach Jenna how to jump, I knew that we weren't looking at a future WNBA player, future Women's World Cup competitor, or even a worthy table tennis adversary. As far as I can tell, though we keep trying, sports and all things athletic fit Jenna about as well as period pieces fit Tom Cruise. That is to say, not well and with much nausea.
As we ready ourselves for the third try in a series of athletic related endeavors, we must ask ourselves why? Why does my lovely daughter insist on being completely pumped for basketball season even though I know that she is going to draw fouls with the same ability that Georgia O'Keefe has of making flowers look downright dirty. Because once we draw the foul, we get the opportunity to put the ball through the hoop - while everyone is watching...
I woke up in a cold sweat this morning with the realization that my daughter could, very well, ruin one of my greatest pleasures in life - the sport of basketball. It's possible that after stomaching an entire season of 6 year olds playing this sport that I might never recover. I may never be able to enjoy the sound of the swoosh again. Could it be?
Part of me thinks that I must stop this from happening. I must sign her up for singing lessons, or tap dancing lessons, or art class instead. However, I cannot.
For I know, deep down inside, that I will always be able to enjoy the sound of the swoosh. The swoosh will always bring me back to the empirical love for the sport.
And, of course, the good news is if Jenna's basketball team is anything like her soccer team from last fall, I won't have to worry about getting tired of hearing the swoosh.
16 January 2010
In order to fully understand the level of disinterest that my child has for all things athletic, it would be important to note that while she was writing her letter to Santa, I asked her to check with her little sister and add her requests to the letter as well. The younger daughter said that she wanted a baseball bat and a glove. When she came back to report her findings, it went like this:
Jenna: She said she wanted a baseball hat and a glove.
Me: I think she said "bat."
Jenna: No, she said "hat."
Me: Why don't you go ask her again, just to be sure...
*Cue Jenna entering the room, head hanging in complete and total dejection*
Jenna: You were right. She said "bat."
Me: I kind of thought so.
Jenna: (shaking head in disbelief) I just don't understand why anyone would want a bat when they could have a hat.
Herein lies the difference between my oldest and my youngest. They are night and day, oil and water, Nancy Pelosi and good skin care practices...
In the Autumn of 2008, Jenna wanted to join the gymnastics program at her school. Though a mature 5, she wasn't quite physically gifted enough to hang with the other 5 year olds and immediately got demoted to the "baby class." She was not happy. She did, however, continue to go to the lessons and my assumption was that she would excel when compared to the 3 and 4 year olds. I mean, she was the oldest child in that particular class, and it stands to reason that she could handle the material, right?
Not so much.
Her Christmas Gymnastics program was absolutely one of the worst car wrecks I have ever had the privelege of attending. It was as uncomfortable as an episode of "I Love Lucy" with the added benefit of watching 3 year olds that completely surpassed my beautiful daughter in both skill and coordination. If you add to that the fact that my Jenna has absolutely zero concept of how goofy she allows herself to be and how very proud of that goofiness that she is? You have all of the makings of a complete parental cringeworthy nightmare.
It. was. fabulous.
Jenna is uncanny in her sense of self. She does not give two shits about what you think of her. She is absolutely solid with regard to self-esteem. That said, there are occasions when she should not be. This was one of those occasions.
Jenna: She said she wanted a baseball hat and a glove.
Me: I think she said "bat."
Jenna: No, she said "hat."
Me: Why don't you go ask her again, just to be sure...
*Cue Jenna entering the room, head hanging in complete and total dejection*
Jenna: You were right. She said "bat."
Me: I kind of thought so.
Jenna: (shaking head in disbelief) I just don't understand why anyone would want a bat when they could have a hat.
Herein lies the difference between my oldest and my youngest. They are night and day, oil and water, Nancy Pelosi and good skin care practices...
In the Autumn of 2008, Jenna wanted to join the gymnastics program at her school. Though a mature 5, she wasn't quite physically gifted enough to hang with the other 5 year olds and immediately got demoted to the "baby class." She was not happy. She did, however, continue to go to the lessons and my assumption was that she would excel when compared to the 3 and 4 year olds. I mean, she was the oldest child in that particular class, and it stands to reason that she could handle the material, right?
Not so much.
Her Christmas Gymnastics program was absolutely one of the worst car wrecks I have ever had the privelege of attending. It was as uncomfortable as an episode of "I Love Lucy" with the added benefit of watching 3 year olds that completely surpassed my beautiful daughter in both skill and coordination. If you add to that the fact that my Jenna has absolutely zero concept of how goofy she allows herself to be and how very proud of that goofiness that she is? You have all of the makings of a complete parental cringeworthy nightmare.
It. was. fabulous.
Jenna is uncanny in her sense of self. She does not give two shits about what you think of her. She is absolutely solid with regard to self-esteem. That said, there are occasions when she should not be. This was one of those occasions.
12 January 2010
A brief history...
One would have to know my oldest daughter to truly appreciate the intent of this blog; it is not to insult, belittle, or disparage, but to record, treasure, and have a great deal of amusement at the expense of my little athlete. If you view athletes as something of a personality as opposed to something of an honest to goodness machine that produces baskets, goals, and runs - you will find yourself in the right place. For my daughter is loaded with personality, you see. She is funny, smart, and about as girly as they come.
What the child lacks in skills of the motor variety, she makes up for in verve and panache.
The purpose of these entries will not be to highlight the verve, but rather to cohesively examine how the verve is so very intertwined with the clumsiness. The purpose is to come to a basic understanding of why I sit and watch my beautiful six year old daughter participate in sporting events of all varieties when I know, beyond all doubt, that her future in sports would be limited to being a line judge a Wimbledon as opposed to an actual threat on any court, field, or diamond.
I love her dearly, but her skills are and most likely always will be better suited to the skills needed by shoppers, ticketholders, and snack vendors. I say these things empirically, for they are undeniable. I say these things out of love.
And I say these things because my daughter is funny.
What the child lacks in skills of the motor variety, she makes up for in verve and panache.
The purpose of these entries will not be to highlight the verve, but rather to cohesively examine how the verve is so very intertwined with the clumsiness. The purpose is to come to a basic understanding of why I sit and watch my beautiful six year old daughter participate in sporting events of all varieties when I know, beyond all doubt, that her future in sports would be limited to being a line judge a Wimbledon as opposed to an actual threat on any court, field, or diamond.
I love her dearly, but her skills are and most likely always will be better suited to the skills needed by shoppers, ticketholders, and snack vendors. I say these things empirically, for they are undeniable. I say these things out of love.
And I say these things because my daughter is funny.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)