In an effort to shorten the amount of time it would normally take to determine which extra-circumnavigating activities (sportswise, at least) R & V would most enjoy, I opted to sign them up for a sort of sampler sports class. The first two weeks, they learned soccer fundamentals. At the end, they went two-on-two against the boys and I was shocked—completely shocked—at the volume of which I am capable when shrieking—shrieking—in their support. There was a long moment when Vida passed the ball to Ri, who then proceeded to dribble in the world's largest half-circle (yet still in bounds!), thwarting every attempt of the whippersnapper boys to steal the ball. As she approached the goal, I nearly lost my mind. I screamed so hard that veins were visible along my normally ladylike neck. Coach A. yelled, "She...could..go...all...the...way..." And she did! Then she ran to her sister and they did a jock hug, and I just wanted to lay on the grass and weep.
Yesterday? Day 1 of basketball. First of all, it took all my skills of manipulation to get them to don the yellow and red practice jerseys. Jersey that the boys, by the way, immediately threw on. "Sorry," I said to Coach A. "We're having fashion issues." After they spent 20 minutes spastically slapping at the ball ("I want you to try to push the ball when you dribble," said Coach A. "See? Push the ball. There you go, there you go, no, no, that's slapping again...") and/or hitting their feet which sent the ball zipping all over the court, I called the spousal unit and left a message. "I just want you to know that I think our dream of living vicariously through their WNBA careers is pretty much dead." Then I hung up and started laughing because, truth be told, I pretty much crack myself up.
The good news is that they didn't give up despite their frustration. And, well, there's always Day 2. Meanwhile, I'll sip hot tea and let my vocal chords heal.
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