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Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Check please?!

This weekend we went to the park with another family. The afternoon started innocently enough with a walk down to the lake and a picnic. Afterward, the kids wanted to play soccer and quickly enlisted the adults to act as human boundary markers/referees.

The kids were playing happily, but it quickly became apparent that even though the physical number of players was even the teams were horribly unbalanced. One of my daughters is freakishly athletic and she was out-playing everyone else on the field. Nobody was really bothered by this but I pulled her aside a couple times and told her to back off a bit. It didn't work.

One of the players wanted to break for water and rather than stopping the game I decided I would sub for her and take the opportunity to even things up a bit. I jumped into the game and was giving my daughter a run for her money while also passing the ball to the kids who'd been getting out-played. Brilliant, right? What could go wrong?

I was giving my daughter a concentrated dose of see-this-is-how-it-feels-to-get-your-butt-kicked when everything went awry. I can still see it in slow motion. Hannah had the ball and was rushing for the goal. My objective was to stop her and pass to the younger players. So I did what any brilliant strategist would do -- I charged her! It was just Hannah, the ball and me, and I knocked the ball loose and into the trajectory of the opposing team. I also knocked Hannah on her butt. And made her cry. And she doesn't cry easily. Remember those Charlie Brown cartoons where Charlie runs to kick the football and ends up flying through the air before hitting the ground like a sack of potatoes?


Now in my defense, the other adults who were watching swear that I didn't knock her over. They insist that I wasn't overly aggressive with her. It all appeared reasonable. I was just trying to shift the advantage a little for cryin' out loud. Tell me I didn't just body check my own daughter.

In my heart I know I didn't really body check her. I also know that if I ever embark upon a course of action with the end result being to give one of my daughters a concentrated dose of see-this-is-how-it-feels-to-get-your-butt-kicked, well, I might step back and think for a minute.

12 comments:

angi_b72 said...

Hi!! Stopping by from SITS welcome wagon!! Love your blog!

Anonymous said...

Good Grief......
Love MOM

Anonymous said...

Ooops. Sounds like something I would do.

You might have to make her favorite dinner or something. Maybe an extra Valentine treat??!

Just Lisa said...

I love this!

The best thing about this story is that you were able to keep up with Hannah! If it was me, I'd be yelling from the sidelines, "Hey! Pass it to the other kids! I'm going to sit here and eat another donut!"

Welcome to SITS! We're happy to have you!

Minxy Mimi said...

Love Peanuts!
I am sure you didnt mean to "pull the ball away" from her like that mean old Lucy does!

Anonymous said...

Love the story. I'm sure every daughter deserve a body check now and then (I know I did).

Welcome to SITS!

Anonymous said...

KathyB! If there is one thing I know about you it's that you'd never knock over your kids on purpose. You give yourself too much of a hard time!!

Mary K Brennan said...

Dear Chuck,
Maybe your daughter suffers from Atelophobia (fear of imperfection), or Attchiphobia (fear of failure). Luckily her mother doesn't suffer from Allodoxaphobia (fear of opinions). Keep smiling! Your daughter will recover, and so will you.

Lucia said...

I bopped my son's head on accident and I bawled like a baby over it, he was ok. Sounds like handled it well! Motherhood indeed.

~a sitsa

Rachael Schirano \\ Rachael Schirano Photography said...

sounds like something i would do!

welcome to SITS!

Anonymous said...

You didn't do it on purpose. Just like I didn't push a one-year old down when he tried to knock over my baby. I was just making sure he was conscious of his dance space.

Anonymous said...

You've given me a peek into the future. But it won't be me jumping in; it'll be the husband, and he'll play for keeps. *sigh*