When the kids say something about subs at a soccer match, my mind goes to steak and cheese. Or turkey and avocado. It’s just how it is and I can’t change it. But the distraction is mostly temporary.
When I sub a kid into a game, it gives us a bit of a forum to talk that we don’t normally get.
You’re my mom’s favorite coach, but not my dad’s one girl told me. A new player told me how nervous she was to get in. Hayden didn’t spend a lot of time there, but as she waited to go back in after getting her first yellow card, we both tried not to snicker too loud.
Which is good. That means I can’t check email or get lost on Instagram. Again. It means it’s a good idea, while I’m on this flight, for me to have packed a couple of books loaded with writing prompts on my way to San Jose.
I got a little help from the girl next to me on the plane – after we’d sufficiently gushed over how incredible the cookies they give out are (I even scored three extra packs from the flight attendant – and folded up an origami peacock in appreciation).
My seatmate chose two prompts for me to write on from the book 300 Writing Prompts (Piccadilly 2017):
I don’t have time for all this! But also, I’ve been given 24 hours to figure out how to do it all – that’s a lot of time! (I also think about Michelle Gingras, Stonehenge, and Havarti cheese, but that’s for another post.)
What’s left in the middle is that time is time, there’s no time like the present, you can’t make new time, and it’s time to go. Also, I might not have time to finish this post until tonight, which is sorta like getting to the fair 10 minutes before it packs up and hits the road.
Not that big a deal. But, also twice the serving size. (I even cut it only into two pieces, you know? Two-piece maximum.) When I eat half the pizza, I feel normal. Average. So then that other half looks back at me … tantalizing …
Where was I going with this?
Oh, quality. Well, I still can’t remember the exact connection I was trying to make. But it’s almost lunchtime. And I’ve fallen behind on this challenge. And I haven’t been thrilled with the writing quality. I feel like I should write more ahead of time. I feel repetitive.
Not always. I’ve had to wait for the meat lovers pizza to come out at Cici’s. All with the pressure of other carnivores waiting in the wings. That’s a double whammy: Needing patience, and a plan to put pepperoni pizza in your pie hole before everyone else.
It began really when I started to coach soccer.
The kids were little. The challenge was big. When you coach 6-year-olds, you’re at a disadvantage. Instinctively, every dog, airplane or finger-picking opportunity threatens to upstage you and steal your players’ attention.
You either grow patience, or you retire to the other sideline.
They’ve been rounding up for years. When my hair thinned just a hair, they declared me bald. They joke that my social security number is 47. Thing is, I’m probably the youngest 40-something dad among any of their friends.
The best old-guy insult came by one of Hayden’s friends.
\We’ll call her Anabel. I sat with Anabel and Hayden in an amphitheater at Carowinds theme park. We were visitors with the choir and band, I think. We were waiting for the show about dinosaurs to begin – and they were running late.
The stars aligned with the big L on the forehead today, didn’t they? Today’s must-reads take on a couple of sticking points and problem areas. They’re good reads, though. I hope you get as much out of them as I did.
When I feel that self-esteem taking kidney punches on the ropes, I duck and cover and pray for the bell to end the round.
We do #gratitudeandshit around here. Why not #kickasskindness? Kindness kind of gets a bad rap. Like, me, in middle school, when someone started the rumor that I curled my hair. Psh. It spreads like wildfire. Or negative Yelp! reviews.
People equate kind with weak. But that’s not always so. That’s why I like when one of my players trucks another player then helps her up. That’s sweet, right? It’s like, not in my neighborhood, !@#$!, then, you okay, sister?
No, not showbiz. The newspaper biz. Usually, you can tell by the scuffed shirt cuffs and clothes bought in 1986. Used. Not in this case, though. Esther Robards-Forbes and I both worked for the Charlotte Observer back in the day.
She’s now in public relations at the University of Texas.
We had a conversation years ago that would have been one of the earliest #GirlsRock interviews. Instead, it sat in drafts, like those old archive rooms back in the newsroom. It was an awesome find for me.
It’s time for the letter I in the #AtoZChallenge. I picked three questions with the letter I from the list. They’re also the oldest I questions, so it’s nostalgic. These were probably asked at least six years ago. There are some hilarious early questions in there.
For example: Are jesters slaves to the queen?
Good one. Can’t wait to tackle that one. I suspect it might have arisen as we talked about my employment options at one point. I so was born in the wrong era, y’ all. Ever get that feeling? At least I can still blog about it.