There’s no crying in Kickball

I’ve become one of “those moms”.  You know, the mom that you try to avoid sitting next to on the bleachers at your kid’s game because she delights in shrieking instructions to her offspring.  And she’s the same gal who has been warned by her husband that she should never yell in public because she sounds like she’s insane.

Yeah, that one.

Our local community center offers inexpensive P.E. and Art classes for homeschool students on Thursdays. We take advantage of that opportunity.  Because A) I don’t do P.E., and B) a chance for my children to engage in art activities that involve GLUE and PAINT, and I don’t have to clean up?  SIGN ME UP.

Today, the children participated in a friendly game of Kickball.  Interestingly, most homeschool kids don’t know how to play Kickball.  Or maybe that’s just mine.  But anyhoo, today they were introduced to this fine sport.

Not Jensen, however, as he wants nothing to do with his PE class designed for the younger kids because, get this, it has a “girl teacher”.  For whatever reason, he just thinks this is wrong.  He explains it away that he is “shy of her”.  You would think the big draw of joining in would be that the class is full of all of his very best buddies, including the beautiful E and K.  Yet he is content to sit on the sidelines, and either gaze lovingly at E and K, or play his beloved Nintendo DS.  And I let him.  So that I can have a few moments to string thoughts together and chat with my homeschooling com padres.  Don’t judge me.

After the younger kids ended their class, it was time for my older girls to play Kickball with their age appropriate peers.  Jensen happily trotted off to his art class, wherein he learned how to make trail mix while sitting next to his beloved E and K.

After a while, I rather got into the game.  Emme and Cailey were playing on opposite teams, which made choosing a side sticky.  So I determined I would simply cheer for them both.  Emme showed little enthusiasm, as she manned first base with her arms folded across her chest.  It’s difficult to, you know, catch the ball, with your arms folded.  While you contemplate the ceiling.  But being ELEVEN is hard work.  What with all the attitude you must exhibit, lest anyone think you’re uncool.

Again, I must remember my weekly apology to my dad for everything I put my parents through when I was 11.  I recall how I would insist that my dad drop me off a block away at parochial school if he were to chauffeur me in the green International pickup truck.  Because to be spotted climbing out of Old Ugly Green, was a fate akin to slow death.  Having to endure the requisite maroon plaid uniform was torture enough.

When it was Cailey’s turn at bat to kick, she was able to place the ball on the home plate and kick it from there.  Happily, this was an impromptu idea set down by the gym teacher, so that the game could be expedited with the allotted hour time frame.  Because none of the athletes had the gift of “pitching” the kickball anywhere near the kicker.

I cupped my hands and commenced with the encouraging.  COME ON CAILEY, YOU CAN DO IT!  KICK IT OVER THEIR HEADS!   She turned her little strawberry blonde head completely around AND GAVE ME THE FACE.

My Cailey gave my the face.  My Cailey who still kisses me goodbye whenever I drop her off at Sunday School, Awana, and A.H.G.  Gave me the face.  Later at dinner she chastised me because I was interrupting her “concentration”.

When she composed her dignity, she kicked the ball hard, and skipped around the bases.  Leaping over each one.  Like a gazelle.  I reminded her that she needed to actually TOUCH the base.

Again, the face.

I really look forward to my children participating in team sports.  I think my children look forward to having me as their cheerleader.  Cailey has made it clear that her chosen sport will be rock climbing.  I surmise this is because she knows I can’t follow her, and my cheerleading will be limited because of ALL THE PRAYING I will be doing so that she doesn’t plummet to the ground.

Emme is leaning toward basketball, which is fitting since she is now hovering around 5’5, and shows no signs of slowing with all the growth.  I explained to her that she’ll likely have to unfold her arms in order to play.

That went over well.

Children.  They are a mixed bag.

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Thank you all so much for the comments and e-mailed recipe ideas for the Jalapeno Cornbread!  I completely think I will be able to put something together that greatly resembles what my mom made.  I’ll let you know how it turns out after the baby shower next month!

Have a terrific weekend, everyone!

January 28, 2011

4 Responses to There’s no crying in Kickball

  • I know ‘that’ look.

    My daughter began playing Upwards basketball a few weeks ago and I, too, have quite a hard time not coaching from the sidelines. She informed me after her last game that her head hurt. And it hurt because she got hit in the head with the ball. And she got hit in the head with the ball because I was yelling at her to guard her man. And so she looked at me when I yelled and wasn’t looking at the ball and that’s why it was my fault that her head hurt. That was a week ago and she’s still telling me how her head hurts. My only consolation is that when I yelled, she listened. She doesn’t listen so much during school…maybe I should yell more? 🙂
    Have a great weekend!

  • OK if you think you are bad, then you really don’t want to sit by me at a baseball game. And as proof, Hubs ususally sits at one and me the other. But the bad thing is my son is the catcher. So I can nag him the entire game. And you know it’s bad when he takes off the mask to give me the look. He wants to make sure I see his face. Maybe, MAYBE one of these days I’ll learn. Nah, probably not!

  • Look up soccer mom. You’ll see my face. In a wide mouthed open yell. I’ve gotten them past the look to the knowledge that if they will just give me a thumbs up every now and then that I won’t embarrass them quite as much.

  • You might want to look into volleyball. My oldest is around 5’13”. (She refuses to be 6 feet.) This is her first year in the sport, and she loves it. Much less of a contact sport than basketball! The girls seem to be a lot more encouraging to each other also. In our experience, basketball was not always that way.