I am really only two enormous loads of dirty towels away from having all of my laundry done.
I don’t know why I thought you would want to know that, but it seems like I’m coming around the corner and quickly approaching the finish line, and I was probably just trolling for a cheering section.
I think it might be because I started with NINE ENTIRE LOADS of dirty clothes yesterday.
Yes, nine. It’s… like… the number before ten. I know that this number of loads might seem astronomical for many of you… even unfathomable… especially if you’re one of those go-getters who can’t stand to see a dirty shirt in your nearly-empty hamper. I didn’t get that gene as a rung on my DNA ladder. What I got was a rung that says, “Yep. I checked, and everyone still has clean underwear for tomorrow, so I can push the laundry off for another day.” And then I usually say something like, “Yay!!” My mama has been trying to be my laundry therapist for YEARS, as she tells me all the time, “If you would just do one small load each day, you’d never have these piles that look like you’re raising twenty-seven children and fourteen husbands.” In all honesty, I would LIKE to be one of those girls who sees a few items in the hamper and shouts out, “I can just throw these in the washing machine really quick-like,” but then the Keurig distracts me, and I just make another cup of chai tea instead.
The boy had a soccer game last night, and I took my camera.
Which pretty much goes without saying. My camera is usually strapped into a carseat like it’s my third child, while I holler, “Nobody bump that big lens!”
The boy’s team has really been fun this season. He and Enzo are forever laughing together during practices and games, unless a girl is busy taking the ball away from one of them. THAT is no laughing matter when you’re a teenage guy on a co-ed team. I think it ranks right up there with I WRESTLED A GIRL IN HIGH SCHOOL, when you’re on the wrestling team.
Hubs knows about these things, because Hubs WAS a wrestler. I’ve interviewed him on his thoughts about girls wrestling varsity, and he has said, “A guy will NEVER, EVER wrestle with more determination to win than when his opponent is a girl. You just can’t lose to one on the wrestling mat and think you’re going to show your face at school the next day.”
This was confirmed with one of my former PE students, who is a 7th grader now. He and I were talking yesterday at school, and he told me that he’d had to wrestle a girl this year. I asked him, “Did you beat her?” And that little thirteen-year-old fellow said, “I did. It was the fastest pin I’ve ever had, because I’ve never wrestled so hard in my entire life; I was scared to death she was going to beat me, because she’s GOOD. I didn’t know where I was supposed to put my hands, either. It was pretty much the worst event in my life.”
How did we get onto this subject? I apologize if you found my blog tonight, hoping to read something uplifting and moving and deep. This is not the place for that. This is the arena where we talk about being afraid to lose a wrestling match to a girl or have a girl take a soccer ball away from you. We also talk about dirty laundry here, but it’s the REAL kind of dirty laundry, and not the kind Don Henley sang about in the ’80s.
The boy and Enzo played soccer against our good friend, McKinley, last night. McKinley is really and truly and honestly one of THE BEST soccer players I’ve seen. She’s fast. She’s quick. She understands the game thoroughly. She knows where she should be on the field at all times. She has some mad soccer skillz. She’s averaging three goals every game. And she loves Jesus, she’s pretty much the cutest fourteen-year-old girl I know, and I adore her.
I’m pretty sure they kept yelling at her, “Oh, McKinley! Is that a hundred dollar bill in the grass by your foot?” And then, boom! When she turned to look, they’d scoot around her with the ball. And then, “Hey, McKinley. Is that your mom waving from your Suburban? I think she’s trying to signal to you.” And boom! Around her they’d go again when she was distracted.
The boys played amazing last night. The game was zero to zero until the last two minutes, when McKinley’s team managed to sneak a ball past our goalie. The boy and Enzo lost, but it was truly one of the best games they’ve played.
I know this, because I smelled both of them when they were done. 7th grade boys need some serious space after they’ve played a rough, hour-long game of soccer. Their smell makes a girl’s eyes water. You can ALWAYS tell how well they played by the amount of perfumed handkerchiefs you need to hold in front of your nose when you drive them home from the soccer field.
Thing 2 does not appreciate the fact that this particular soccer league has tight age restrictions. He simply doesn’t understand why he, at the age of two, can’t sign himself up for 7th grade soccer and be involved in the games.
He wants to play offense.
He wants to play goalie.
He really doesn’t care WHAT position he plays, just so long as someone would let him out on the field with a jersey.
Hubs’ mama gave me a bright idea for some SIDELINE FUN, for children who aren’t in the junior high. I took her advice. I filled a Rubbermaid tub up with birdseed, and I threw some tractors into it, before we left our house for the big game.
Thing 2 was powerfully pleased with this entertainment. In fact, he didn’t give the game a second’s thought for the ENTIRE FIRST HALF! He simply scooped birdseed with his excavator for half of the game, people!
… until he let Thing 2 get away from him eight different times in the second half of the game. Thing 2 made his field debut over and over, as he’d run out to the field and holler, “I’m open!! I’m open!! Pass!!”
His biceps were huge when he went home.
And then Jonah, bless his heart, found a soccer ball on the sidelines for Thing 2 to kick around. Thing 2’s little buddy, Emmett, even joined in, and they had their own version of soccer going on beside us.
It involved a lot of hand balls and even a couple opportunities for a red card.
We lost, zero to one, BUT… we held that little speedster, McKinley, to a big donut last night, as far as GOALS SCORED goes.
We count that as an enormous success.
Exactly like pushing your way through nine loads of laundry and coming in the homestretch with just two more loads of towels left is a victory.
Y’all have a happy Wednesday evening.