Ball

Please forgive the photography . . . it is kind of hard to get a decent action shot with two other kids vying for lap space.
The stars on his sleeve are awards for sportsmanship, offense, defense, effort, etc.
Great job on another season Seth!

To Whom it May Concern,

Dear Seth,
It is time to grow a few more inches . . . my fragile heart can't abide seeing you guard boys twice your size anymore.
Love, Mom


Dear Michael,
I tried to talk you into the four-year-residency instead of the six. This is me saying I told you so . . . and I still love you despite it all. And I know you'll never read this anyway, because all you ever do is sleep and work.
Love, Mandy

Dear Century 21,

Yes I look at houses on your website every day. No I'm not ready to buy. Stop bugging me.

Mandy

Dear Dora our Explorer,

Stop breaking. That is all.

Mandy

Dear Utah,

Get ready.

Mandy

Dear Cadbury Mini-Eggs,

Please try to be a little less delicious. I am trying to maintain a modicum of self control here. Also, what exactly is the addictive substance that Cadbury puts into your shell? It had better not be crack. But I have my suspicions.

Mandy

Dear Daylight Savings,

I like falling back much more than springing forward. Just for the record.

Mandy

2nd Grade Basketball

Seth started basketball last month.
It takes a good sense of humor to watch second graders play basketball.

Because sometimes the kids see fit to throw a hail mary pass all the way across the court even though they have an open team mate standing four feet away from them.

Because sometimes your child's team plays a team made up of the spawn of retired NBA athletes who all stand at least two heads taller than your kid.

Because after your kid makes a shot, he misses the next two minutes of the game while doing a celebratory dance under the hoop.

Because every half a minute the game is stopped while the refs have to explain double dribble again.

Because he loves it. (Maintaining the sense of humor is easier when each game begins like this. Isn't it every kids dream to burst out of a smoke filled tunnel to slap hands with a throng of people who are all cheering his name?)

He plays amazingly tight defense (the kid is like a pit bull, seriously).

It all makes the Friday evening 6:00 practice (Oy, vey!) totally worth it anyway.

Parent Letter to the Basketball Coach

Dear Coach,  Friday, February 6, 2009

I'm sorry my son was late to basketball practice. There is a very good excuse, and here it is.

You see, it all started last night when my daughter came down with the barfing flu. Yesterday it had seemed that nobody else was going to catch it (it had been four days), so I went through the house and shampooed all the carpets. This is a fact that is not entirely relevant to my son's tardiness, but as you will see, makes me seem all the more heroic at the conclusion of the story, so I'm mentioning it anyway.

As previously indicated, we had another case of the barfing flu in the house and (formerly) clean carpets. I spent a good part of the night cleaning up and providing comfort as mother's are apt to do. Since the kiddos and I were exhausted the next morning, I didn't do much after sending Seth (who was the originator of the barfing flu) to school. The action actually began after picking him up from the bus stop. While walking home with all the children in tow, one of my sweet little cherubs decided to pick a fight with the neighbor child.  After apologies were made and time outs were rendered, we went on to do homework and prepare for basketball.

Because we did not do anything active over the course of the day, T (my two year old) became rather restless.   The restlessness was displayed in an exuberant attempt to completely empty every drawer in the house.  He was quiet, so I let him.

Another child (I shall stop identifying children specifically here to deter any inclination you or the internets may have toward prejudice for troublemakers) decided that they were hungry.  Child asked for a sandwich, and I confirmed that child could make one, ONE, one sandwich.  This child commenced to prepare a seven course buffet that spread the length of my kitchen countertop.  Three sandwiches, two toasted english muffins, string cheese and an apple should have been enough, but the child needed orange juice too.  So the child poured juice.  Not in the cup.  All over the counter and freshly shampooed carpet.  All over the bills that I had just brought in from the mailbox.  All over the valentines that another child had only just finished signing and stickering. All over my husband's medical journal that he was supposed to use to prepare a presentation.  All over.  

I didn't yell.  I just calmly stated that it would be in the child's best interest to get a towel and begin wiping while I tried to salvage the papers.  Child ran to the guest bathroom and returned with a new white towel and got to work.  After mopping up, the sweet child returned the dripping towel to the rod in the bathroom for future use because, I quote, "It still had a few dry spots on it."

While said child was eating, I pulled out the carpet shampooer and went to work.  I instructed Seth that he should get dressed for basketball practice in shorts and a t-shirt.  I specifically stated that he should not, under any circumstances put on his uniform, as he had a game tomorrow morning and would not want to get it dirty.

Seth returned a few minutes later wearing the forbidden uniform and swearing up and down that he would not get it dirty.  In fact, he may possibly return it to me in better condition after practice (apparently jerseys can be seasoned).

I didn't have time to argue as I was occupied with wresting a blue crayon from the grip of a two year-old attempting to imitate Rembrandt on my sofa.

Then the wrestling began.  I told Seth that it probably wasn't the best idea to wrestle with children who had so recently had the barfing flu. Keeping the uniform clean entails keeping barf off of it.  "Don't worry mom," he said, "I'll be gentle."  

Apparently Alice didn't get the gentle memo, because she caught Seth's nose with her knee mid-body-slam.  I have never seen so much blood come out of somebody's nose in my life.  All over the freshly shampooed carpet.  All over the formerly clean uniform.  Bloody handprints on the walls, splats on the stairs and puddles in the bathroom.  His nose bled for so long I was starting to panic.  Mind you, Seth wasn't too diligent about pinching his nose and leaning his head back.  He insisted that it caused great tidal waves of blood to go coursing down the back of his throat.

 

I called Michael.  "Come home now!"  I demanded.  "I think your son's nose might be broken."

At this point I had written off basketball practice.  We were skipping it.  But once the nose finally stopped bleeding, Michael determined it wasn't broken and things were cleaned up a little bit, Michael figured it was in the best interest of the family to remove as many people possible from the situation for a little while.

So they showed up to basketball practice 20 minutes late.  Sorry.

Sincerely,

Mandy

Seth's mom

P.S.  All these events occurred between 4:00 and 6:00 pm.  Impressive huh?