Toddler Soccer

Soccer games for me have included cheering for grandsons at the age of four and then one of those grandsons as a high school student. I became a spectator without knowing anything about soccer but, before the end of a senior season, I understood quite a bit about the game. At least I understood more than I will ever know about football.

There is a lot of disagreement about how young is too young to involve children in playing soccer. This week, I decided that I know when a child is old enough to play. It’s when Mommy does not have to take the child by the hand and point toward the ball while running down the field with him or her.

Yes, it does happen. I saw the picture with my own eyes of one toddler’s Mommy doing just that. This gives a whole new meaning to the designation, “Helicopter Mom."

I could not locate the picture of the helicopter soccer mom, but here is a great picture of a player for "The Diapers."

~ Picture from Suga & Shoc


No More Wondering

Sunday worship service is always time of anticipation for me. I never fail to hold onto the hope that during that hour I will learn something new and/or relevant. This morning, I was not disappointed. It was during a Teen/Dad ensemble number that I was enlightened.

For years I have wondered what happened to the hymnals for which churches paid large sums of money. Now I know. During the song, First Morning in Heaven,* I heard the words, “Get all those hymn books turned and ready. We’re gonna sing every song in that book.”

Well, now I know. But I also have a new question. How many hymns in “that book” will be appropriate for the setting?

Just a glass half empty kind of day, I guess!

FYI: The Free Online Dictionary defines gonna as a contraction of going to (informal, of course). Why did I waste all of that breath correcting my children?

*© The Imperials


The Truth About Me

Part of my job description these days reads, “ Accept the train wreck that is your life.” Unlike during my past life when I was employed and involved and all was going smoothly, things now seem to regularly fall apart.

This past week serves as an example of my new reality. Little issues that at one time might have elicited no more than a smirk now cause me to have angry responses. So, while listening to some women on a TV show whine about discrimination, I loudly said, “Oh, just get over it. Being a woman is not sufficient. It’s also necessary that you be capable.” Then I found myself steaming over the fact that women organize exclusive groups for the purpose of affirming that they are just as good and wonderful and capable as are men. I'm pretty sure that successful women do not need groups and organizations to prove their worth. Picture Mother Teresa sitting around complaining about the “glass ceiling.” Apparently the call she heard was so compelling that she had no time to organize a complaint group. She just went to India and excelled.

But anger isn’t my biggest issue. Failed projects occupied most of my time this past week. In my other life I hired people to do odd jobs. Now projects belong to me. Short of burning the place down and starting over, I’m not sure how to fix the things that went wrong. I did, however, send a plea for help to a company whose product was a part of one of my failed efforts. With luck (which actually has never been a part of my life) the company problem-solver will provide a solution for fixing this big fail. Hopefully, the solution will save my space from becoming a pile of ashes.

So while my Facebook posts still portray a fairly well put-together older lady, a current snapshot would reveal the train wreck that is my actual life.

Picture from Whistle Stop Frozen Custard – Ferguson, MO