There is one thing that I am very adept at and that is leaping into things without cleverly assessing the obstacles that lurk ahead.
For example, the first time I went rollerblading I provided great entertainment for my sister Michele as I launched forward on my blades down a paved mountain road, diving off to the side to save myself from dying only to result in huge gravel encrusted raspberries scrapes.
Then there was the time that my “good friend” Jeff Rogers took me snowboarding for the first time, convincing me that lessons were for “wa wa’s”. I flew down the mountain feeling like a champion until THWAM! And the lights went out. I came to with tears streaming out of my eyes, a slight concussion and a whiplashed neck that to this day gives me pain. One would think that with age would come wisdom but not for this puppy.
Growing up, May was a magical month with cherry blossoms blooming and horsey ride birthday parties but with my son’s passion for Lacrosse, my birthday and Mother’s Day are swept to the wayside to accommodate the weekend Lacrosse Tournaments that are held that same weekend, every year.
Lacrosse was the popular sport of my high school where not a single Wagoneer with wooden paneling would drive by without the bumper sticker, “chicks love our sticks,” plastered to the back. I was a big fan, hanging out on the sidelines with my girlfriends to drool over the shirtless boys practicing after school. Now it is my boys who are playing and I am on the sidelines, this time actually paying attention to the game and cheering them on.
Two years ago, when I found out that Wade couldn’t come to Brevitt’s big Lacrosse Tournament in Denver, I decided to make that treacherous leap and take the three boys to the Tournament by myself, one of the stupidest decisions I have ever made in my life.
My very poor dyslexic navigational skills were in short circuit and I got lost every time we left the hotel. I was in full survival mode without the proper tools to get me by.
The parking lot alone at the Lacrosse fields was treacherous with hundreds of vehicles making abrupt maneuvers to steal a coveted parking spot. Once we parked I had to face the impossible challenge of finding the correct field.
Wade’s parents lived nearby and were my saving grace, guiding me to the field every game. Drenched in a panicked sweat, their dysfunctional daughter-in-law would arrive and dump their enormous sleeping two and a half year old grandson, Tucker, into their laps along with all of the Lacrosse equipment, all the while attempting to unsuccessfully conceal my inefficiencies so that they wouldn’t get too concerned that I was an inadequate wife to their son and mother to their grandsons.
I was in a living hell and getting madder by the minute that my other “friends,” all well seasoned in the routine, chose to not recognize that I needed help. I whirled in like the Tasmanian Devil, teeth nashing, with three disheveled boys. As soon as we would jump into the freezing pool, my lounging, mojito drinking “friends”, whose calmness was beginning to get on my nerves, would begin to round up their kids for the next game, giving me the sign that I should do the same. By the end of the weekend, I promised myself to search for a new set of more caring friends when I returned home.
For the last game, we were later than usual and Brevitt could not find his cup, “it’s this or we go home,” I yelled, ready to commit Hari Kari, and he ran off in tears with the top of my coffee mug tucked into his shorts for protection.
May is here once again and we just returned from our first Tournament away in Grand Junction. Things went a whole lot smoother this time and I was all to happy to no longer be a rookie in the world of kid sports.
Over the weekend, I looked but did not see anybody who needed saving but I’m guessing that most mother’s are far smarter than I and know to stay at home when the odds are so greatly against them.