Unexplored Territory

Saturday, May 20, 2006

What a wonderful day

The day started off with the whole family attending the Door Man's last soccer game for the spring season. We think he touched the ball three times: once out of self-defense, and twice out of coach-mandated kick offs. The Man isn't the next Pele. He isn't even the next preschool superstar. He is just the Door Man. Happy to be in the moment. Taking advantage of his time out there on the field to laugh and play with his friends and ... oh! What? Ball? Where? In front of me? Where? Oh yeah... someone else can get it.

Then there is Queen Bee, who has graduated to playing positions and keeping score. She was dutifully counting the goals this morning until I told her to keep her mouth shut because we didn't want to make the other team feel bad. I should have let her keep going, because after that point, it was a creamfest. But that is quite all right. The Door Man won't be making a career out of the sport.

Queenie had her second to last game today (well, really her last because she will be dancing her toes off in her recital that she is OH SO FREAKING EXCITED about), and the Monkey and I didn't attend. My punishment for not attending: seeing the Queen score the very first goal of the game on her kick-off, and then missing the awesome shot over the goalie's head. Had I gone, she wouldn't have done any of those things, and she would have been sitting out in the middle of the field, picking the dandelions.

The Monkey and I went to an open house, and I want this house. Of course, we won't get it because you should see OUR house. We have GOT to get this place shaped up, and I fear we will need to put down a chunk of money and recarpet the whole shebang.

There is rumor that we are going to go out and buy some kites for the kids, and go to the "big park" AKA the place with the huge-ass playground that Mom abhors. I am hoping the bubbles and kites will keep them out of the fort.

Have I told you that I have an arch nemesis at the Man's preschool? She is a bitch. She hates me, I hate her. It is a wonderful relationship we have. She is the type whose husband has some REALLY important job at some company here, and they live in some huge ass house out in some ritzy suburb.

The other day, I was all verklempf over a Mother's Day present the Man handed to me. It was his handprint, with a really sappy poem sure to make a mother cry. Well, it made this mother cry as I was reading the saying to Ace on the cell phone. Unfortunately, where I decided to plant my fat ass was RIGHT in front of her child's cubby. Well, her undies got all in a bind and she physically TAPPED me on the shoulder and said "excuse me" in a voice so condescending that Mother Theresa would have read this mother the riot act for her tone of voice.

I turned, and while on the phone with Ace, said "well apparently I am in SOMEone's way here ... would hate to impede the process of the princess' day" and she shot me this look.

That look.

That "eat poop and DIE a horrid, agonizing death" look.

I took great joy in hearing her recount the fact that her husband's company had to cancel HER cruise for some reason or another.

Maybe because karma's a bitch?

2 Comments:

Anonymous said...: Sister I so love you. We are seriously seperated at birth. (Is today your real birthday?) Anyway, I love your frank talk about the "other kind of mothers"..I know what you mean. There a bunch of snobs that my children attend Montessori with.
Can't wait to spend time with you next weekend at the Weiss mansion. I vote no kids and a few margaritas..
I'll see you in a few!
Cheers!; 8:07 AM
Anonymous said...: I'm so thrilled that you're coming! Yippee! You're welcome to bring Margaritas...but don't forget that there will be "sip and go naked" as well ;o)

C.; 1:27 PM

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I'm a mom of three peeps ... Queen Bee, The Door Man, and the Chandelier Monkey, and wife to Ace, the Helpful Hardware Man. I created this space to get away from the people known as my inlaws, and because life with three kids and a hubby is all Unexplored Territory.

The nine-year-old who seems to be growing older every minute, has an opinion and a comment for everything, and has a true servant's heart.

The seven-year-old who loves the organization of things, will someday be someone's therapist because of his kind soul, and will more than likely be living with us until he is 40 years old.

The five-year-old with the 13-year-old attitude, who has a dictator's personality, asks you to watch her all the time and say "hold on" to keep your attention, and will someday come home on the back of some dude's motorcycle with 10 tatts and a body piercing or two.

The man of the house, the fixer of things, the winner of prizes, and the only person in his family to escape the South.