Commotion at the Ocean

I'm just not feeling very witty this morning.  It's Monday.  It's cold.  I spent the morning at the dentist.  Short of somebody switching out my regular coffee for decaf, it's about as bleak a Monday as they come.  Cranky, I have in spades.  Funny and entertaining, not so much.  The bon mots and witty repartee aren't coming to my rescue (although, there are some who would question if they have ever come to my rescue).   However, I recognize that I am also old and if I don't go ahead and write about our adventures from this weekend, they will be as lost as our missing can of Ruby red paint.

Before heading out to Wilmington for the UNCW "Commotion at the Ocean" annual swim meet, we decided to watch Pey's soccer game.  Instead of cold and rainy this time, we were treated to cold and windy.  I was miserable and ready to head for the car five minutes into the first quarter.  Pey entertained herself on the sideline by hanging upside down from the bench.  Silly, yes, but far more entertaining that the action on the field.

Really.  I don't make this stuff up.

After a mere 3 hours (or thereabouts-- I may have taken some artistic license here), the last quarter came and I started planning on where we could grab dinner on the road.  But wait--what's going on?  The coach has Pey in the goalie penny?  Huh?  My kid, playing goalie?  The same girl who chases grasshoppers and does pirouettes on the field was going to be in goal?  She is my child--NO attention span whatsoever.  How was she going to pay attention 10 whole minutes and keep the balls out of the goal?  I was planning on how to slink off that field to avoid the boos and water bottles thrown at us, for bringing such a space cadet into the world.  Surely she'd wander off and leave the goal wide open.  Hockey with the goalie pulled, wide open.

It was the longest 10 minutes of my life.  Every time the ball came to our end of the field, I crossed my fingers.  I would have closed my eyes, but I had to take pictures (although some of my frames looked like they'd been snapped blind).   Must have worked--she shut them out!  Nobody scored on her!  I couldn't believe it.  Butter my biscuit and call me Francis--the kid was good!  She stayed on with my inlaws & played again Saturday.  Same thing--no goals allowed.  Even the opposing team's coach came to hug her after the game.  Whoda thunk it?

The rest of us non soccer players ventured on to Wilmington.  For some reason, the UNCW meet always gets romanticized and glossy when looking back upon it.  Perhaps it is the fact that we are close to the beach and get to eat in cool restaurants we don't have here that makes the meet look so warm and cuddly.   In reality, it is the worst swim meet for parents to attend.  You have to walk up two flights of steps, to be crammed in, sardine style--provided the sardines in the can were slowly roasted in a 90 degree can--in the darkest corner of the Trask Center. It is reminiscent of dungeons--dank, hot, smelly, loud--only you didn't have to climb two stories to a dungeon.  Plus, the acoustics are horrible.  Every whistle, shout, buzzer gets magnified to ear splitting levels.  In the past, I have had the excuse of Pey getting restless so I've been able to walk around the campus with her.  Didn't have that luxury this time--she was too busy playing soccer star.

Like sardines, I tell you!

I also have the knack for getting the most irritating person at the swim meet to sit right beside me.  It's a skill, I'm sure.  The first day I had to listen to some shrill harpy go on for ten minutes about how she couldn't believe the audacity of people who leave towels down to hold seats.  Never mind that J & I had consolidated and squished even closer together to allow her to sit beside me.  Never mind that I am extremely claustrophobic and having her up under me was putting me on the verge of a full blown panic attack.  Never mind that she fit nicely in the spot and had no literal or figurative skin off her nose.  She didn't even take the hint when I put my earbuds in and kept right on complaining.  Even Metallica couldn't drown her out.  I got the last laugh when she asked me to watch her bag when she went to the bathroom and I threw her credit cards in the pool.  Not really, but the devious thought crossed my mind.

Thrilled, I say!

The second day found me beside the archetypical helicopter mother.  Whereas, the rest of the swimmers were situated on pool deck, she made her kids come back to sit with her.  She kept pummeling them which questions "do you really want to swim breaststroke?", "do you have your goggles?", "do you need to potty?", to the point I wanted to take off her wedge flip flops and pummel her.  I am of a mindset that you need to let kids figure their way around the world, in order to gain a sense of independence and confidence (not talking about playing with rusty tin cans with no tetnus shot or anything dangerous, just figuring out how to independently assess and process situations).  I truly believe that if your kid is 10+ and at a swim meet, they should be fully aware if they need to go to the bathroom.  I sat beside that train wreck for four whole hours.  And no, I didn't complain when she decided to brush her daughter's wet hair and got me & my Kindle soaking wet.

Even the kids are packed sardine style.  I highlighted "Waldo" for you.

If only I could put a red homing beacon on her cap in real life.  They all look alike in the water.

Lulu swam well and ribboned in the 100 breast.  And I finished 3 books on the Kindle  And we got to eat at Fat Tony's downtown.  And we had both ice cream and yogurt in the span of two days.  See--there were some bright points!

Another bright point from this morning--our new dental insurance has me listed as J's daughter.  I told you I was much younger than he is :)