winners and losers

I’m sparing you guys the post I had all typed up about kids and sports and competition and participation medals.

Mostly because I ovary-acted and sounded awfully f*cking judgy for a mom who found an old aquarium admission ticket in her Star Wars crossbody bag with the word “penis” scribbled on the back of it, but also because I used the term ‘butthurt,’ and didn’t want the butthurt folk who might be reading to endure more butthurt.

Am I even using that word right…?

Still, to let you know where I stand on kids and sports and competition and participation medals without insulting anyone who might think different than myself, after my son’s first soccer game of the season, I asked him if they chose a team name yet and he was all “I don’t think so…but everyone yells ‘hustle’ a lot…?”

And I feel like he should get all the medals just for being so dang weird/funny.


seven-year-old snippets (conversations with mom)

“Mom, I have to tell you something funny that I love.”

“What’s that…?”

“At soccer, when my team is switching people – like when I’m on the field and one of my teammates is taking my spot – my coach starts yelling ‘SUBS! SUBS!’ and I’m laughing to myself and thinking ‘Oooh, like I get a sandwich when I get off the field!?'”


“What? Well, now you have to.”

“Ugh. It’s short for substitute…”

“Oh my gosh, substi-TOOT!? THIS IS TOO MUCH FOR ME TO HANDLE.”



Wake up at 6:30 am, fairly certain this is the last day of your life. No reason, really, but you have some pretty bad heartburn and you’re tired and that feels the same as dying maybe, I dunno.

Don’t finish even one cup of coffee because you’re insane and haaaate microwaving it, but especially when it’s a new Starbucks cup that has a fancy design on the side that you’re pretty sure is going to spark in the microwave and burn the whole house down even though the bottom of the cup says “microwave safe.”

At noon, realize it’s probably not the day you’re going to die (um, YAY) since you’ve made it this far, so kick yourself for not going back to bed when you had the chance.

Eat a pepperoni sandwich for dinner because I guess you learn NOTHING from waking up at 6:30 am with heartburn, idiot.

Pull up to your 9:30 pm indoor soccer game even though you’re already super tired, thirty years old and just had a pepperoni sandwich, only to find the building surrounded by police, fire trucks and ambulances because a player went into cardiac arrest on the field while playing in the game before you.

Uuuugggghhh, revisit feeling like you’re going to die today.

Cry. (Duh.)

Play/lose your game.

Rinse, repeat, wah wah.

It’s Saturday and I’m fine/alive/microwaved the mug without any sparks. More importantly – because, ya know, an actual real life thing that matters – the player who left in the ambulance is most likely fine because my husband saw him moving and talking to the first responders last night.

Life, man.
(Hypochondriasis, man.)