I've thought guiltily about this blog for four months, but I've been busy enjoying some long-awaited good health, as well as everything I can shove into my mouth. Summertime, and the living was easy. This summer was also unusual for the amount of travel: Between June and August I went on five road trips. Fun, but it passed in a whirl and left Phartacus and Slappy without their usual desperation for the start of the school year. So here we are, a few weeks into the same old rigamarole. Both boys are doing soccer this time and, unlike last year, Phartacus is on a great team and having a blast, which helps keep me from crying as I drag myself out of bed every Saturday at what I consider to be an unreasonable hour (i.e. 8:30.)
This morning I took Slappy over to his U8 game, where a bunch of 6- and 7-year-olds kicked each other in the shins and deflected the ball with their faces. It was their best game this season, the only one they didn't lose due to the fact that the other team was just as... hmm, what's a nice word for terrible? With a final score of 0-0 -- which as far as I'm concerned is a tie -- Slappy and I headed over to catch the last of Phartacus' game.
Phartacus' team was playing the other U10 Splendaville team, and both are so far undefeated and top in the league, so this was a hotly anticipated match (as much as watching 8- and 9-year-olds do anything you haven't spent lots of money on can be hotly anticipated.) Normally I would save that sort of thrilling news for grandparents, who are the only people who care how awesome you think your kids are (no matter how much you post it on Facebook) because it's their gene pool too. But here's the thing: Once again, Braggy Bridget's son is on the opposing team. I'd already heard how Braggy's kid was the first to be chosen for his team (odd, since he's no more of a star player than Phartacus despite how Braggy tells it.) And Braggy's kid had told Phartacus what a great player he is and what a great kick he has and all that, so I admit that the petty side of me was longing for Phartacus' team to save me from another round of hand-picked-undefeated-huge-kick yadda yadda.
I'll forego the play-by-play and just say that, despite a ref who apparently had a vested interest in the other team winning, the final score was 3-2 Team Phartacus. Braggy Bridget came over and said she'd hoped it would be a tie game (I don't recall her saying that last year when they killed us) but I swear I was a good girl.
There's no way to say anything further without sounding like more of a jerk than I already do, so I'll stop here. But man, being petty feels great in the morning.