Saturday night. What is a family to do? I mean, we already had taken part in a seriously intense weekend. Friday was soccer practice for the girl. Four year old soccer is funny. At least they only allow three kids on the field at one time. If there were more, people wold get hurt just by stepping on other people. Plus, that would be a lot of parents to corral at one time.
Following soccer we went home and sat around. At least that was downtime for a while. Saturday morning, the entire family got up, got ready, and went out to the little school where there are about 5,487 soccer fields. We were on #2, whatever that means. The girl’s team had their first game, ever. It was going to be a giganic clusterfizzle. If you believed me when I said four year old practice is funny, you have to trust me when I say four year old games are funnier. And to top it off, the game we got featured the kids of: a local political guru and the son of The Little General. I can handle these folks because I already deal with the older siblings on the Boy’s fall baseball team. This stuff’s not that big. What I can’t deal with is the moms running onto the field to give water to their kids in the middle of the game. I might teach the Girl to throw some shoulders when that happens. Then they might back the hell off. The game was exciting. The girl, the tallest one on the field, which is really, really funny because she is such a dainty little thing, put the wood to the other team by breaking away early only to miss the net by inches, then by emerging from a crowd with the ball only to make the back of the net regret waking up that morning. And she didn’t even celebrate. It was like she knew what she did, but she fully expected to have a few more of those in her career. They don’t keep score, but I know her team smacked those important people’s kids.
After the game, I got to chill while Christy went to some silly bridal shower or some crap. That was fine, because I was gearing up for some “legendary” drink or something like that that this clown claims are the best drinks in the world, or in Reno, or maybe just in his backyard. They were pretty good, but they were really pink. The Girl was way into them for that, but I just felt like something was wrong with a pink drink. Ed proceeded to fully show me up by breaking out the tiki torches and actually having some fuel for them. The nerve. But I got over. I saw Ed struggling with some sort of pickle jar or something. I felt really bad, but I figured he could eventually do it. When after about three minutes he still hadn’t gotten the thing opened, I walked over and asked him if he needed help. By this time I’m sure his arm was all cramping up and stuff, so I really felt like I was doing a good deed. I grabbed it, popped it right open without any sort of effort, sat down, and thought, “man, he sure does drink a lot of those pink things.”