You Forgot the Snack & Drink? BITCH!

Over the weekend, over 800 kids were in Minneapolis competing in a National Chess Championship. Even though playing chess doesn't burn very many calories or involve a huge amount of athleticism, I'm sure their parents are making sure that the kids get enough sleep and eat well so that they're ready to face the competition.

And I'm wondering: did anyone arrange a snack and drink schedule?

It seems weird to be experiencing April without getting ready for a kid's baseball season. I actually kind of miss shopping for cleats, heading to the batting cages, waiting for a phone call from the new coach and adding all of the games to my calendar. One thing I don't miss, though, is getting an email from an over-eager parent telling me when I'm supposed to bring the fat and sugar.

When I was pregnant with Zoe -- or more specifically, when I was in labor with Zoe -- I realized that I would be enjoying the wonderfulness of intravenously administered pain medication, and hopefully pushing, at the same time I was supposed to be supplying a team of 15 boys with granola bars and juice boxes. Since it was too late to switch games with another parent, I managed to drop off the sustenance at a teammates house, on my way to the hospital, while my contractions were about six minutes apart. Was this insane? Absolutely. But since there isn't an epidural that would help me cope with the eight-weeks of pain brought on by dealing with a team full of pissed off parents, it was necessary. Trust me, it doesn't matter what comes up, you just DO NOT forget to bring the snack and drink.

Being anti-snack and drink isn't something that developed after several years of schlepping a cooler -- I have always hated the idea. I just don't understand why kids, after standing around in a baseball field or sitting on a bench for an hour, have to then receive a bag of chips and a can of pop. With all of the news about the increase in childhood obesity rates and people complaining about kids eating too much crap and not getting enough exercise why, when they finally burn 150 calories, do we need to hand them 350 empty calories as a reward for showing up?

One thing that I've noticed is that it's always the laziest players that are obsessed with finding out which parent brought the snacks. The kid that is never at practice on time, can't seem to run the bases without watching where the ball went (which, by the way, is a HUGE pet peeve of mine) and is always the last one off of the field between innings is always, always, the first one in line at the cooler, hoping that there will be extras so that he can grab two snacks.

Even though the snack and drink schedule usually includes a note at the top that encourages providing something nutritious, I have yet to find a parent, besides myself, that is brave enough to shun Frito Lay/Hostess/ Little Debbie and just bring fruit. There was one dad a couple years ago who flat out said that "he loves it when he gets to bring the snack because it means that, for one night, he's super cool and popular with the kids." I was tempted to ask him if he was aware of the fact that, the rest of the nights, the parents think he's a loser, but I'm pretty sure he would have just handed me an oatmeal creme pie in an attempt to win me over. Sure enough, when his night arrived he didn't bring just a snack. He brought ginormous bags of fruit snacks and the big bags of chips, plus bottles of Mountain Dew Code Red. By the way, did I mention that this guy is a loser?

One year when our scheduled snack/drink game arrived, Charlie was adamant about bringing clementines and bottled water. I even pre-peeled the tangerines and put them in individual bags, and threw in a handful of red grapes for some additional color. Sure enough, only three boys took the fruit and the rest of them were tempted to throw Charlie a pity party, just a small get-together for my kid so that they could tell him "Oh, sorry your mom sucks."

So this summer, I will pack sandwiches and fruit into a cooler, haul my kids to tennis and not worry about having to watch other parents compete over who is bringing the most indulgent snack to baseball games. And if any of the other tennis players ask me if I have an extra granola bar, I'll just say "Oh, is it my day for snack and drink? Sorry, but I didn't get a copy of the schedule."

Spring Break Can Be Educational

I know there are several people returning from vacations this weekend, ready to face mountains of laundry and returning to work and school. We, on the other hand, stayed in town for the week and enjoyed great weather, a break from homework and the pleasure of knowing that I didn't have to pay $12 for a cocktail. I may not be the tannest mom on the block, but at least I have my sanity. Or at least some of my sanity because even though I didn't have to travel with my kids, they insisted on hanging around and after five days of quality time, I've learned a few things:

• My kids don't listen. In fact listening, and actually reacting, to what I say is considered optional until I've repeated myself at least three times. Yeah, I said they don't listen until I repeat myself. Yes, three times. I need to repeat myself three times before they listen.
• When a kid asks "So what time are we leaving" five times in one hour, it's the equivalent of him saying "I'm an idiot and since I haven't been to school in several days, my brain is going through extreme atrophy leaving me incapable of processing and remembering the information you are giving me."
• An iPhone can be used for things like a calculator, a camera, a flashlight and a light saber. But use it as a phone and answer a call? That's just crazy talk.
• No matter how relaxed I may appear to be, when a kid doesn't listen and then tells me "Wow, you didn't need to go psycho and have a spaz," it will make me angry.
• An 11-year old does not like being called a "freak," especially by his older brother, and hearing that word will trigger pouting followed by a display of extreme rage.
• I like going to baseball games, but having to say "I'd like two Twins Dinger Dogs, please" to a man wearing a paper hat makes me feel kinda dorky, and I wish I could just say "I'd like a couple hot dogs, please."
• I have eggs in the fridge that are still white. Did I forget to dye them? No. Am I going to dye them on Saturday? No. Are my kids feeling shafted and deprived? No.
• A little girl saying "These strings are too long, I think I need a haircut" while pulling on her bangs is a classic cute-kid moment.
• Hearing a little girl sing the lyrics "Now, the party don't start 'til I walk in" is a really, really cute-kid moment.
• When the little girl says "You can pick up those toys for me, cuz that's what you're supposed to do when I forget," I immediately forget about any cute-kid moments and barely resist the temptation to throw the toys in the garbage.
• Having a built-in babysitter is a luxury that I definitely need to start taking advantage of more often.
• In a baby book, right next to "first tooth, crawled, first word" and "walked," there should be an entry for "Watched Monty Python and The Holy Grail for the first time."
• Sometimes it's okay to let the kids eat Cap'n Crunch for breakfast, without milk.
• Vodka tastes great on any day that starts with S, M, T, W or F.
• Even though I know I'm not fashionable or trendy, I feel pretty good about my wardrobe choices because after all, I've never looked stupid carrying not one, but two ginormous purses while wearing a red bandana-print dress.

What? No More Baseball?

Even though it is only the second day of February, I received an email notifying me that baseball registration has begun, and that clinics would be held throughout the month before tryouts for the traveling team are held in March.

My boys have always played summer baseball but, with the exception of one year, have never tried out for the traveling team. They probably should be trying out, but as Zach says: "I want to be able to do more with my summer than just play baseball. Driving to a tournament every weekend and playing three games a week sounds horrible. Plus, it's more fun to be on a team with my friends." Sometimes, he surprises me by managing to say things that are actually intelligent and not drenched with sarcasm.

Spending summer evenings at a little league field watching a bunch of boys play baseball can be pretty fun, so I hear. Since Zach and Charlie are two years apart in age, they are always on different teams, so game nights for us have usually included more than one game, often overlapping by an hour, and always on the opposite sides of town. As a result, instead of an idyllic evening of sitting in a lawn chair chewing on sunflower seeds, I spend a couple hours driving back and forth, making sure a glove isn't left at the field, eating dinner out of a cooler, and maybe being at a game long enough to see one or two at-bats.

Last year was the first year that Zach didn't play baseball because it overlapped with his tennis season, and I don't think he, or I, missed it. It was great to be able to watch Charlie's games from beginning to end, with the only interruption being Zoe occasionally getting pelted by rocks on the playground. This year, when the registration information came out, I asked Charlie if he wanted to try out for a team since, with only one kid playing, we'd have time. His response was: "I don't think so. In fact, I think I'm done with baseball. I just want to play tennis this summer. Batting messes up my forehand."

I knew this day would eventually arrive, but I wasn't really ready for it to happen this year. On the bright side, I won't have to deal with a stupid snack/drink schedule. Also, having an entire summer of unscheduled evenings will be a great, albeit surreal, experience. And I probably won't miss having to say, "Go get your cleats on and grab your glove because you have practice in fifteen minutes." But to be honest, the thought of no more baseball made me a little sad. I played softball throughout my childhood, into high school, and even played on a couple adult leagues until my boys' schedules took over my life. To think that I will never be able to yell, "Run! Stop looking at the ball and get your butt to second!" or "Throw it to the shortstop! Haven't you ever heard of a cutoff?" again kind of got me choked up.

And that's when I remembered that Zoe is five, which means she is finally old enough to play tee-ball two nights a week. Now all I need is for the damn snow to melt.