This semester is kicking my butt big time. Teaching overload in anticipation of a sabbatical, lots of grownup service, far too much face time with colleagues and students…
So today I left the committee meeting I had after my second class and gave a ride to a colleague. During class I received ~15 text messages from Middle Boy who was upset that he couldn’t have a sleepover. In the 2 min between mtg and leaving work (with said colleague who needed a ride), I called Middle Boy from office phone (because my cell phone decided it no longer had working mics or speakers, even after OS update and several reboots) to explain that he couldn’t have a sleepover because his dad and I had tickets for a concert and he needed to be at home for half an hour with Smurf before Eldest would arrive to babysit.
I drove the colleague on my way back, picked up Kid 1 from Middle Boy’s basketball Team on the way, came home to pick up Middle Boy and Kid 2 from BB Team (whom I didn’t know I was driving, but the kid had been at our home since school dismissal, had been fed by Middle Boy and was going to the game, so I guessed the more the merrier.) With three kids in tow I got on the freeway at 10 to 5 pm on a Friday, feeling smug that I’d planned everything so well and we’d be there with time to spare. Hahaha. No. There was a collision and we slowed down to crawl and ended up 10 min later than anticipated but luckily still with plenty of time to warm up.
We arrived there only to realize the baskets hadn’t been lowered yet and there were high-schoolers playing what I, being from Europe, recognized as handball, but none of the other parents had any idea how to identify. This resulted in them not believing me that it was handball, a popular team sport in Europe with competitive amateur and pro leagues, followed by me rage-googling handball and showing the incredulous parents and grandparents that there was indeed a team sport called handball and that handball was not some squash-like monstrosity.
The handballers cleared out and the baskets got lowered and my mom friend D and I got asked to keep the score and time for the game. This is what dads usually do and it was really chilling to realize how people treated D and me while we did it. Look, it took the ref a total of 30 seconds to explain how to keep the official score sheet (which I did because D was starting to sweat, so I asked which job was the more stressful one and took it) and how to keep score/time using a simple score box with a stop watch. It was amazing how anxious the coaches and misc dads were; all were hovering, sure we would fuck up. Even the kids on the team were incredulous that moms were keeping score and one kid came up to ask if we knew how to do it and I said not to worry, we got this. The level of patronizing was incredible. Look, D is an accountant and have a fuckin’ PhD; we can work a sheet of paper with check marks and a fancy stopwatch. We are adult humans, FFS. I timed numerous swim meets. This is not fuckin’ hard, but the fact that everyone thought we would be incapable was so fuckin’ telling. D was really anxious, but she said she felt better because we were together. I go to these games often, and have done so for years, and I know we’d done a better job than most and there were no mistakes (except near the end a tiny bit when D got stresses out in overtime and didn’t restart the time, but that’s far less of an issue than we’ve had with the timer and/or score board in the past). The prejudice against women is just ridiculous.
The game ended and Middle Boy and Kid 1 were being driven back home by yours truly, with Middle Boy sulking cause he couldn’t go to a sleepover at Kid 2’s house on account of DH’s and my plans.
DH and I went to a rock concert, where I was offered a drink by a woman in front of us for reasons that would probably be clear if I had any idea what she was saying to me. DH had a sore throat/laryngitis plus can’t really tolerate alcohol on account of stomach issues, so he was the designated driver. Two rum and cokes in (they didn’t have two of my go-to cocktails, so I said screw it, just gimme something with rum), I was pleasantly tipsy, enjoying myself, and went to get a third drink. I was in line, when one of the two women in front of me asked me if I could button the back of the blouse of the second woman, as the first one had tried and failed repeatedly. I tried, failed once, tried again and succeeded, because, let’s face it, I have three kids — I have buttoned the unbuttonable, sober or not. Then Woman 1, the one who’d asked me to button her friend, said she wanted to buy me a drink, I refused a few times, they insisted. Anyhoo… I ended the evening with a free double rum and coke for 5 seconds of buttoning the shirt on a the back of a random woman. Not too shabby!
The concert was great. I really enjoyed it and I really relaxed me at the end of a crazy week. I came home to a sleeping Smurf, a no-longer-grumpy Middle Boy who’d waited for me to get tucked in, and Eldest the Babysitter playing video games.
It had been a good day.
More basketball tomorrow.
Till then, yours tipsily,