There You Are, My Pretty

Did you get lost?

or are you suffering from Stockholm Syndrome after a traumatic kidnapping.

You seem to be clean of eyeliner stains, but God knows how those girls abused you...

Come back to me. Don't be afraid. I will take care of you.

Pack the Gym

Despite Sunday's turmoil, I really did want Sophie to participate in Pack the Gym night. That is our equivalent of homecoming for basketball, except in our case it is the FINAL home game for the 8th graders. It is a big deal. There is a pep rally at school and a pep rally through all the games.

Sophie has played basketball all four of her eligible years. She may only play two minutes most of the time and has sometimes sat on the bench the entire game when coaches forget that they are NOT coaching the NBA, but she was always on the team. When her sister's team was short of players Sophie filled in. Last year, that meant that she was a permanent part of the her sister's 8th grade team. So she has played 6 seasons of basketball, when she has only been eligible for 4 (she played 8 seasons of volleyball too). She deserves the accolades that come with that evening.

I was trying to figure out how to smooth things over with her coach. And then a miracle occurred. My doorbell rang and there was the coach. I invited him in. We sat down and talked.
He told me that he needed her to play. That she is one of the tallest girls on the team and sometimes plays great ball. And she does. Sometimes. I explained that I am my child's advocate. And that I have seen her frustration when she shows up practice after practice to get no playing time. This isn't a travelling team (like she is joining for volleyball). This isn't high school. These are Catholic grade school girls learning about teamwork, some skills and good sportsmanship. And they can't learn that on a team of 8 if three of them aren't really allowed to play.

We agreed that things got out of hand. And we decided to let it go for our daughters.

And so Sophie got her night.

And she played spectacular ball that night and she played in three separate quarters. It was a rough game. It always is against this team. All of the girls looked alive and played well. But I was happy for my Sophie. She deserved a good night.

Take a lap, missy

Yesterday was my solo debut as a volleyball coach.

Yes, this is ridiculous. I never played competitive volleyball. I only played in highschool gym class. And I sucked at it. Nevertheless, the 8th graders needed a coach or as it turned out, an assistant coach so I stepped up.

Celia decided to behave herself.

Sophie did not.

I did make suggestions to all of the girls. Sophie took hers badly. Her problem? She wants the ball to come right to her. I get that. That is my idea of a perfect tennis game. Just volleying back and forth. Getting a bit of exercise but not killing yourself. But that isn't competitive. And this volleyball league is. So nut up and move your feet. While working on a drill to practice hitting balls off the net Sophie accused me of hitting her in the face on purpose. (like I would bother with the net at all if that was my aim?) I suggested that she could have taken a step backwards. The roar was deafening. She yelled at me and fussed. The other girls were embarrassed.

So I made her take a lap.

I guess I am officially a coach now. I think I need a whistle!