football mom

You can now add me to the ranks of "football mom". It is a deeply honoured title, one riddled with tradition and pride. Its prestige can't be topped. Its rewards grand. Its investment bottomless.

Why, it's an honour just to be nominated. But to be the winner of such a life altering highlight? There are no words...

Sometimes, people tell me it's hard to tell if I'm being sarcastic or not. 

What about now? Am I being sarcastic now?

Who, moi? Never. 

So what does a football mom do? Well, four nights a week (carpool? what's a carpool?? someone teach the child how to get phone numbers so this football mom can set up a carpool already!!! geesh) she drives her child to a field where there are many many other children dressed like giant metal heads on toothpicks, and she proceeds to play a rousing game of Candy Crush or read a book, if she isn't already dead tired blind from the day. 

She could, if she felt so inclined, go sit with some of the other parents who have obviously done this before and brought chairs with them. But this football mom? No, she has to stay in her vehicle because she has no chair. 

And probably no bra on either. 

This particular football mom is shameful. She would apologize if she wasn't so blasted tired. This football mom is tired. She isn't sure where these kids get their energy from. If she was, she'd rob them blind without remorse. 

And on average, one giant metal head on a toothpick throws up at least twice per two-hour practice.

So, the diehard football moms sit on chairs, with blankets and coffee, while this rookie football mom writes on her hand with a pen she found under the seat, "remember chair".

Remembering is hard. Especially after you have washed your hands for the 423rd time in one day. 

Football moms hear things being yelled to their sons, and a few daughters, that make her mama bear hairs stand up on her mama bear neck. Things like "be more aggressive!!" and "don't be lazy!!"

I mean, I'm trying to teach my son to be loving and kind. Not a terrorizing metal head on a toothpick who likes to hit and knock over other top-heavy giant metal heads on toothpicks. And if anyone gets to tell the child to be less lazy it's me!

Youknowwhatimean?

Be. Aggressive! 

Got. To be aggressive!

A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E.

Aggressive. 

Aggressive. 

Be. 

Be. 

Aggressive!!

Now excuse me, this football has to go locate some pom poms. 

P.S. How come the other moms aren't taking pictures? Clearly I am the only one taking this seriously.