You probably think I’ve been on a bender since St. Patrick’s Day. But you know, bender is such a strong word. We O’Briens prefer the expression “visiting with family.” Plus, it’s that time of the month for me—column deadline time—so there have been the customary tears and hand wringing and soul searching over whyyyy me and how can I possibly and I can't and never could and not enough tiiiiime andpressure and poooooor meeeeeeeeeee waaaaaaaaaaah.
More on that later.
Right now I’m reminiscing about Gus’s first soccer practice, which was last night, and approximately the cutest stinkin’ thing I’ve ever witnessed.
Small people + Cleats = Awesome
Gus wasn’t actually wearing cleats though, because as you know I amthat mom, for whom The Memo does not arrive until quarter past Holy Shit! Is it Too Late? And it’s too bad for Gus that I’m this way, because
MAN, DOES THAT KID LOVE ACCESSORIES.
He can’t just play policeman; he has to have the uniform, and thebadge, and the holster and the gun and the clipboard with a fresh packet of speeding tickets on it and what can he use for a police car?!? Do we have anything he can use for a police car? Anything with wheels and a government seal? But his scooter doesn’t have a real siren or a light; do we have anything he can use for a siren and a light? And wait, where’s his police pencil? And his handcuffs. Do we have any donuts? How can we expect him to really get in character and do this thing without donuts?
It’s a wonder he gets anything imagined at all.
But back to the soccer team—the East Nashville soccer team—where no one can just be named Steve.
We’ve got Gus, Coop, Frankie, Parish, Marlin and Betty, and if we don’t have a winning season, I’m going to suggest we just hang up our cleats and start a punk rock band in Frankie’s parents’ garage.
More on that later.
Right now I’m reminiscing about Gus’s first soccer practice, which was last night, and approximately the cutest stinkin’ thing I’ve ever witnessed.
Small people + Cleats = Awesome
Gus wasn’t actually wearing cleats though, because as you know I amthat mom, for whom The Memo does not arrive until quarter past Holy Shit! Is it Too Late? And it’s too bad for Gus that I’m this way, because
MAN, DOES THAT KID LOVE ACCESSORIES.
He can’t just play policeman; he has to have the uniform, and thebadge, and the holster and the gun and the clipboard with a fresh packet of speeding tickets on it and what can he use for a police car?!? Do we have anything he can use for a police car? Anything with wheels and a government seal? But his scooter doesn’t have a real siren or a light; do we have anything he can use for a siren and a light? And wait, where’s his police pencil? And his handcuffs. Do we have any donuts? How can we expect him to really get in character and do this thing without donuts?
It’s a wonder he gets anything imagined at all.
But back to the soccer team—the East Nashville soccer team—where no one can just be named Steve.
We’ve got Gus, Coop, Frankie, Parish, Marlin and Betty, and if we don’t have a winning season, I’m going to suggest we just hang up our cleats and start a punk rock band in Frankie’s parents’ garage.
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