FOOTBALL: an American game played between two teams of 11 players each in which the ball is in possession of one side at a time and is advanced by running or passing
Today I will spend time sitting on the couch watching football. Not because I’m one of the Seahawks’ faithful fans but because everyone else is doing it and jumping on the bandwagon gives me an excuse to eat my weight in appetizers and refill our growler at the local brewery.
But, kettle corn, seven layer dip, and hoppy IPA are not enough to distract me from the fact that watching football involves a lot of cheering over the relatively small accomplishments of grown men.
They run forward three feet. Hooray! They knock the other grown-ups down. Hooray! They throw and catch a ball. Standing ovation!
I can’t think of a female equivalent.
I’ve never heard anyone applaud for a lady walking on cobblestones in heels. Eleven ankle-busting cracks averted! I’ve never seen a standing ovation for a woman who makes it through the grocery store with kids. Three out of ten items on list procured!
Can you imagine if motherhood was a televised sport?
Mommy is up and out of bed before the sun. A gain of two yards on the play.
Floors swept. Laundry sorted. A gain of three.
Quick shower. Hair brushed. Make-up on.
It’s a Mommy first down!
There’s stirring in the backfield. Kids are awake. Mommy makes a healthy-enough breakfast followed by efficient teeth brushing. Clothes are on with minimal complaining.
Mommy is within field goal distance.
Oh, no! More food is on the floor than in the bellies and an important to do list has been turned into confetti – a loss of ten yards.
Mommy attempts to regain good field position by raising her voice and using “the look.” It doesn’t work nearly as well as she had hoped. Penalty marker on the play.
Impatience results in turnover to Kids. This could be a game changer.
Kids come back strong with toy messes and whining. Mommy effectively uses screen time as a distraction and forces Kids to punt.
Mommy returns for forty yards. Lunches packed. Shoes tied. Coats zipped. Keys found.
Mommy pulls off an on-time school arrival.
With espresso shots on the offensive line Mommy continues to play strong through the first half. Calls are returned. Emails answered. Complete sentences spoken.
Mommy enters half-time commute with a slight lead.
In the second half, Kids come out rested and strong. Mommy struggles to fix dinner while fending off complaints and toy disputes. Mommy’s running game is losing steam.
Late in the fourth quarter both Mommy and Kids show signs of exhaustion. Kids are becoming less coordinated. Minor injuries and penalty markers on the field.
Reading, pajamas, potty breaks and stalling tactics take the game into overtime.
The game is called when Mommy and Kids realize nobody knows the score.
Today I will clap and holler for the incremental progress of grown men down a green rectangle. But, tomorrow I’m going to want some clapping and hollering over my small victories.
And if some scantily clad pool boys want to waive feather dusters around, that’s okay with me too.