The Machine

December 8, 2010 By 14 Comments

With all due respect to the great Albert Pujols, my wife, Danielle Smith is “The Machine.”

ESPN has a “promo” where “the greatest baseball player on the planet” is portrayed as a machine due to his consistent high level of success, constantly getting the job done without failure.  Albert has nothing on my wife.

Let me take you thru a typical day in the life of Danielle “La Maquina” Smith.

6am – Alarm goes off…Time to get kids ready for school…she’s not a morning person, so don’t talk to her, but you’ll see why she’s not a morning person in just a few short paragraphs.  I do talk to her; it’s amusing to watch her not respond to me (wait a minute, that happens regardless of time of day).  PS…She’s the most beautiful woman on the planet when she first wakes up.  That is not a joke.  I truly believe that.  I’m fortunate that my wife is one of those women that are naturally stunning (no makeup needed).  Yes, I’m lucky.  So is she, I’m quite a catch in the A.M.  I have fantastic morning hair.  Imagine the hair of the offspring of a Peacock and a Rooster.  That’s me (Random thought: I’m into roosters by the way, more to come on them later).

7am – Prepare kids’ breakfast, feed dog, listen to husband’s funny jokes (Me being a morning person is wonderful for our marriage), converse with neighbor’s kids who carpool with our little ones, and complete approximately 20 Tweets, Email replies, and FB updates all while still laughing at husband’s jokes.  I love the morning J And, dang, my best material hits me as the Rooster crows.  PS…We don’t have a rooster, but I’d love to have one some day.  Note:  Put that on my Christmas List.

725 am – Take kids to school while belting out “Raise Your Glass” by Pink.  That’s the Truth.  If you know her or will see her soon, ask her to sing it for you, Very Entertaining.

830am-1115am – Depending on the day, it’s one of the following…Either,

  1. Perform on Camera for a local Marketing company on the most recent Commercial Spot
  2. Meet with Owner(s) of a St Louis based PR firm, Elasticity.  Now, those guys are funny.  I wonder if they tell her jokes in the morning meetings.  I wonder if she laughs.  Huh, this is all running through my head right now.  If she laughs at their jokes and not mine, oh, I’m going to be so … Okay, so anyway
  3. Write and Write and Write … Blog Posts, Tweet Replies, emails, IMs, DMs, FBs, ETC.  I don’t know what ETC means, but it seems like it ends all lists.
  4. Room Mother at both Delaney and Cooper’s School.  There is 1 Room Mother representative for both kid’s schools and guess who it is?  Yep, THE MACHINE
  5. Speak to local groups, High Schools, any and all community organizations, local DECA chapters, woman’s groups, ETC (there’s that acronym again).  My wife will talk to anyone (as long as it’s after 8am).  She’s more giving of her time than Mr. Swatch (that was punny).  Danielle is always willing to help out in anyway she can.  See her website motto of “Give good, get good.”  She gives of her time over and over and over again, and she “gets” to be married to me.  Good deal for her and for those she gives to…

1145 am – Pick up Cooper from School

1215-330pm – Be a Mommy to Cooper.  See, Coop is a very energetic, sports fanatic who’s smarter than the average bear.  He says to me the other day, “Dad, I don’t like to take naps because I’m afraid I’ll miss something.”  That’s Cooper.  He’s 4, and he’s all hers for 4hours a day Monday thru Friday.  Whew, I’m tired just thinking about them playing baseball and football and soccer and basketball and wrestling and hockey and…I’ve asked her to play sports with him, so that he can continue to sharpen his hand-eye coordination and get continue to fine tune his muscle memory.  I’m sure she does this for me, ahem, I mean … for him.

330pm – Delaney arrives home from school

400pm – 500pm – Help Delaney with her school work and prepare a wonderful feast for all of us (I clean, so I do my part.  I’ll do a post on “Marriage:  It’s the ultimate team game” some other time, but this post is all about THE MACHINE)

500-502pm – She eats.  Like a bird.  That’s good for me, because I clean up the leftovers.  I’m a raccoon.

600-730pm – It’s Family Time.  We read books, play hide-n-go seek, go to soccer or softball practice (depending on the time of year), dance around the kitchen to some random “GLEE” version of a current hit.  Long Live the Warblers!!!  It’s this 90 minutes of the day which is the best for me.  I love it.  Plus, I can do the worm, so the dancing thing is a blast.

730pm-800pm – Bath Time, Prayers and Bed Time

Now, the fun starts for The Machine.

815pm-2am (many times as late as 3am) – This is when THE MACHINE is at her best.  See, Danielle is nocturnal.  She does her best writing, video editing, producing, and creative thinking at night. I, with one hand on the remote and one hand on my … wife’s leg, crash just after “Seinfeld.” (1030 pm local time).  That show is still funny. She continues to type, as I start to dream about…farm animals.

I do NOT know how she writes as wonderfully as she does at 2 o’clock in the morning.  Her writing is organized, well though out, has a purpose, inspirational and is easy to read.  And, she does all of this as the raccoon returns to his home while the rooster assumes the position.

Press “Start” to make a copy and see The Machine do it all again tomorrow.

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The Batter’s Box

November 30, 2010 By 1 Comment

(From the Daddy Diary Archives – Jeff wrote this a while ago… but it has somehow disappeared from the site…)

Dear Baseball Diary-

Dads all over this country are smiling from batter’s box to batter’s box tonight.  They’ve given their boys away for the hopes of someday wearing a ring, a World Series Ring.  We had a local kid here in St Louis that was drafted 9th overall by the Detroit Tigers.  So, one day Jacob Turner is studying for his Algebra final and fixing his hair for Senior Prom.  The next day, he’s the property of the same team that Ty Cobb, Hank Greenberg, and Al Kaline all earned “Cooperstown” induction…Oh, yeah, and he’ll probably become a zillionaire on top of all of that fun

So, after watching tonight’s local news with my son, I look at my boy.  Our eyes meet.  He gives me that look.  He nods his head as if it say “Dad, it’s a done deal.  Just give me the ball.”

He stands a towering 3foot2 when his blond mop is grown out, weighs in at 32pounds and throws in the mid 20s.  He can top out at 30mph after eating a pack of StarBurst.  His name is “Cooper” named after … yep, you guessed it.  Go ahead and ask him to count to 5.  He won’t give you the normal 1-2-3-4-5.  He’ll say…Ozzie, Red Head, the Babe, Iron Horse and Albert, all of whom are inducted or will be some day inducted into his town, ahem, I mean Cooperstown.

So, here’s a quick “heads up” for all of you Major League Scouts.  I got a ‘can’t miss’ prospect for you.  Check back in for the 2024 draft.  By then, he’ll be 6foot5, 215 pounds, long and lanky.  He comes straight over the top with a tall and fall delivery.  He tops out in the mid to high 90s, and has never thrown a breaking pitch.  The Professional Coaches will take care of that part.  He just worked on arm strength and mechanics since he was 3.  He loves the game.  He lives the game.  He was born, destined to pitch in a Game 7.

Hold on.  Wait a second.  He’s calling me.  What’s that Coop?  You want to go pitch to me.  You want to learn a 4-seamer grip.  You want to put on your shoe-shoe?  Oh, geez, you mean, you have to go POO-POO.

Well, we got a ways to go, but I can SMELL IT anyway.

Dad of a Hall of Famer-to-be

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The Vasectomy Experience….

November 24, 2010 By 11 Comments

The Vasectomy Experience Part II

(Prior to reading this post, please refer back to the Vasectomy Experience Part I from this past summer; it’s very entertaining, and you know what? Even if you’ve read it before, refresh your memory.)

When we last heard from our Super Hero, aka Me, I was receiving a consult for a Vasectomy.  Well, now the day has arrived, and passed for our fearless leader… and….

Jeff: “I’ve been wearing this Jock Strap for 6 days and it’s really, really starting to bother me.”

Danielle, the extremely sympathetic wife (insert all kinds of sarcasm here):  “Is IT supposed to look like that?” (IT should be typed in black and blue)

Jeff:  “Heck if I know.  I know this comes as a huge shock to you, but I’ve never had someone slice a hole into my man parts before, but then again, I’ve never had a bee fly down my shorts either.”

Explanation:  During the procedure, Dr Shnip (yes, that was his real name…if you believe that, please call me up because I have some egg yoke to sell you…pain meds talking) says to me…

Dr Shnip:  “Okay, Jeff, I’m going to first administer some lidocaine on the right side to numb that area.  It’s going to feel like a bee sting.”

Jeff:  “Dr., have you ever had a bee fly down your pants and sting you in that section?”

Dr Shnip:  “Why, no, I guess not.”

Jeff:  “Then, how may I ask do you know that it’s going to feel like a bee sting?  I’ve been stung by a bee on my arms and legs, but never on my … ahem, you know…down there.”

Dr Shnip:  “Okay, good point, so, what are you doing tonight after you leave here?”

Author’s Note:  This is where Dr. Shnip tries to take the patient’s mind off the fact that he’s purposely cutting a hole into his …

Jeff:  “Great Balls of Fire!!!  I can still feel that.”

Dr Shnip:  “Oh, sorry.  I guess we need to give a little bit more of the numbing medicine.”

Jeff:  “You know Dr., I’m in no hurry if you aren’t.  How about you sting like a bee then fly like a butterfly for a moment while the numbing medicine does its thing?  Just a thought…

Dr Shnip:  “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

Dr Shnip finishes up the entire procedure in about 15 minutes.  Nothing to it…until…I walk to the waiting room, where guess-who is waiting?  A 3-foot-6, 4-year old boy.  I’m 5 foot 11 and ¾ inches (some would say 6 foot, but my brother and wife remind me all of the time that I’m not 6 foot, story for another day), thus the 3 and a half foot terror-in-tennis-shoes is heading right for my mid-section…

Cooper:  “Daddy!!!”  (thump, I think, I’m not sure, because I’m still numb down there, thank God)

Danielle:  “Coop, Don’t touch Daddy, he’s sore in his boy parts.”

Jeff:  “Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy nameeeeeeeeeee…”

Cooper:  “Oh, sorry, Daddy, you want to play some football?”

Jeff:  “Hmmmm, Coop, we may have to wait a few days before we play football.  Deal?”

Cooper:  “I guess.  We’ll just wrestle when we get home.”

I’m not going to give you each day of progression on how I felt during the recovery period.  I’ll spare you those details.  You’re welcome.  You owe me.  I will give this advice to all men out there who have not had the pleasure of this experience quite yet…

  1. Jock Strap is mandatory.  It keeps everything in its rightful spot, plus it made me feel like I was back on the ball diamond in high school.  I would pop an advil with a bud light, close my eyes and imagine hitting line drives into the gap, sprinting to third, then diving head first into the bag, when thump, the dog jumps right below my belt, leading me to advice point #2.
  2. A Pillow is mandatory.  It’s a defense mechanism.  IT really doesn’t hurt that much unless you walk into your 4-year old Hall of Famer-to-be swinging a bat in the living room and he catches you on the backswing.  And, no, I’m not deterring him from swinging a bat in the living room.  Some things are worth it.  We’ll all remember this during the 2024 Major League Draft.  I took one for the team this past week.
  3. Frozen peas are mandatory.  Yes, they reduce swelling, but there’s more to it than the frigid feeling down at the South Pole.  The peas tend to separate, surrounding and protecting IT from evil outside forces.
  4. The remote control is mandatory.  You, absolutely, do not want to move up and down too, too much.  I recommend the second weekend in March (Madness), first weekend in October (Playoff Baseball and Football at the same time), or Mother’s Day Weekend if you can pull it off.  Just kidding Moms, on that last one.  Wow, that would be the greatest move of all time if you Dads made that happen and survived.  If any of you have, please, please tell your story, and let me know if you’re still married and/or still alive.

So, now, here I am typing away, on Day 6.  I’ve officially removed the “scrotum protector” and I’m heading back to the gym in the morning.  Whew, Jeff Snip (ahem, I mean Jeff Smith) is back!!!

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Friday Night Lights – Dad saves the day….

November 15, 2010 By 1 Comment

It’s a Friday Night in Mid November.  Date night for my wife and I.  We’re heading out with some friends for the evening at a new little bistro in a cool part of town; a part of town where parents of young children don’t usually hang, but hey, we’re cool, well, my wife is cool anyway, and I can drive.  We’ve been looking forward to this since Monday morning at 4:45am when the alarm catapulted us into the work week.

It’s 7pm, there’s a knock at the door, and my savior, ahem, sitter has arrived.

“Kerri?  You’re watching the kids tonight?” I say in disbelief.

Kerri is my favorite.  She plays with the kids, not a movie watcher, makes them do crafts, cooks up some dinner when needed, has bailed us out at the last minute many times, and is always so polite.  Kerri is the perfect babysitter.  She’s a great kid.

But, Kerri is in her first year at West High.  And, tonight, West hosts their intra-conference rival in the Missouri State Football Quarterfinals.  From our back deck, one can hear the band, see the lights, even smell the B-B-Q as the fans started tailgating for this one at 4pm for the 7 o’clock kick off.  This is as close to West Texas and big time High School Football as Missouri gets.  Two big schools, a lot of collegiate-athletes-to-be on both rosters, and a crowd estimated at around 8,000 expected to witness this Monster Match-Up.

Kerri enters our house and stares out our back door at the Friday Night Lights that are shining over this little niche of suburbia.

“Kerri, when did you agree to watch Cooper?”  I ask, feeling really badly that we’re keeping her from the social event of her first year of High School.  And, to make matters worse, we can hear the PA Announcer from our living room.  The game is underway.

“You know what.  Don’t answer that.”  She goes on to tell me that she just wasn’t thinking, and admits to me that she called a friend of hers that lives in our subdivision that has babysat for us before, but does not go to West High.  But, the backup plan had plans too.

I stare at Kerri.  Kerri stares out the back window.  I stare at Cooper.  Cooper stares at his Scooby Doo football.  I stare at Danielle.  She smiles at me.  My wife and I are always on the same page.  I love that part of our marriage.

“Kerri, get out of here, go to the game.” I tell her.  And, that’s an order.  She looks at me, “Oh no, Mr. Smith, go out to dinner, have fun.  I’ll just go to next week’s game.”

That game is in Kansas City, the other side of the state, a 3 hour drive from us.  This game is just beyond our backyard, a 3 minute walk from us.

“Listen, Kerri, I want to thank you for being loyal to us.  You could have bailed, made up any excuse, and you know what, I wouldn’t have blamed you.  But, instead, you kept up your end of the deal.  You made a commitment and stuck to it.  I respect that.  Now, I’m telling you to get out of here, and go cheer with your friends.  Have fun.  Be a 15-year old kid.”

Kerri, politely, asks if I’m sure, and I point to the door with a smile.  She, of course, says “thank you” and bounces out the front door.  She ran to her house up the street in 2 seconds flat and was in her Dad’s car in less time than it took me to get Cooper ready.  We had to get Goldfish, Teddy Grahams and a Capri Sun.  Now, that’s a tailgating spread…

Danielle still went to the bistro, sans her limo driver.  Delaney went to Movie Night at her school with her little 1st grade pals, and guess where Coop and I went?

West won on a last minute Touchdown drive, 34-28!  It was High School Athletics at its best; Kerri and 1400 of her closest friends stormed the field.  Just another November Friday Night here in Suburbia.

Go West!!!

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“Fall Back” Asleep

November 7, 2010 By 6 Comments

I remember when I was in college or really any time prior to having children that I loved the weekend when we could turn back our clocks and get that extra hour of weekend.  Whether it was an another 60minutes of zzz’s or another round at the local pub, it was a little bit of fun prior to the onset of winter for those of us north of the Mason-Dixon line.

Let me refer you back to the first line of this Daddy Diary that says “prior to having children.”  Here’s what I did with my extra hour of “fun” this year.

5:07 am – I’m startled by 2 sets of eyes staring at me at my bedside.  “Daddy, we’re not tired” says the 4year old ghost.  My response, “go away.”

Shockingly, the ghost and his 6year old sister actually do go away.

5:11 am – They’ve returned.  “Daddy, we did go away, but we’re back.  Can I read Cooper a book?” says the 6 year old boomerang that has a knack of always returning to my bedside.”  My response this time, “yes, that’s a terrific idea Delaney, how bout reading him ‘Gone with the Wind.’”  She appears confused, but then again, my eyes are still not open and it’s 5:11 am on a Sunday!!!!

5:16 am – “Daddy, we’re done reading,” says the speed reading princess. “What? That book is over a thousand pages long.  How did you finish so quickly?” says the sleep deprived king.  “Well, Daddy, I’m in advanced reading and learning a lot,” says the now gloating princess.  “Danielle, pull her out of school on Monday,” says the once proud, now very groggy king to his “still asleep” queen.

5:19 am – Dog is barking uncontrollably while chasing his tail.  He’s doing this exactly 15 inches from the father’s pillow.  Pillow now goes over the father’s face.

5:21 am – 2 minutes later, dog is still barking.  The dad leaps out of bed and chases the 7 pound dog out of his room.  Door slams shut.  He crawls back into bed.

5:28 am – Door re-opens.  “Dad, we’re hungry,” says the 40 pound 4-year old.  “May we please have some breakfast?”  “I will get you breakfast at 7am.  When your clock says 7-0-0, I will make you breakfast,” says Chef Smith.  The good chef closes his eyes.

5:30 am – “Daddy, our clock is not working.  The battery is dead.  Can you change the battery?” says the soon to be fatherless son.  “Forget the clock for now.  Go play, and I’ll come and get you for breakfast.  I’ll make you whatever you want at 7-0-0.  Deal?  Deal!” says Monty Hall (former host of the game show “Let’s Make a Deal.”).  The 2 contestants leave the parents bedroom and actually go play together.

5:35 am – The father is drifting, drifting, drifting and then

Bark! Bark!  Bark!

The dog snuck back into the room when the daughter and son re-appeared during that last round of Let’s Make a Deal.  The never-to-be-confused with the President of PETA falls out of bed, crawls to the door and opens it to let the dog out of his room.

5:44 am – All is quiet.  REM begins again, when all of a sudden “Daddy (in a whisper), Daddy (growing louder), Daddy (at a voice volume used at 1pm)!!! “What?  What happened?  Is everyone alright?  Are you hurt?” says our superhero.  Laughing now, “Well, no Daddy, I’m not hurt.  I cannot find one of my soccer socks, and I have a game today,” says our soccer star.  “Your game is not for another 7 hours.  We have plenty of time to find the sock” says the soccer star’s father.  “But, Daddy, you said that I need to be ready for this game, that this is a big game.”  “Did I say that?  Well, sure it’s a big game, but getting dressed for a 115pm game at 540 in the morning might be a tad extreme.  Go practice your ball skills downstairs,” says Coach Dad.

5:56 am – 12 minutes of peace.  It’s the greatest 12 minutes since the 4th quarter of the NBA Finals Game 7 last summer; but then the yell.  “Daddddddddy!”  Bedroom door flies open.  The little man is in the room, “Dadddddddy, I beat Delaney at Candyland” says the braggart. What?  There’s that game again (see prior Daddy Diary).  And, how did they finish it so quickly (again, see prior Daddy Diary for full explanation)?  “Cooper, that’s great, but can you please let me rest just a little big longer?” pleads the insomniac.  “Well, sure Dad, no problem,” replies the sleep depriver.

6:07 – The princess re-visits the castle.  “Daddy, we’re not tired, we’re hungry, I’m excited for my game, and I really need to find my sock.”

I cannot wait till March when I’m gonna give that hour right back to them.  It’s on!!!!

Sincerely,

Daddzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

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A Rainy Day, CandyLand and Lessons in being a Poor Sport

October 4, 2010 By 2 Comments

Okay, I admit it.  I cheated playing Candyland with my then 3-year old son and 5-year old daughter.  I committed this crime one year ago, and I’ve been called out for being a “poor sport” for the past 12 months, so here I am coming clean.

But, I ask all of you dads, “what would you have done if put in this same situation?”  Read the following set of circumstances and you tell me…

It’s a rainy first Sunday in October.  My wife and I “hit the town” the previous night for a fun-filled October fest with a few friends.  Now, I’ve learned my lesson to stop at 2 bottles of wine.  I’m joking.  Relax.  I’ve learned my lesson to stop at 2 “glasses” of wine.  So, Charlie Jack Hammer is not drilling his way into my cerebellum, but hey, we got home late, and Cooper decided that his normal 5:30 am wake up call was in play for the 73rd consecutive Sunday.  This kid just doesn’t like to sleep on the weekend.  It’s the first Sunday in October, so we have the last day of the baseball season (see Tigers-Twins excitement for those of you that recall).  We have NFL Football of course.  Normally, I’m a casual fan.  After the 9th straight game of Candyland, I’m John Madden on Cotton Candy.  Boom!

So, here we are sitting at the kitchen table at 2:30pm.  I’ve been awake now for 9 hours.  My only break was the 60 minutes asking God why he has forsaken me in this, my hour of need.  I’m trying to be a good Dad and keep the TV off and do some Smith Team Building excercises like the dishes, reading books, cleaning out kid’s closets, and now playing board games:  first 4 games of Memory and now we’re onto our 10th game of Candyland. This is where it all went down.

Delaney has won 5 games.  Coop has won 4.  I say “hey guys, let’s do something else.”  They respond with “Daddy, you haven’t won yet.”  Yeah, well, every time I get past the Ice Cream Cone, I draw a damn Gingerbread man again.  That guy is a jerk.  And, I’m back near the starting line again.  I’m glad the fox ate the gingerbread man.  He deserved it with his wry smile and open arms as if it say “here I am, pick me again Mr. Smith, you moron.”  Sorry.  I’m having flashbacks.

So, picture this.  I’m between the Lollipop and the Ice Cream Cone again.  I know that the jerk (see Gingerbread man) still hasn’t been drawn yet.  I also know that I’ll never play Candyland again if I can just win one game.  Delaney is a double purple behind me.  Cooper just drew the Candy Cane.  Goody-Goody Gum Drops, I have my opening.  I need a Double Blue, Double Green, and a Double Red.  I do all of that and I’ll be watching Game 162 of the baseball season.  So, I draw, and I’ll be damned, that sweet little bastard is staring at me again.  Nope, not happening.  I drop all of the cards on the floor.  Delaney screams out “Daddy, what happened?”  I respond with “I don’t know, my hand just started shaking.  Are we having an earthquake?”  Cooper chimes in with “Sure, I’ll take a milkshake.”  No, I said “earthquake.”  And, we all proceed to clean them up.  Kids under the table, me in my chair, orderly putting the cards back in the pile with every 3rd card being a Double Blue, Double Green and Double Red.  Huh, funny how that worked out.

So, a few minutes later, I win. Game Over.  And, finally, I get them each some milk, so we all can take a little Sunday nap.  As the three of us fall into the couch, Delaney looks at me says “Daddy, I think you cheated.”  What??? “I think you dropped those cards on purpose.”  And what gives you that idea Delaney?  “Well, we went through the entire deck of cards, and no one picked the Gingerbread man.  It seems that you always pick it, and that’s “shady;” Her word, not mine, by the way.

So, call me Shady.  Call me a Gingerbread Man Hater.  But, I swore that table started to shake on that 1st Sunday in October in 2009, and for that I’m not sorry.  There.  It’s out there now.  Whew, I feel better.

As a present to myself, I think I’ll go pour myself a tall glass of milk, eat a few sugary little men with candy buttons and outstretched arms then finish this little nightcap off with a nice smile.

I guess you could call me a “Poor Sport.”

-Daddy

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Freeze Frame – A Soccer Dad’s Moment

September 4, 2010 By 2 Comments

Dear Daddy Diary-

You ever have those moments in life where you actually do sit back, take a deep breath and wish you could just freeze the moment forever? I had one this past Tuesday night at a First Grade Girl’s Soccer Game.

It was the ‘Consolation’ Championship Game of a Pre-Season Tournament. Both teams had lost their 1st game, but won the next 2 advancing to a “Trophy Game.” Trophy Game being defined as a game where the winner receives a trophy. See, you don’t have to be too smart to read/write these diaries.

I only mention this fact, because this game was tied 1-1 after 50 minutes of play, thus went into Penalty Kicks.

For the non-soccer fan, this is where the ball is set up just a few yards from the goal, and a player is allowed to shoot the ball completely uncontested as hard as she can at the goal. It’s the goalkeeper’s task to stop that ball from crossing the line. Each team gets 5 shots. Whichever team scores the most, wins, and thus walks home with the trophy. Kind of a big deal to a bunch of 6 year old pony-tailed soccer zealots.

This author is one of the “coaches.” Whew, use that term extremely loosely when referring to me. Coach Joe is the Head Coach. He’s the guy on the field positioning the girls during the entire game. He’s constant with his words of encouragement, working so hard to keep them in the right spot that I was tired for him. Then, there’s Coach Matt, the “teacher”. He’s the guy that played ultra competitive soccer back in the day, and could still whistle a shot past a Ghana Goalie (yep, could have used him in South Africa about 2 months ago). Coach Matt is so patient with the girls explaining the way the game is supposed to be played: passing, spacing, unselfish play. Then, there’s yours truly. Coach Joe has assigned me the job of substituting the girls on/off the field; making sure they all get as equal amount of playing time as possible, and also putting each of them in the best position to be successful. No pressure. Thanks Coach Joe. (Pssst, I love it.)

soccergirls

Then, of course, there are the girls. Just look at them. Don’t they look sweet? Huh, think pack of wolverines. Sure, they’re cute and nice, almost adorable with their little pigtails and batting eyelashes, but then the referee blows the whistle, and their entire purpose in life for the next 50 minutes is to put that ball in that goal as many times as possible. Tonight, they found the net once. The other team scored the same amount, so it’s on to Penalty Kicks.

Coach Joe takes the 5 girls who are going to shoot and gets them all ready. Coach Matt takes Addie (the goalie) and explains to her how she is going to stop all of these shots from reaching the net. Yours truly sits alone on the bench. See, my job is over. No more substituting. I’m just a Dad now watching his little girl and her friends have fun.

And, this leads me to the moment that I want to freeze forever.

I look across the sidelines, and realize that these parents are my friends for the next 8-12 years (or longer if I’m lucky). I look on the field and understand that these little girls will grow up with my little princess and experience all of the wonderful things that kids enjoy. They’ll be in and out of my house faster than Landon Donovan, have all night slumber parties, text boys on their smart phones from my living room, beg me to re-charge their ipod in the middle of the night and coerce me into downloading multiple movies on a Friday evening. I gazed down the sideline at my wife, peeked at my little Mia Hamm on the field and found my 4 year old son sitting with another of the girl’s brothers (of course), then looked to the sky and said “thank you.”

See, this is everything that I’ve ever dreamed of…I love team sports. I truly love them for this. I love that team sports bring kids together and let them play….just play together with the goal being to have fun and maybe learn a thing or two about being a part of a team. These kids will be friends for a long time, not forever for some of them of course, because the world will try to pull them away from each other. But, for tonight, on this field, each one of these innocent balls of sugar and soccer spice is rooting each other on harder than they’ve ever rooted for anything in their lives, and for what? A Trophy? Heck no, they’re rooting for each other because they’re friends.

It really is that simple; Just friends cheering on friends. It’s perfect. We’re going to have a lot of fun over the next 12 years. See this picture. You can almost imagine this Class of 2022 walking across the stage, gathering their diplomas and heading off into the real world. For now, they are just a bunch of 6-year old girls who would love nothing more than just to play with their friends.

And, maybe, just maybe win a Trophy.

PS…Addie (The Goalie came up huuuuuge). The Wolverines (ahem, I mean Crusaders) win in Penalty Kicks.

I “CAN” wait for the next game. I’m just fine enjoying this one FOREVER.

Sincerely,

A Soccer Dad

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