Basketballs, baseballs, footballs, soccer balls, tennis balls, volleyballs, golf balls, rugby balls, lacrosse balls, dodge balls, beach balls. When you live in a house with men and boys, there are a lot of balls around.
I step on them. I trip on them. I curse them. I laugh at them.
But mostly, I buy them, because they wear out.
Me at the sporting goods store when Tall was 3 years old buying his first soccer ball: “I guess I’ll take that one that is $25. That should hold us for the next 15 years or so.” (smug smile)
Me at the sporting goods store three months later: “Yeah, he wore it out. Who knew you could wear out a soccer ball out? Here’s my Visa card.”
Me at the sporting goods store last week: (Silent, takes ball, pays)
Me, walking into the sporting goods store yesterday: “Hey Shane, good to see ya’, Becky, how’s the baby? J.D, my man!” (Everyone else to me: “Hi MOV! Good morning! Hey, MOV’s back! MOVee, babe, how’ve you been?”)
Me at the sporting goods store this morning: “Do they come in, like, economy packs of 20? Or if not, could I maybe get a price break if I buy more than ten at a time?”
I never set out to be a soccer mom, and truly, I’m not. I’m a ball mom.
("Marking Outside Victories")