If we get it to fit correctly in the torso area, the sleeves'll be too short, or it won't come down far enough over the front. If we get the sleeves long enough, it'll drape and blow loosely like a sack over me, either way I won't like it.
A reality representation of my life for 21 years with Daniel would be wearing a Braves jersey. I happily had watched him play baseball for 10 of those years, what with Little League and high school. Last night between soccer games, I ran to the back of the park to the baseball fields to watch CJ play, Daniel's birth nephew, running into all sorts of folks I don't see over on the soccer fields. It was like two completely different worlds within this lovely 200+ acre park where I spend copious amounts of time.
I was one minute late getting back to the soccer fields for Scotty, JoJo and Allen's game, not a one of them self-conscious enough to not be screaming at me that they can't play right if I'm not there to applaud.
Oh my. I was one minute late big boys, one simple minute.
Nando had played an impressive soccer game, then later I watched Allen who is always amazing, incredible footwork, agility and speed, and until last night he'd scored most, if not all, the goals for his team this season, plus JoJo and Scotty who play quite well. JoJo scored one goal with a very powerful surprise kick, and then later entertained the crowd in the second half, as the goalie clown, so much so that I threatened to come out onto the field and settle him down.
"You won't" he chortled back, yelling to the ref, "Hey Coach Robbie, my mom's threatening me!"
JoJo's taller and heavier than me, faster of course, and not a bit ever felt threatened by me...or anyone else, including all of polite society.
Called Coach Robbie because he had indeed coached JoJo many years ago, this ref was doing his best to keep a straight face, finally losing it when JoJo not once, but twice, ran to kick the ball back across the field, but did his pratfall miss-the-ball and fall flat on his back, yelling, "I'm Charlie Brown! Peppermint Patty sucks!"
Parents were looking at me askance, as if I might've failed to heed to the park's leash law, oops I didn't pick up the dog poop, or to give JoJo proper medication. I can't help it, I was falling down laughing as he took off his goalie gloves, somehow stretching them into absurd lengths, and then acting as if his gloves were assaulting him.
And his nonstop trash talking. Oh my goodness, no filters, other than not cussing, at least. He was singing loudly, dancing, prissing, spinning in circles, skipping, bopping, and clowning around for 60 out of 60 minutes of the game.
"Hey Big All!" he'd yell, across the field, as Allen was fixing to score, "Bring me some water, why doncha Fool?"
He's flat out hilarious, when he's not annoying everyone. Imagine a young Jim Carey with zero impulse control, and no emotional brakes whatsoever.
"I almost envy his complete lack of self-consciousness," Dr Mandy had mentioned. I agree. I'm always afraid of tripping over my big feet in public, or of tucking my dress into my pantyhose and walking into the church sanctuary unaware.
Reason # 673 that I won't wear a dress.
So all of my acting-out shenanigans over a shopping trip can't begin to compare to that of being JoJo's mom, right?
Will Yolie need anti-anxiety medicine?
And, uh, yes indeed, JoJo does cut his own hair, why do you ask? Sometimes Martin helps shape it up. Chuy was walking around the park with a pink-haired girl, while I was hugging some folks from my old church that I hadn't seen in a while except on Facebook, which encompasses the sum total of my social life. Pathetic? Maybe, but I'm fine with it.
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