I almost titled this post "fucking finally," but decided not to the moment I even considere it. I just wanted you to know.
We had a couple warm days this past week, weekend days that saw our Sometimes Roommate and her two year old son over so that another friend could paint Dolly Parton on the hood of her car. Sometimes Roommate brought over a friend, the object of my newest lusty thoughts.
I can see by the looks on all your faces that you've just stumbled upon a new thing. Yes, we have a Sometimes Roommate, a female friend who sometimes finds herself staying with us. She has a two year old who also often joins us, and Big Brother and The Boy have found no end of fun playing with him. I'm not sure how involved she'll be with the blog, but she now arrives with a name even. I haven't thought up a name for her kid, but he's a sweetheart, and if he shows up again he'll have a name.
The weather was the real star of the show. I scooped as much poop as I could find out of the yard along with a fair number of leaves too committed to the poop to let go. We unstacked the white, plastic outdoor chairs and pumped up bike tires. The dirt patch under the maple is still too sodden to really want to play in, but it'll dry enough soon enough.
It was an awesome couple of days which have given us our first daffodils, quite possibly my favorite flower currently. Where I live they are always the first blooms, the first color, that shiny gleam of hope that spring is not so far away. It brings thoughts of finally fixing the clocks by a whole hour and accepting Easter as a way to get at some ham.
Momma and I have discussed Easter recently. I realized that the only meaning I've ever known for Easter has been directly related to crosses, nails, blood, torture, and having to get up extra early to go shiver in a park to hear preaching right before you went to church and ate breakfast in time for more preaching. And if you were my family, you weren't out enjoying breakfast but in the back preparing and serving it. Moments like this indicate that I was in food service earlier than I thought, but that's a topic for another day.
Soccer has begun again, our first games coming Saturday. I feel completely disjointed about the whole thing right now. I feel like I got a late start with my U10's, but we're fine where we are. I have good players for the most part, if I can't get them to see the game as I do. I think during our next scrimmage I'll take two players out at a time and get them to watch with me as their teammates bunch up like granny's underwear and steal the ball from each other.
Apparently our team name will quite possibly be Yo Momma. I don't care personally, but I explained to the vociferous suggester of the name that he had to get the written and signed agreement from each mother represented by a player on the team. I don't know who he asked, but he seemed to think that he had gotten that sort of thing with something an awful lot not written and/or signed. Somehow that led to everyone swarming to their cars and suddenly practice was over.
I've completely forgotten to give them my "all I want is your very best" speech. I'll have to remember that before the game Saturday.
Soccer practice is the only exercise I've gotten since last soccer season. I can't last for shit with those kids, which I really hate because I really love working directly with them. We're still at a point in life when I can generally beat them, but they are also getting to where they can beat me. I actually love when they do that, because I feels it helps build their confidence. I do also admit that, were I in better shape, it wouldn't happen very often and doesn't now, but the twelve pack of beer a night and however many packs of cigarettes added to the sad, depressed and fairly sedentary existence I've stuck myself in . . .
Sorry, had to sneak a little melancholy in.
Other than all that, there isn't much else to say at the moment. I get to go out Friday night(tonight by the time this gets read.) We have an all night babysitter Saturday, so Momma and I both get to go do something. Christian pulled it off in the end to take Project Runway, and a new season of Top Chef starts next week.
Daffodils and Top Chef and soccer season. Maybe I'll blog Top Chef, but if I do, Momma has to accept that we won't always watch each episode together. We'll see.
And, yeah, we're done here for now.
