Sometimes, things just work out. And, isn't it nice when they do?
For the past few weeks, my teenage daughter and more than 100 of her closest friends (or at least, classmates) have been putting in serious hours practicing football. Yes, football. Most evenings, some weekends, for two or three hours at a time. This is on top of schoolwork, her job at the stable, training with her horse, and focusing on college applications. My daughter is one tired young lady.
As of Saturday, she's also a champion.
Yes, she and her team soundly beat the town — and arch-rival team — next door. All I can say is ... "Thank goodness."
Actually, there is much to be grateful for as we head toward the Thanksgiving holiday later this week. First of all, she got through the entire experience without an injury. (All I could think about was that after riding and jumping horses for the past twelve years, she'd wind up with a concussion from Powder Puff Football.) My worries weren't completely unfounded. There were some casualties during practice and I did see at least two girls limp off the field in Saturday's game.
The annual event may be named after something soft and harmless, but these women meant business, believe me.
With so many girls participating, many didn't see much action. But, my daughter did get to play, several times, and even snatched two of the other team's flags, including the very first one of the game.
Apparently, this is a good thing. (So I was told.)
Even before the big game itself, we had plenty of serendipity and luck. From finding cleats on sale to pulling together all the required outfits for "Spirit Week." (Somehow a pair of camouflage pants from freshman year, two sizes smaller than her current jeans, still fit. It was like our own personal Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants.) At the last minute (what else is new?), my daughter realized that she really wanted a new dress for the post-game "progressive dinner." I time-shifted some of my own commitments so we could make a mad dash to the mall. We found the very thing she was looking for at the very last store we visited — and 30% off! — before racing back so she could get to her final scrimmage.
When all was said and done, the camaraderie and school spirit we saw on Saturday was really something to behold. I've rolled my eyes countless times through this process, but I confess, I'm a believer now. Never exactly a sports fan (man, that is the understatement of the year), I was perfectly happy to be there, to cheer when I was supposed to (even though I didn't really have a clue why we were all cheering), to congratulate the victors and celebrate with other proud parents afterwards.
My daughter's Powder Puff game was actually the first football game I ever went to. So, I'm particularly happy that it had a happy ending.
You see ... chances are, it will be my last football game as well.
If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.
Several days ago, I was in a coffee shop in Boston's trendy South End with my two business partners. We were celebrating their birthdays and brainstorming ideas for a new campaign for one of our clients. I realized it was after 2:30 and excused myself to call my teenage daughter.
"Your mouth guard is in a zip-lock on the patio next to your cleats," I told her.
I hung up and noticed that both of my colleagues had their mouths open. Over the years, they've suffered through all of my stable mom updates: trailer fees and vet bills, early Sunday morning events, ribbons won (or not and why). But, this was something new and different. I could almost hear them wondering, "Waitaminute, she only has the one kid, right?"
"Powder Puff Football," I explained, then gave them the Cliff Notes version of this time-honored tradition. "And, they take it seriously," I finished up, "Very seriously."
A handsome young man at the next table who had overheard my explanation concurred. "I'm from the rival town," he admitted sheepishly. We laughed and let him get back to his work. Suffice it to say, he was fortunate that it was me and not my daughter and her cohorts in that café. He's probably blissfully unaware that for the last three weeks, he and his fellow townspeople have become public enemies number one.
This will be my daughter's second Powder Puff; as a junior, she was a cheerleader. But, it's the first time (and will be the only time) that she's actually playing. And, getting ready for her moment of gridiron glory has been a lot more complicated than I would have expected.
First of all, there's the practice. 2-3 hours a night, Monday through Thursday. This is on top of riding lessons and training, homework and college applications. All of the girls in my daughter's class are feeling stressed, but that didn't stop 100 (of 140) of them from joining in.
Then, there's the gear. As parents of an equestrienne, my husband and I know from gear (and our bank account has the scars to show for it). But, this was virgin territory. "Can you pick up some cleats for me?" my daughter asked a couple of weeks ago, casually in passing.
"Say what?"
Turns out, she needed the aforementioned cleats and mouthguard for practice and she needed them (What else is new?) "Um ... this afternoon." Okay, I'm comfortable in a bookstore, in a museum shop, an antiques store or boutique. But, I've rarely (if ever) been in a Sports Authority. "Where would I find a mouthguard?" I asked a helpful associate. She pointed the way, but didn't warn me that there were about fifty different options available. I chose one that was in the mid-price range and red (one of my daughter's school colors). As far as cleats were concerned, I snagged a pair on a sale table. Alas, they didn't fit. But, my husband exchanged them on his lunch break the next day. Ugly (some might even say, "Fugly") neon green, but he promised to spray them black before the big day.
We are now in the final countdown and the excitement is nearly overwhelming. My daughter was assigned "inside linebacker," at first. But last night, she practiced as "defensive end." Despite the best efforts of more than one ex-boyfriend in my past, I have no idea what any of that means.
Maybe I'll find out on Saturday. "Go team!"
If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.
This morning, per usual, I did a 4-mile fitness walk through our historic "Old Town," down by the harbor, along the beach, up through a pretty wooded neighborhood, and back home. It's hot and muggy now, but with the sun just coming up, it was still fairly cool. (BTW, if this daily walking thing makes me sound too healthy, rest assured I make up for it later in the day with white wine and chocolate. And sometimes cheese.)
About twenty minutes into my walk, I heard car horns and shrieking teenagers. The cacophony was coming from "the Neck," an attached peninsula filled with yacht clubs, private docks, and eensy-weensy ten-bedroom "summer cottages." The noise drifted across the harbor and, although I knew where it was coming from, it sounded like it was right next to me.
Soon, it was.
I stepped into a hedge just as a parade of thirty cars came flying around a corner. Horns blaring, noisemakers, drums, and a couple of fearless (and/or stupid) girls literally hanging out windows. They clapped and waved and yelled "WOOOO HOOOO" when they saw me.
It's the first day of school and these revelers are ... seniors.
My daughter, just a lowly junior, was still asnooze. For a moment, I worried about where she'll be and what she'll be doing (and whose car she'll be in) next year. But, I try to say in the moment. There are plenty of worries to deal with in the here and now. Never mind the there and then.
This year promises to be difficult and dramatic. Supposedly, colleges look at junior year as the best indicator of how a student will do after high school. (I guess freshman and sophomore years are just the warmup, and senior year — if this morning's spectacle is any indication — is a total write-off.) We'll ... I mean, she'll ... I mean we'll be juggling two AP courses, a full workload of honors and college prep, plus horse shows and training, and two part-time jobs. We'll start visiting schools in earnest. And, naturally, her social life will comprise high highs and low lows. Why aim for moderation when you're almost seventeen?
We'll have plenty of late nights of angst, I have no doubt. But, I expect we'll survive. Most families do.
Therefore ... it's a bright and shiny new school year, and I for one am happy to have it arrive already. (This summer was a bit of a bear. House guests and homework and SAT Prep, oh my!)
So, happy new year to all. I wish you good friends in the cafeteria, teachers with a sense of humor, and a bouquet of freshly sharpened pencils.
If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.
After what felt like the shortest summer on record, I dropped my daughter off at high school this morning. Well, technically I dropped her off at the community center down the hill from the high school. It may have been raining. She may have been nervous. But, she sure as Shinola wasn't going to be seen getting out of her mom's car.
C'mon, she's not a kid anymore.
She had many many questions. Were the seniors (who were driving around town honking their horns early this morning) going to pick on the freshmen? Was the Honors English teacher really going to give them a quiz on David Copperfield? Should she have worn shorts instead of jeans? What if she got lost between Bio and Music in a Digital World? What if she didn't know anyone in her classes? What if she didn't have anyone to sit with at lunch?
What if ... ? What if ... ? What if ... ?
I had just one question. Where did the years go?
We dropped her off at school for the first time twelve years ago. I have a picture of my tiny girl in an adorable "Back to School" dress with a little backpack and patent leather Mary Janes. She was thrilled to start preschool, and I pretty much kept it together. (The one thing that triggered a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes was the sight of a row of little coat hooks with names above them outside her classroom.)
The picture-taking (if not the lump and tears) remains a tradition. I always say, "Wait, I have to take a picture for Grandma," but in reality the photo is as much for me as anyone. This morning's was shot on our back patio next to the tomato plants that are already dwindling away — another sign that summer is over. My daughter looked cool in a "High school? No big deal," kinda way. Jeans, a loose geometric top over a skinny tank, multicolored Converse sneakers. She's wearing a barrette on one side. Our attempt to give her poker straight hair a bit of a wave by braiding it last night was pretty much an epic fail.
Nevertheless, she was there bright and early, gathering some friends and her courage and ready (or "ready or not") for it all to begin.
One thing I have learned is that it is absolutely of no use whatsoever to relate your teen's current trials and tribulations to your own history. (Or, should I say "ancient history?") I try to remember if I was nervous about starting high school myself. But our experiences are not apples-to-apples.
She's going into a fairly large, suburban, co-ed school. I went to a quite small test school in a big city, which had been single-sex for more than a century.
She's an active, free spirit who would rather muck out a stall than crack open a textbook. I was a bit of a nerd who preferred classes to practically anything else. Honestly. Family lore often recounts my sorrow when other kids, friends from my mother's midwest home state, got to go back to school two weeks before I did. I would sit on my grandmother's front porch and watch the school bus go by and pout.
There are so many things I hope she'll learn in the next four years. Specific subject matter, of course. How to ace her SATs and get into a great college, certainly. But, more importantly, that cliques matter less than individual people. That you can try new things. That maybe you are good at something that you never even imagined. That you can work toward goals. That you can solve problems, make smart choices sometimes and learn from mistakes others. That if you focus on all of this, your confidence will catch up to your competence, and things like the first day of high school won't be quite so scary anymore.
Were I to explain any of the above to my daughter, she would have even less faith in my ability to relate to her life than she already does.
Which, let me assure you, ain't much. After all, she's in high school now. She's not a kid anymore.
