Lil' Ballers

Moms that say they never want their kids involved in team sports that have the potential to grow into weekends driving to Newark and Worchester for travel team tournaments have never had a 3 1/2 year old during a New England January.

It isn't a rumor that the sun sets a 3:20pm. Do the math.

So Baby Boy started Lil' Ballers Basketball last night.

I should have known it was a bad fit when I joked, "I hope no Kardashians will be here searching for future husbands." And no one reacted.

The second tip was that all the parents were decked out in gym suits and white sneakers that matched those on their children...(I guess Payless has a Family Plan?)...while I was in skinny jeans and Uggs. I never read the fine print where it stated this was a "program that allows children AND their parents to learn--or relearn!--the FUNdamentals of basketball!"

I thought I was getting 45-minutes to read and catch up on FB.

And it shouldn't be called "basketball." It should be "floor ball." Dribbling isn't a skill most people learn until they are 12. So after one failed attempt, the kids (my son) figured out he could whip some ass by kicking his ball down the court, much to the chagrin of the parents that seriously thought "lil' ballers" was code for "NBA training event."

After it was over, I asked Baby Boy if he had fun "playing hoops."

"WAIT!!," he started to cry. "There were supposed to be Hula Hoops here? All they did was make us play soccer!"

I can't wait for next week...

For the Love of Soccer

When Baby Boy was born Darling Husband and I pinkie swore he would never play soccer. We had lost scads of friends because all they do on weekends is drive 500 miles to Worchester or Hartford or Newark so their kids can sit on the bench in hopes that one of the good kids sprain an ankle so they can play and also sprain an ankle.

We couldn't imagine a deeper circle of hell.

All BB asks to do now is play soccer. I have no idea how he learned about it. But just in case, I bought him a ball and net. After I set it up, he burst into tears.

When he calmed down he sobbed, "Where are the swords and giraffes?"

Now that is a style of soccer I WOULD drive 5oo miles to watch.

Sexy Soccer

The majority of our friends all have kids older than Baby Boy--and they all either play hockey or soccer. These two life-sucking sports turn otherwise vibrant and energetic people into travel-team Zombies. Ice time at 4am, driving 6 hours in a van for a three-day tourney--nothing is off limits for these fanatics.

Darling Husband I had the talk pre-conception that none of our kids would ever play these sports.

"Polo, fencing, tennis, golf...these are all acceptable," I jotted down.

"Or if he is small he can be a jockey," added DH as he signed the Non-Compete waiver.

Baby Boy had his Two Year Check-Up yesterday. Dr. Steve ran down the list of things BB should be doing at this age.

"Does he stack blocks? (Yes) Complete a two-step command? (Yes) Kick a ball?"

At this DH and I glanced at each other not knowing what to say. In our desire to never let BB near a kickable ball (hence he show some insane talent thereby forcing us to hire private coaches and devote our lives to following the World Cup) we had no idea if he could even attempt this skill.

As soon as we got home I put a tennis ball by BB's feet. He did kick it (about 5-inches). Enough to know he is normal but does not have David Beckham genes--which is good because I don't think I could ever be as skinny as Posh.