Thank you, Baby Jesus, for teenage boys and preteen girls. (Really!)

Cammy was out of state for his tournament this weekend. First of all, I am proud to say that the parents who accompanied the kids have been thanking us all for how well-behaved our boys are, and what fun it was to spend time with that group. Which frankly I might have inscribed on my tombstone– because can you imagine spending a weekend in hotel rooms and on football fields with a bunch of sweaty teenage boys– and coming out of it like, “We had such a great time with your kids?!” –However, I am just also really grateful that Cam still wants to tell me stuff. For example: on the way there, he texted me about a hilariously gross incident at a McDonald’s. Then he kept me posted on their status all weekend. Finally, on the way home I was treated to a series of great texts about the terrible ref they had at their last game, and the way someone’s grandpa– a former, venerated high school basketball coach– stood up for the boys (“The ref started walking towards us, angry, so Mr. P STEPS IN FRONT OF HIM AND SQUARES UP TO HIM” is the exact text I got. You can actually hear the excited teenager in that text), and how they got creamed in the last game but Cam smacked the opponent’s pass out of the air during the last few seconds.

Gabby’s Irish dance school came over yesterday afternoon, to decorate t-shirts for their upcoming competition. It was all glitter glue and rhinestones and sherbet punch, and high-pitched giggling and “Can we pet your dog?” Gabby’s first t-shirt attempt had to be ditched, because in her careful lettering of, “Champion” across the front, she forgot the “P.” (Ha!!!) Then the girls made posters for each other. All the while, they were decimating cheese balls and apple slices like a swarm of locusts: they would make a single pass through the kitchen, where the moms were chatting, and then they would return to their crafts and I would look around and say, “Oh my gosh– all these bowls are empty again.” The wonderful thing about these girls is their unwavering support of one another. Irish dancing is, mostly, a solo thing– so it is really important to me that these girls also get the chance to spend time together as a group. As a team. I want Gabby to have that experience of being a part of something bigger than herself.

Side note: we will never get rid of the glitter all over the house. There is literally glitter on the screen of my laptop right now, and my laptop was put away for the duration of yesterday’s activities.

 

When Cam came home, most of the girls were gone; the rest were practicing hard shoe in the basement. He told my friend Jen and I some more hilarious stories about the weekend, and then disappeared upstairs. Dave got home from a work engagement shortly thereafter and headed up the stairs to hear about Cammy’s weekend, before the girls descended upon him to show him their shirts and their posters.   Every person in my house was in bed, probably asleep, before 10:00. Every person in my house was dragging this morning, but still happy and giggly and full of stories.

Sometimes I hear people talking about how much they miss the baby and toddler stages. Those were fun years, for sure; but you know: I wouldn’t give up weekends like these to go back. Not for one second.


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