Shirt Hunting — and Other Saturday Morning Sports

– Posted in: Cleaning, Crazy Tammy, First World Problems, Forgetting, Newt, The Kids are Killing Me, Worst Mom Rants

Despite all evidence to the contrary, I don’t like rushing around like a crazy person. I like being prepared the night before, having enough time to get ready, and then walking out the door in a controlled, leisurely fashion. And even though I try so very hard to do this every single day, it practically never happens.

Even this morning, when my son had a 12:30 soccer game. True, we needed to get there an hour early to take team pictures and warm up and all that, but you’d think that getting somewhere by midday would be a reasonably simple thing to do. But no.

I slept in. Because now that the children can get up, retrieve cereal from the top shelf of the pantry, and make their own breakfast, weekends are when I catch up on sleep (incidentally, I’m still not sure why I haven’t moved the cereal down to a more manageable shelf — maybe I just want them to be challenged). So after hanging out, reading the paper, and messing around on the computer, I got into the shower at around 10. Plenty of time. Plenty of time. Until I stepped out of the shower and heard this. . .

“I can’t find my shirt.”

I ignored it at first while I listened to my husband help my son look through drawers. Then the questions started.

“Do you know where. . .”

“Try the laundry basket.”

“Which one.”

“The one with all the clean, folded clothes in it that haven’t been put away” (gritting teeth slightly because still haven’t required children to do this).

Not there. So wearing my bathrobe and sporting wet hair that I now know will have to get dried really, really quickly because this is going to be a “deal,” I started searching. Not in the hamper. Or in the pile of dirty clothes in the laundry room. Or in the washer. Or the dryer. Or under the couch. Or in the gym bag. Or in the hundred fifty other obscure places I looked, all the while with my son following me around saying, “Sorry Mom,” and me saying, “Okay, that’s not really helping, because I’m trying to concentrate on finding your shirt, so it would really just be better if you’d look for it or leave me alone.”

Now I know this is a First World problem. I know not having his shirt for pictures (pictures that, incidentally, I was frickin’ taking) wouldn’t be the end of the world. But it was the problem of the moment. And the questions remained: how long do I keep searching? Until it’s time to leave? When do I quit so I can get dressed? How much time do I allot to get my own damn self ready so I don’t look like a freakin’ psycho who comes to her kid’s soccer game with wet, matted hair?

Then finally, like the end of a bad Easter egg hunt, we found the shirt. It was in a box of Halloween costumes that we’d taken out last Saturday when we’d gotten out all the decorations. Apparently someone had decided that since it was orange, it belonged in there.

I barely spoke to anyone from that moment until we got to the field. Truth be told, I was mentally implementing my “Black Garbage Bag Policy,” wherein anything that isn’t put away gets stuck in a bag and thrown in the garage. They’re frankly all lucky I wasn’t mulling over the “bodies in garbage bags, buried in the backyard” plan.

Unfortunately, by the time we got there, my pain meds had kicked in, which always makes me feel more generous that I actually am. And then I started talking to people other than my family, which makes me have to pretend like I’m a nice person. So I forgot the whole thing. Until now.

If only I could stay pissed off til morning. . .

5 Comments… add one

Verity October 9, 2011, 9:55 pm

I remember being at a dance class with another mom whose daughter was crying outside the room, watching the class wistfully. Apparently, she hadn't put her ballet shoes and leotard where they go when she got back from the class the week prior, so no class this week. Wow. That mom has some heuvos to actually follow through on that. Even withstanding the pressure from the teacher who was trying to get the mom to let her dance with loaner shoes.

Ludicrous Mama October 10, 2011, 5:25 am

Our league was smart and didn't dole out the shirts until picture day (right before the first games of the season.) After our first game day, I asked my husband if he wanted to wash the shirt or keep it in her soccer bag with her shinguards and such. He said wash. "Okay," I said. "It's all yours." (He's doing laundry so I don't fall down the stairs while carrying the laundry baskets now that I'm all clumsy and pregnant.)
Fast forward to following weekend's game morning… "Where's her shirt?" he asks. How the fack should I know? If I had been in charge of it, it would have been put straight into her soccer gear bag after the first game so we wouldn't be having this problem! After much searching, he finally found it somewhere. Who knows. It's not like she wants to PLAY or anything. She hates soccer. She doesn't want to do it, and only goes out onto the field if we promise her ice cream after the game. I made sure to sign up as snack parent for that game, in case we quit… which we did later that week. Stupid shirt. But I know where it is, in case she changes her mind!
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PartlySunny October 10, 2011, 5:57 am

See, now if it were me, I would've signed up for the LAST snack, thinking if she quit, I wouldn't have to do it.;)
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alexandra October 12, 2011, 6:20 pm

This is exactly what frosts me.

WHY AT the last minute do they let us know that and then WHY is it up to us??

ALso, love the dead body bags idea.

xo

PartlySunny October 13, 2011, 8:02 pm

The black trash bags look exactly like body bags. I'm sure that's why they market them to mothers.
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