There is a part of my life that I keep from you. I allude to it once in a while, but for the most part I shield you from it. For your own good.
It's called basketball.
What if I told you that between my three boys, we had a basketball game at 2:15 p.m., 6:00 p.m. and 7:00 p.m., and that tomorrow morning we have a basketball game at 6:00 a.m., basketball practice at 8:00 a.m., another game at 1:30 p.m., 2:00 p.m. and 5:00 p.m.? Would you run screaming like a banshi into the night?
I hear you. (Literally.)
One of the games tomorrow is the state 5A high school basketball championship, which is why my fourteen-year-old keeps singing this super annoying song about having the heart of a champion.
Perhaps it's his intonation, but the song makes me think of Rocky. Not the 70's Rocky who drank raw eggs and sprinted the stairs of the Philedelphia Museum of Art, but the 80's Rocky--the one who chose his brother, Frank Stallone, to sing his soundtrack.
"Mom, do you have the heart of a champion?" he asked me as I was wiping down the stove after dinner last night. With a dishrag in my hand it sounded more like, "Mom, do YOU have the HEART OF A CHAMPION?!?!"
"I think so," I told him. "I hope I do."
I didn't make eye contact as I said this, not because I was unsure of myself, but because I was focused on the task at hand. Wax on, wax off. And also because what have I conquered lately anyway? The stove top? The pile of dirty laundry? The ring around the toilet?
"MOTED!" My son said. "You don't think you have the heart of a champion. You don't hope you have the heart of a champion. If you have the heart of a champion, you know it."
Looks like I'm a lubber, not a fighter.
(But if my hub asks, that's a typo. What I meant to say is that I'm a scrubber, not a fighter.)
Speaking of scrubbing, I bought some organic cleaning products last week because I'm trying to be hip and cool and happening. And because if I ever meet Jack Johnson again I need to have something to talk about.
One of the products I bought is a disinfecting multi-surface cleaner, which promises to kill 99.99% of germs botanically, specifically Influenza A., Staphylococcus aureus, Salmonella enterica, Pseudomonas aeruginosa, and Escherichia coli.
I didn't know any of this when I bought it. Alls I knew was that it was s'posed to smell like lemongrass and thyme. But it doesn't. It smells like tomato paste and locker room. After a basketball game.
Actually it smells like tomato paste and my car after a basketball game.
I wish this was a scratch and sniff blog so I could prove it.
I've tried and tried to get past the ghastly smell and think about all the deadly germs I'm murdering, naturally, but I'm just not that committed to saving the planet.
Either that or I don't have the heart of a champion.
So I chucked the disinfectant, but not before I checked the label to see which botantical ingredients have the capacity to kill E. coli, the flu, and food poisoning in one foul swoop. (and I do mean foul.) The active ingredients include, and I quote, 0.05% thyme and 99.95% other ingredients.
99.95% OTHER ingredients!? Like what? spaghetti sauce? And sweat?
Sounds suspiciously like a cover up, if you ask me.