My Spring Fling

AlooooooooooooHA!

I'm back, did ya miss me? Did ya? Did ya? Did ya?

I missed me too.

Well, actually I didn't really miss me because I was with me 24/7. I was just trying to seem relatable to my readers--like I know how you feel. About missing me. But actually I don't know how you feel at all.

I've missed you though, so I think I can use my imagination.

The whole world has shifted on it's axis since I last posted. Prince William is married. Bin Laden is dead. And Casey got booted from American Idol.

Bless all their hearts.

But my world hasn't shifted at all. Nothing new or groundbreaking has happened to me. Except I made myself a little home office.

Wooooooohoooooo!

And I finished Dummy Boot camp. Wooooooohooooooo!

And I had an epiphany about my hub.

Can you keep a secret? I think he might be a sports junkie. Shhhhhhhhhhhhh

I don't know why I haven't noticed this before, but he's like one of those animal hoarders who can't say no to just one. more. kitten. And then ends up with 65 kittens, who can't stop giving birth to just one. more. kitten.

Sports is just like kittens. Unspayed kittens. Tournaments breed more tournaments, which in turn breed more tournaments.

Trust me, they multiply and divide so fast it would make your head spin if I showed you my calendar. And after they divide, they conquer. First they conquer your wallet, and then they take over your time, followed by your energy, followed by your sanity. Fer reals, you would need a priest to exorcise your demon spirits if you had to keep track of as many games as I do.

And you'd have to breath into a paper bag every time you check your email.

See tournaments are like cockroaches. Just when you think you've got them all under control--documented, calendared, scheduled--another one springs up out of nowhere (usually in the form of an email). And then another one. And another one. You turn the lights on in the middle of the night and they all skitter about yelling "SURPRISE! There are now two of us this weekend. I mean three. Per child. Cha ching. That will be another $160, please."



It's a full time job color coding and cross references all the different leagues and locations and times of all the tournaments for all the different children we have given birth to. A job which is further complicated when one of the children we've given birth to plays on both JV and Varsity teams.


When I say this to my hub he laughs.

"What are you laughing at?" I say.

"At your intensity," he says.

MY intensity? MY intensity? MY INTENSITY?

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking WHY DO YOU ALLOW THIS INSANITY INTO YOUR LIFE?

You don't understand. You DON'T understand. I tried to put my foot down last week after I received an email from my twins coach asking if they wanted to pay $100 to participate in a two week basketball tournament which would consist of 4-5 games a week in the Salt Lake Area.



My gut reaction was "UH . . . NOoooooooOOOOOooooooo nooo, nooo, uh uh, no way, no how. I'd rather pay to have my spleen sucked through my nose."



But I'm a lady, so I consulted with my hub about all the pros and cons before shouting NO at the top of my lungs--the cons being that they are already juggling their regular basketball games and practices, as well as their baseball games and practices. Oh, and our other son is already in that tournament. Oh, and I am trying to write a book by Saturday.



But who's counting?



We decided together, as two consenting adults, to decline the offer. My hub agreed to break it to their coach at practice the next morning and I went to bed with visions of one less tournament dancing in my head.



The next day I received the following email from their coach:



Dear Dummy. Thank you so much for allowing your boys to play in the Spring Fling tournament. And I do mean Spring FLING, as in, you WILL fling yourself (or more likely your hub) off a cliff before this week is out.

Can someone please hand me my paper bag?

It was at that exact moment when all the missed clues starting piecing themselves together in my mind. It all suddenly made perfect sense.

My hub is coo coo for coconuts.

Alas, I guess he can't help it if his love language is like a fortune cookie. Everyone knows fortune cookies derive a deeper meaning when you add the phrase in bed to the end. My hub derives a deeper meaning from his love language when you add the phrase on the court to the end. You could say he is bi-lingual. In fact, he speaks all the love languages fluently: Words of Affirmation on the court. Acts of Service on the field. Physical Touch in the arena. Quality Time under the hoop. Receiving Gifts in the paint.

P.S. speaking of love languages, Lulu in no longer in heat and apparently she's lost all her charms. None of the Romeos in the neighborhood will give her the time of day anymore. (Ain't that just like a man!)

(But mark my words, next they'll be trying to get her to breed tournaments.)