From One Eared Coaches to Limping Canines

Several firsts this week:
  1. Soccer Practice. I signed up three boys this fall. One coach set up practices already, one hasn't picked up his list from parks and rec yet, so I don't know who he is, and my other son's coach quit, so they are asking around for another. Asked us. Hahahhahahaha. Yeah right. I respect the people who volunteer to coach soccer, but I am not one of them. First of all, I wouldn't know the difference between a volley ball and a soccer ball. Second, if I'm going to pay to put my kid on a soccer team, I'd better not also have to coach–I've got enough boys to set up my own, free soccer team. (Free, assuming you don't count the exorbitant cost of equipment). So I took my 9 year old to practice this week. He came home sweaty; that's all I need to know. I'd actually really prefer not to know what it was his one-eared coach was shouting at the boys in Spanish because I suspect it wasn't exactly polite. I say one-eared, but I suppose it was more like 1/4 of an ear. Would it be totally racist of me to suspect he lost it in a knife fight? Enough of the snide suspicions; the man is coaching for free, he knows the rules, and he is actually holding practice. What more could I ask?
  2. First honest to goodness, in the classroom Grad class. Yawn. I'm learning much more from my online classes. So far, I've learned a lot about Dr. B's favorite hobbies and his military service. Rah, rah, rah. Glad I paid upwards of $1300 for that privilege. Maybe he's breaking us in gradually–I've got 8 more hours of him today, so lets hope the pace picks up a little or I'm going to have to start studying my other, more legitimate classes on the sly, in Dr. B's classroom.
  3. Oooh, wait. I did learn something new from Dr. B: This August is the first time in something like 873 years that August has had five Sundays, five Mondays, and five Tuesdays. Weird, eh? I'm not even sure that's possible, mathematically speaking…
  4. I also learned, this week, how to type with phonetic symbols. It makes typing this way a little confusing; it always takes me a while to make the shift from this to that, and that to this.
  5. Paid $16/box for peaches. That's still cheaper than the grocery store, but come on! The last time I bottled peaches, they were eight dollars a box. I can buy them already canned for less than that and my floor doesn't need to be triple mopped afterwards. But my kids hate store canned–tough luck, I've told them for five years–and my almost 16 year old wanted to learn how to bottle them. Can't argue with that–even after a long day at work. 
  6. I finally threw the rock. Two of them, actually, because my aim is really, really bad. I missed Tri-pod, but I hit his obnoxious friend. A person can only take so much abuse, and my other option (carrying a can of red spray paint, with which I imagined painting a large target on the dogs' heads) promised to be a bit cumbersome and unlikely. At any rate, the canine hasn't returned since he went limping home. Should I be ashamed of myself? Cause I'm really not feeling it…
I'm certain there were more fascinating firsts I was going to share, but Dr. B's classroom beckons, and it's pretty hard to "sneak in" late when there are only nine people in the class, now isn't it?

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4 responses to “From One Eared Coaches to Limping Canines

  • Kimmers

    2) Ugh. That's why I can't stand the higher education system.4) Can you do a Vox post all in phonetics? I'd love to see what it looks like!5) Cool. Could make great holiday gifts, too.6) Good for you.

  • Emjay

    I'm going to have to go and find a calendar for August! My kids, even the Princess, played soccer. After 10+ years of watching I never came across a coach who did not shout. And, I never understood that offside rule!

  • Kimber

    I could, but not on this computer–no phonetics font! I tried downloading a ready made one and it never worked, so I had to patch together my own downstairs, and it took a long time. I will, one of these days. It's actually proving to be a really interesting class. Unlike Mr. B's, which is just plain bizarre.

  • Kimber

    I am SO glad I'm not a coach. You'd have to shout, there's no other way, and I'm not much of a screamer. Unless bodily peril is involved, but then a syllable or two is all I can muster, really.

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