And being the mom-with-a-blog that I am, I started taking photographs through the high-powered lens of my iPhone.
The nurse wasn’t phased. “People do it all the time,” she said.
But are all these people mega-intuitive blogging journalists?
As I watched her wrap his arm, I got to thinking…how many times did I wish I would fall out of a tree?
She start by wrapping the limb in soft cotton (or what looked like soft cotton to my highly-trained, highly-intuitive mind.
Or snapped by the misplaced rock of a rocking chair or horribly wrenched out of socket by a riotous game of Pong.
I never had the pleasure of seeing a brand new white cast turn the color of the Mississippi River or be the center of attention at school for about 3 hours. And have everyone including the cutest guy in 5th grade sign my arm.
(I can’t name names anymore because people who knew me in 5th grade might read these things. They would stop and think…She thought he was cute?)
Whomever you might be thinking I did, no I didn’t.
There were all these cool colors.
They don’t make them out of plaster anymore. They fashion them out of fiberglass. That’s what’s up with all the cool colors.
And that’s why they are all bumpy and almost impossible to sign.
He chose red. I can only assume to match his school colors and football uniform.
It was an incredibly un-mysterious process.
So I vicarious got to experience a cast on my arm.
They still can’t get wet. Though aren’t surfboards made out of fiberglass?
Guess that will have to remain one of life’s question marks.
I try to remember the parent teacher conferences, the reading to my child every night, the throwing open of my house to their friends with chocolate-chip cookies toasting in the oven.
But I fall short. Lots. I just pray it’s not on the stuff that matters. Guess we’ll really never know what stuff was the big stuff till they are accepting the Academy Award saying how their mother forgot to show up the day their class went to the zoo. Oops.
(That wasn’t true. But a few parent teacher conferences might have slipped through when in the throes of training for my midlife triathlon crisis.)
* * *
Last Friday night was the night that all moms, dads and significant persons in the lives of senior band members, football players and cheerleaders were to escort them on the field.
I was told to be there at 7 p.m.
At 6 p.m. get a call from husband that there is no way he will be there. The interstates around Atlanta are a parking lot.
I remember I have no car. My car was with senior son at already football field.
Place a call to dear in-laws. They will pick us up and have us there.
* * *
I get out of my in-laws’ car in parking lot.
I hear overhead announcer. You know — one of those great booming voices that carry out across a two-square mile radius from stadium.
I think…that sounds like names. Yes, those definitely were names.
I start to run with children in tow.
I blow pass A.D. Coach Cisson manning the gates as I ask, “Are they already on the field?”
He shakes his head “yes.”
It was one of those moments I didn’t care the fool I looked like sprinting across the field to my son. I just wanted to make it. I dropped my purse and camera at the edge of the field.
What follows is my 10 year olds photo essay of the next 10 minutes after my sprint to my oldest son.
We are out there somewhere.
I made it.
A child she knew. I hope this was a child I knew.
Leaving the field. I have the look of a woman who is calling an emergency meeting of the right and left sides of her brain.
Child Number 3. Who knows where his mother is?
As the parents are making the tunnel for the players to run through onto the field — I get the camera.
Then I look up to Number 46 carrying the flag.
How did he get so big? Especially with a mom that has to sprint to be at his side.
It was a great night all around.
And so many dear friends took pictures with their cameras.
I think he still cares. Though all he asks me is “What’s for dinner” and “Mommy, will you make me some Gatorade?”
Have you ever almost missed out on a parent-better-be-there-moment?
The first “male part” I saw was in grade school. The two-year-old brother of a friend running around naked after a bath.
Why do men — of any age — love to run around naked? Or stroll around naked? Utterly unconcerned with the effect their nakedness is having on innocent bystanders. (That is an entirely different and much complicated post.)
* * *
My son was leaving just now.
“Oh mom, by the way, it was really muddy in practice. Can you wash my clothes?”
I picked up the black bag.
Growing up with a sister — the only “black bag” we knew was carried by our grandfather, the doctor. We knew nothing of athletic bags that sons cram wet, body-sweat laden clothes into.
Why shouldn’t they?
Mom is going to reach in there and touch those cold, wet things and wash them.
How could she do this? I made her drop it after realizing she might get some sort of staph infection.
She said, “It’s not that bad?”
I made her drop it immediately.
A photograph can't capture the tint of the grime or the scent of dead animals.
It was so bad, I emptied clothes from the bag into the washer.
And for the good of all humanity, threw the bag in too.
How do you clean athletic wear — from the body odor of a teenage male or mid-life hormonal stink-like-I’ve-never-stinked-in-my-life woman?
Home of Trisha Yearwood and the Monticello Hurricanes.
We went down last Friday night. Most of Morgan County made it down for the game. So my,
Story of the Game.
It was crowded. And we won 16-0.
Third straight shutout.
It was hard to find a parking spot. And even harder to find a place to sit in stands.
I got a good front row seat.
It was crowded on the front row.
I did get to sit with the cheerleader moms which was fun.
They were discussing a lot of responsibilities about a competition @MorganCoHS was hosting in the morning.
After looking over Agnes Jones’ shoulder at the checklist, I decided I make a much better journalist/football player mom than cheerleader mom with responsibilities.
Got to see the Campbell warming up.
It was rather terrifying how hard that ball went into the net. Kept thinking is if he missed, some pretty cheerleader is going to need a lifetime dental plan STAT.
Decided to see how crowded the restrooms were.
Along the way, I noticed the water girls had lots of space.
Not so in the bathroom. But I had been forewarned about the tight acommode-ations by Diane Hutcheson. Though she neglected to mention the overflowing trash can.
Good to see that most females will wash their hands after using potty.
Then I got dinner.
It’s 9:30 p.m. in Monticello, Georgia. Do you know where your children are?
Quite a lot of middle-schoolers stayed in this dark, dirt corner playing with a ball the entire game (like hot potato). Of course, it’s been a long time since I was in 6th grade and thought ANY activity with my friends at night, away from my parents’ eyesight was SUPER.
Take a head count moms.
Jack Speyer was accounted for.
As was his big sister, Annie. (At least till half time, then she disappeared for about 6 hours. Oh no, I stand corrected. It was her father who disappeared for 6 hours. )
Ruth, James was there the entire game. Until some girl couldn’t resist his boyish charm and good looks and messed with his tie.
There was a big crowd of football players and cheerleaders celebrating after the game.
Noticed my son stay on the periphery of the dance. Must take after his father.
Or he might not like crowds. Hopefully, for his future wife that is the case — if she likes to dance — like a certain someone.
* * *
It was a great win for the Bulldogs. Coach Malone and staff…a big Hurrah!
This Friday night Lamar County comes to Billy Corry Stadium. Word on the street is that this will be a test.
Word in my house is that it is Elementary School night and all elementary students in free.
But I’m just a mom with a blog reporting information from the lips of my 5th grader.
Come out Friday night. It’s a lot of fun.
I can promise it won’t be as crowded. Though honestly, aren’t the best parties when you can hardly move?
That’s how things ended up last night at Bill Corry Stadium.
The Bulldogs dominated.
And I refuse to take all the credit…but I knew it was going to be a strong showing for the Bulldogs after I found myself parking in the same spot I did before last weekend’s win.
As I scurried through the gates, the team was on the verge of scoring their second TD.
I vowed to cover all aspects of the game (and not to sit as a potted plant). So I ventured forth with my camera and did some hard-nosed mom-with-a-blog journalism.
The Dog Pound was in full swing. Any resemblance to Woodstock I am sure purely coincidental.
I saw these cute ninth graders and had to touch their legs. I wondered if they were wearing Spidey stockings. My reporting uncovered they were painted. I felt touching to be sure was appropriate as I am a mom-with-a-blog and not a man posing as a dad-with-a-blog.
The band had already worked up the crowd and a sweat.
I took this for Sutton's mama.
I wondered who was keeping all these young musicians in good form?
One of my favorite people, Carolyn Smith. (Which was most convenient for I was looking for someone to bail me out at church on Sunday because I lost the book our class is studying. Found out last week, it’s hard to lead a discussion when you don’t have the book.)
She didn’t have book either.
I said adieu and moved on with my camera in search of a story.
Waved at Jim Ross (red shirt) who holds the distinction of being my favorite pastor who was never actually my pastor.
Mystery of the Game?
With my reporting senses heightened, I noticed smoke coming from the right corner of the Dog Pound end zone. Julie Speyer jumped on the case to help me get to the bottom of the smoke.
"I see someone tall. Andy Ainslie. They must be cooking something."
Indeed, it was Andy Ainslie and I think they were cooking something.
So there you have it.
* * *
Following in the footsteps of photo journalists who have covered worn-torn Bosnia and infiltrated hidden dens of terror along the streets of Kabul, I approached…
I looked fear in the eyes and walked bravely through barricades….
I gazed upon the great firing beast known as “Bulldog Bark.”
As Fate would have it,
Morgan County scored.
Let the record reflect, I was not wearing protective ear coverings and still took this shot.
Play of the Game.
There were many great plays and many touchdowns scored. In upmost journalistic integrity, I sifted them all through my vacant brain.
In the end, I have to say this interception by #46 and run was my Play of Game.
He stopped short of the goal on the 2 yard line. In post game interview, #46 said the guy just got the angle on him.
That was my Play of the Game.
Of course, I’m just a mom-with-a-blog who gave birth to #46, 18 years ago this coming Wednesday.
To start at 7 lbs 13 ozs, they grow rather large.
Picture of the Game.
After searching through reams and reams of game shots, I came to my decision.
Alas, I am not some coed with paint on my legs swayed by Steve Speyer’s transparent attempt to capture my eye and the honor.
The Picture of the Game goes to ….
So there you have it. Another Friday night under the lights in Morgan County.
A huge victory for the Bulldogs.
Next week the Bulldogs travel just a hop-skip-and-a-jump over to Monticello.
See you there.
The moon as I walked back to my car in my very lucky parking spot.