Thursday, February 5, 2009


Yay, van is once again operational, and G and I spent the morning adding to the global warming problem making sure the battery stayed charged by joyriding though several townships and riding around what used to be the Stotesbury Estate. We came home, I fed him lunch, then off he went to school.

And I spent the afternoon doing Charity stuff. And getting thrown under a bus--twice.

That did not make me happy. No. I got off the conference call with the distinct notion that my Cheerios had been quite thoroughly p*ssed in.

So the boys came in, and Nic settled down to homework easily (especially since he has no computer--scouts last night was disastrous, and Dad confiscated the cord as the price of his humiliation. He was running the meeting...and I knew it wasn't going to go well, but it went a lot worse than I could have imagined.

ANYWAY. So Nic did his homework, G came in and emptied the dryer for me, and I'm pondering several balls in the air. The job sitch accounts for a couple. The kids a couple more. The relativity of honesty. And it IS relative....and it's amazing the extent to which some people buy into their own mythology......

But all that had to go to one side, because tonight was basketball practice. And Nic until tonight...well, let's just say that participation is scattered at best and ...well, I don't think there's a descriptor for worst, but just take my word for it when I say it's bad....

I pack up the boys and we head over to Nic's school. Instead of the stage, G and I set up shop next to the coach. I saw the guy who is there some practices to help wasn't there, and I knew I'd have to stand in as assistant to keep Nic on task.

And I did. And I was harsh and relentless. G did sprints alongside the court while I barked directions out at Nic, who at first looked stunned, but he complied. He practiced lay ups; he did drills, and he participated in the scrimmage.

He was on the court for 50 of 60 minutes--a record for any practice.

I couldn't tell if the coach was happy or annoyed with me. But I want my kid to play, and I want him to succeed. Okay, he still verbally stims and does some pretty embarassing stuff out there, but he was out there, and he was playing.

And dare I even think it? He had game.

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