'Til Tuesday
And not the 80s band, though I always loved Aimee Mann's hair. Mostly because I, in a million years, could never pull it off myself, as my head is too round and I would have looked like a hedgehog, but I digress...
Soccer Chick has been on the "soccer tryouts for next year's teams and there might not be enough spots therefore someone's getting cut so you better play your best if you want to play but here's another club with spots open that you can try out for as a backup" hamster wheel for the last two weeks.
She finds out where they put her on Tuesday. After 2pm. Which could mean ANY TIME after 2pm. Which could mean NEXT FUCKING MONTH. Or NEXT YEAR. Or WHEN SHE'S HAVING HER 21ST BIRTHDAY PARTY AND IS TOO DRUNK TO UNDERSTAND WHAT THEY SAY.
I prefer things to be definite, you know? "Sometime after 2pm" is a BIT VAGUE.
Also? I have issues with patience.
Her current club has made some changes in how they do things in her program, and the stress has DESCENDED upon the girls. At the tender age of 10, life has now shown them that you don't always get to play and not everyone is equal. Personally, I think it's a little early for that brand of reality, but I don't run things.
Also, she did well and will get a spot, so I'm considerably more cavalier about the whole thing now. I have moved from pissed off about the developmental aspect of youth athletes to "WHEW! She did great! Too bad so-and-so didn't have a good tryout... oh well!".
Hey, I never said I wasn't shallow and self-interested. No surprises here, people.
But ANYWAY...
Dutch Oven is a paid, professional-type coach in this organization, which I figured entitled us to "the inside scoop" as far as who made the teams. I mean, they practically have their little coach's club, where they all get together and complain about the parents and talk about other clubs and their dastardly ways and compare Adidas product lines and Dutch coaching theories. I have a theory that they're really sneaking off to the nudie bar for these "coach's meetings," but I have to get confirmation.
Dutch Oven was scheduled to run Soccer Chick's group's session last night while two other coaches stood to the side and evaluated them. Therefore, he was INSTRUCTED, under penalty of not being allowed in the house until such information was secured:
- Hang around afterwards while they're dividing the girls up "in case they need some input from a prior coach."
- Fish for details.
- If no details are forthcoming through subtlety, ASK.
- If they won't answer, try to sneak a look at their clipboards.
- If they keep the clipboards hidden so you can't see them, grab one out of their hands and run like hell. I'll have the car already running and ready to make a break for it.
And what did my husband do?
Hung around for a minute, and when his fellow coach said "You're a parent. Go away", he actually LISTENED.
Pussy.
Any thoughts I ever had of him being a KGB mole (because, you know, he is a Russian defector) and being here to secretly topple the good ol' USA through subterfuge and cunning cultivated through everyday life? Pretty much gone.
So now we're waiting like everyone else, despite my doing free graphic design work/genius-incarnate for people and him being on staff.
Just. Waiting.
And waiting SOME MORE. And neurotically checking the website JUST IN CASE.
Waiting. Like everyone else.
And in my world, I do not qualify as "everyone else." I am an arrogant little brat who expects special treatment, and I usually get it. The SQUEAKY WHEEL GETS THE GREASE, BABY. I see no reason why now should be different. NONE AT ALL.
And lest you think I'm a crazy person, the emails have been flying all day amongst the parents for ANY HINT AT ALL that Dutch Oven might have picked up about how their kids did, too.
And you wonder how soccer moms get the reputation...
So now, I'm torn. I really feel I should stick to my mantra of "not allowed in the house until you find out something," as it was laid out WELL in advance and he was FULLY aware of the consequences of meekly strolling away sans contraband clipboard, but there's a sink full of dishes and laundry to be done this weekend, and if he's skulking around the yard the whole time, I'll have to do all that stuff myself.
I did let him in last night, but that's mostly because he got inside before I got home and is larger than me and too hard to push.
Principles vs. Practicality.
I'm going to have to mull this one over a bit, I think.