For the past couple months we've been waking up at dawn on Saturdays, racing time to get everyone dressed & fed & basketball bags packed & water bottles filled & kids pepped & everyone loaded into the SUV to make the 25 minute drive across town to watch Em play basketball at 9am and Narls play basketball at 10am.
I'm dramatic and making it sound much more awful than it is, because honestly, watching them play is way more entertaining than I thought it would be. Like, I 'm not one of those crazed sports moms who make sparkly signs for their 7 year olds but I'll shout the shit out of some sideline cheers whenever one of them makes a basket. Which neither has done yet, but still. I'm ready with the megaphone.
Em has perfected the art of traveling; homegirl will get the ball and RUN, forget all that dribbling stuff. And Narls? Well, he's Narls and he plays like Narls, and despite Clays' best advice: "GET IN THE GAME NARLS", "These kids. When we get home, I'm going to line them up and just fire balls at them. There's no reason to be scared of the ball", "YOU'RE ON DEFENSE NARLS", and "I can't even watch this anymore", Narls still plays how he wants to play. You really got to admire the kid's tenacity.
They're improving though, which is cool to see. And they have fun, which is the very best part.
My mind is continually blown at all the grandparents in the stands. Don't they have more important things to do and longstanding grudges to uphold? No? Who knew.
Em and I will forever be mad at Clay for signing her up for basketball as opposed to cheerleading, but seriously, look at her in those shorts. Side note: I memorize all the cheerleaders' chants and then teach them to her at home. Who loves you, baby girl?