At soccer practice. Actually, Pi is practicing and I am making sure my chair does not suddenly defy gravity and fly away.
The girls are working on a new drill where they are learning to protect the ball, do some nifty footwork, spin, and take the ball to the net. I can only sort of hear the coach and a minute ago he said, “it’s like a ballet dancer” but it sounded for all the world like he said “it’s like a battle dancer” which perhaps is a better term for these very competitive soccer players.
I think I have a mosquito bite on my skull. Why on earth would a mosquito want to dig through all this hair to have lunch?
Over the years, we’ve gotten used to the idea that lots of parents thought we were spot on when we named you. Inevitably, there is a small regiment of people who share your name, and nicknames became commonplace. Pi, on the other hand, has never really had to share the name-light. Until now. There are three of them with the same name on this soccer team, and for the first time, she is having to filter out who the coach means. This makes the spectator sport of watching practice much more interesting as pony-tails whip around in unison.
Pretty sure this horde of mosquitos is from the catering department and I am being sniffed as a possible lunch buffet.
I love watching you guys in whatever activities you’re involved with, but watching this particular drill is about as interesting as watching trees grow. Which I am also doing.
Note to self: insect repellent is now mandatory for watching evening soccer practice.
Girls finished a water break and are heading back on to the field. Two of them attempted cartwheels—about the level of the average four-year-old who knows what a cartwheel is supposed to look like but has never been coached. I was wondering if Pi was going to demonstrate her tumbling prowess. To her credit, she did not. Not sure if she held back because she’s got a lot of class or because this is soccer or because her shoulder is bothering her—and it doesn’t really matter. She did the right thing.
A duck is flying overhead. It looks lonely and hungry. If I knew how to speak duck I’d invite it down to explain what-is-what to the mosquitos.
There appears to be an interesting correlation between how skillfully the girls play and how closely the coach is watching. Hmmm…
One dead mosquito. On the whole, I am not an advocate of violence, but in this particular case, I feel completely in the right.
Don’t forget sunscreen (and perhaps bug spray).