Week 2 of sports-crazy Copelands has come and gone. Perhaps I haven't shared with you the busyness of the actual week, as compared to game time on weekends. Check this out: soccer practice Monday, baseball practice Tuesday, bible study Wednesday, soccer practice Thursday and Friday...well, Friday is recovery day. Saturday is game time. Whew, it's a busy time of year for us for sure. Someone make sure The Hub isn't reading my blog, lest he come with the "I told you so." As much as he tried to avoid having multiple children playing sports simultaneously, he lost out on that one.

As we prepared this weekend, Friday night found me getting uniforms ready and watching the rain. All the while, thinking there was no way they would have games. Praying, actually, "Lord, let them at least cancel the first one." 8:30am soccer game for Youngest means the house is up and active at 7am. On a Saturday. Let's avoid that if we can. Despite my fervent prayers, the email bright and early Saturday morning announced game on. I suppose what I was trying to avoid was having to wake up at all, so having to wake up and check the email meant it didn't really matter if they played or not.

Somehow, we got up and out of the house. Did I mention that I was asked last minute to be a substitute snack provider? To tell the truth, I did find that out on Friday night, but friends, remember, Friday is recovery day. That means it's chill time. So, I didn't use my time wisely, didn't get the snack and first thing Saturday morning there I was scrambling trying to get to Giant. Needless to say Youngest was late to the practice/game. His team practices for 30 minutes and then plays for 30. We literally arrived, snack in tow, at the in-between time for practice and game time. How do you spell embarrassing?

Let me just tell you that I hate to be late. When I was younger and a lot less confident in myself, I would literally skip a class if it meant I had to walk in late and be on spotlight. I know, it makes no logical sense, but I have this fear of embarrassment that I continue to work on. So walking up to a field of soccer moms, with their pretty faces, lovely hair and Starbucks in hand, was like sudden death for me. And I brought the snack. I was that mom. You know, the one the others are shaking their heads at.

To add to that, I literally was on the field with a sports chair on my back, cooler with drinks in my hand, bags of snack in the other, and it occurred to me for the second week in a row I had forgotten something important. Last week it was the cleats. How do you spell embarrassing, again? This week it was the soccer ball. Fail.

The game went on, Youngest scored 1 of the team's 4 goals to take home the win. When all was said and done a very nice mom was trying to make conversation with me and I found myself just standoffish, thinking does she know I didn't have time to shower? Could she possibly know that I was thinking I would be home sleeping right now? I did brush my teeth, of course, but does she not see that I do NOT have a cup of coffee in my hand? If she did, she would have backed away slowly.

The other two games of the day were cancelled. Funny how things work out. The 8:30 game went on as planned. The afternoon games didn't. When we returned from the early morning game and I had time to make that cup of coffee, I added some delicious new creamer to it. "MMM, that's good," I said to no one in particular. "Really," Soccer Chick asked, "let me try it." Like the bad mom I am, I let her have a sip. "Yea, that's good," she agreed. "Yes," I said, "so good it will make you smack your mama," I kidded. Never fails, here comes Youngest, "oh yea? Let me try it." Always the cleaver one, he takes a sip (I already told you I was a bad mom), "MMM, that IS good," he says, as he proceeds to slap me lightly on the cheek and look at me with that stand up comedian charm, as if to say "get it? Get my joke?" Ha. Ha. Youngest. Funny. Very funny.