The anthill
The holiday and winter seasons for us just wouldn't be the same without basketball. We are a basketball family.
The boys love it. Trey probably a little more than Aden at this point, as Trey is either playing ball in the kitchen or watching it on TV with any free moments he has. But he still refuses to play on a team. Which (excuse me for whatever motherly bias is in this statement) is a huge loss for the institution of basketball. Kid. Got. Skillz.
And anxiety issues. So he won't play. To our extreme frustration.
Aden, while not as devoted to the game as Trey, has chosen to play on a team and has quite the talent himself. Blue eyes was practically born dribbling a ball, and after only a few weeks of practice with his team, has been made point guard.
First game ever on Saturday. We are pumped.
Then Brandon, besides being obsessed with the sport in general, coaches the boys' varsity team at the school where he teaches. The boys and me, my folks, and Brandon's folks faithfully attend every home game that we can. And we've even drawn a few friends in as well.
It's a circus, our little area of the bleachers all the way up behind the home bench.
Aden digging in Granddad's pockets for candy that is somehow always there.
Trey trying his darnedest to get away from everyone both because we embarrass him and because he's got his dry erase board and is attentively trying to keep up with shots and fouls and time.
Both boys moving around from grandparent to grandparent for kisses and hugs and trips to the bathroom and concession stand.
Coats and bags flying everywhere as we look for lost markers or paper towels.
My inevitable trip to the bathroom with Aden to help him change clothes because he decided it might be neat if his water bottle was a volcano.
And amid the ruckus, adults cheering shamelessly and shouting at the refs and trying to have short conversations with each other over the drumline playing during time-outs.
It's called the anthill.
And now you know why.
Our friend who joins us a lot has suggested that we should get t-shirts made up just for us, "The Anthill" on the front and the team logo on the back. Which I think is a fabulous idea.
It's not like it's a secret, not like I have this illusion that people think we have our act together and that the boys will sit still, proper and quiet. Can't really expect them to be proper and quiet when their Mama can't be proper and quiet.
Ahem.
Though it can be trying at times, I love the phase of life we are in that makes the anthill possible.
Long live the anthill.
The boys love it. Trey probably a little more than Aden at this point, as Trey is either playing ball in the kitchen or watching it on TV with any free moments he has. But he still refuses to play on a team. Which (excuse me for whatever motherly bias is in this statement) is a huge loss for the institution of basketball. Kid. Got. Skillz.
And anxiety issues. So he won't play. To our extreme frustration.
Aden, while not as devoted to the game as Trey, has chosen to play on a team and has quite the talent himself. Blue eyes was practically born dribbling a ball, and after only a few weeks of practice with his team, has been made point guard.
First game ever on Saturday. We are pumped.
Then Brandon, besides being obsessed with the sport in general, coaches the boys' varsity team at the school where he teaches. The boys and me, my folks, and Brandon's folks faithfully attend every home game that we can. And we've even drawn a few friends in as well.
It's a circus, our little area of the bleachers all the way up behind the home bench.
Aden digging in Granddad's pockets for candy that is somehow always there.
Trey trying his darnedest to get away from everyone both because we embarrass him and because he's got his dry erase board and is attentively trying to keep up with shots and fouls and time.
Both boys moving around from grandparent to grandparent for kisses and hugs and trips to the bathroom and concession stand.
Coats and bags flying everywhere as we look for lost markers or paper towels.
My inevitable trip to the bathroom with Aden to help him change clothes because he decided it might be neat if his water bottle was a volcano.
And amid the ruckus, adults cheering shamelessly and shouting at the refs and trying to have short conversations with each other over the drumline playing during time-outs.
It's called the anthill.
And now you know why.
Our friend who joins us a lot has suggested that we should get t-shirts made up just for us, "The Anthill" on the front and the team logo on the back. Which I think is a fabulous idea.
It's not like it's a secret, not like I have this illusion that people think we have our act together and that the boys will sit still, proper and quiet. Can't really expect them to be proper and quiet when their Mama can't be proper and quiet.
Ahem.
Though it can be trying at times, I love the phase of life we are in that makes the anthill possible.
Long live the anthill.
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