It’s 8:30 on Sunday night.
So I fired off a very snarky email to my daughter’s basketball coach last night. Because I have had it with this guy. These girls are 10 years old, and he has split them into “random” groups of 5, and he “rotates” putting the groups in. Except, yeah, they had tryouts this year, and rankings, and his random group 1 has all the “good” players in it, and group 3 is all the new girls, and the younger girls. And rotation apparently means that group 1 plays the first 3 quarters, and groups 2 and 3 split quarter four. You take laps if you are late for practice, suicides if you miss a play, and you sit out the first quarter if you missed last practice. There’s a playbook. Ten year-old girls. And he changes the time of practice the day before, but it’s still unexcused if both your parents are at work and your 15 year old sister doesn’t have a license to drive you. He has ‘optional’ open gyms for skill practice (scheduled the day before) except he also says you earn the privilege of game time by how you perform at practice, so… not really optional. But here was the icing on the cake. “Coach Dave and I think that we should start a tradition of going out for pizza after home games to reinforce the idea that basketball should be about teamwork and fun.”
Well. I let him know what I thought about his idea of teamwork. The girls knowing who the first string and third string are, fostering elitism within his ranks. His idea of fun by making them run when they screw up. Pulling them from the game when they mess up a play even when he has made them substitute in a position different from the one he’s assigned them. My kid comes home saying “I wish basketball was fun like last year.” He has the cajones to send an email to the parents with a link to proper parent etiquette at games and practices; i.e. ‘Let me coach and don’t question me.’
Ten year-old girls. I say to my husband, “I understand you do it with the boys, but little girls???”
Aaaaanndd….shit. I’m a sexist. Right? And I don’t know what to do with that.
She doesn’t want to go to IHOP on a Tuesday. She wants to go on Wednesday. We sit down and she says, “I’m getting the tilapia.”
I had the kids to myself Saturday. Ava laying on her back on the floor of the living room with her feet on daddy’s chair, reading. For once. And along comes Kurt, squats his butt down near her face and says, ” Smell it, Ava!”