The Things are all playing soccer, as I've discussed before, but I've yet to mention their demanding soccer schedules, particularly when it comes to games. The Things Three play every weekend, which sounds manageable. Three games, 48 hours? I wouldn't even bat my eye at a schedule like that.
But the Things always have at least 5 games total, and this weekend they have 6 between them. Saturday we had to make it to four games and two team photo sessions.
So that I could remember who needed to be where and when, I sat down at my desk Friday afternoon and created a chart. Well, chart wouldn't be accurate. I created a spreadsheet. A soccer spreadsheet, people. I used Excel for god's sakes. And no, I'm not particularly type-A with such things. And while part of me created said document so that I could be sure to get the Things to the appropriate game or photo session at the appropriate time, there was one other reason I did it: to preserve my Goddamn sanity.
And no, I'm not exaggerating. The spreadsheet was a document to behold, with its columns devoted to field name and address, start time and end time, child's name and even a column devoted to expected travel time between each game or event since there was overlap. It was like the Rosetta Stone for the Soccer Mom Set.
And then I did what I do best: I lost it. The spreadsheet I spent 45 minutes on. The spreadsheet with addresses and team names and who went where and when. It was gone.
I know that you're thinking Come on, TM. How hard can it be?
This is how hard:
Saturday morning I woke up and, somewhere between the coffee and the shower, realized I had lost The Soccer Rosetta Stone. I sat down and drew a chart by hand--you know, the Neanderthal version of the spreadsheet--and proceeded to attempt to recreate said document. Remember those word problems where if Tommy was four inches taller than the Amanda but three inches shorter than Justin, who liked only ketchup, then how tall was he? And one would construct a chart to deduce the correct data for each person? That's what I did, though it sounded more like "If Thing One has a game at 11:45, then Thing Two must have photos at 1:00, and that means..."
No, it didn't really work.
What I knew was that someone had photos at 11:15 followed by a game. So I did what any good mother would do: I made them all put on their uniforms, brush their hair and wash their faces, and I carted them off to said photo session. It was Thing One's team photo, and then we headed for the game. I left at the end of the first game (she had two, back-to-back), to drop Thing Two off at his game, then race over to get Thing Three's photos taken, then race back, catch the last quarter of Thing Two's game, get in the car, feed children grapes and water, drive, like a maniac, to pick up Thing One from Fatally Hip Single Mother's house (because the second game was over), drive all three Things to ice cream, and then on to Thing Three's game. If one train is traveling at 60 mph due east and another train is traveling on the same track at 85 mph due west, and they started 567 miles apart, how far apart will the two trains be when the woman with three children in soccer has a massive breakdown?
We arrived home at 4:45 p.m., approximately 6 hours after we started the day. The kids were, somehow, superhumanly, not tired. They rode their bikes and talked of staying up late. I brewed a pot of coffee, cooked pasta salad and sliced apples, and considered the fact that the soccer season is nearly over. Wax socio-economic on the Soccer Mom Coterie? I think I'll take a Valium and call it a day, thanks.