Ultimate Frisbee

We spent the day on a green field watching the high school tournament for Ultimate Frisbee. That's where they play frisbee similar to soccer with the team moving the disc down the field to score in the end zone.

Tucker played last year, and the team only won two games all season. This year, the team was undefeated in their season. They played three games in the tournament and win all three. They won their first game this morning then lost the second. They play one last game to see if they make it to states next weekend. 

The sun has been intermittent and the wind has been strong, sending the disc sailing into the air and gathering salty granules at the corners if my eyes. 

We had to leave before the third game to go to a graduation party then make it to dance class. 

The rules for ultimate frisbee are hilarious. They seem to be created by some laid-back California-type dudes. The game is supposed to go til someone scores 15 points. But during the tournament that changes to 13 points and if the game is long, maybe 12 or 10 points. It's fluid. 

The coach calls out , "Chill." He doesn't yell at them to "Hustle."
There are no refs. No team members call their own fouls against the other team. They also call the scores.
Tucker caught a throw, jumping into the air and landing on his back over the goal line. The other team started to argue about whether he had scored.
"Look I can't tell you whether you scored," our coach said to Tucker. "You have to look inside yourself."
It cracks us up, but also helped us realize why the kids maybe didn't want parents there throughout the season. The parents get more competitive. They yell out, "Foul." The set their clocks to see when the time will expire.
The coach says, "Easy, easy."
One mother says she was at a game when someone showed up with a bucket of fried chicken. It was an automatic time out while everyone ate chicken.
We'eve only made it to a couple of games at the end of the season, but we can see why Tucker loves this game. In addition to running up and down the field and making leaps into the air to catch the Frisbee, they all work together as a team. They're mellow.
Too bad we didn't have four whole years of watching. The other parents and I are pretty sure we might be partaking of things to make us more mellow while on the sidelines. 

Swimming in the Big Arena

Can you all stand another post about high school swimming? At least you can know that the topic will soon be put to rest.
But, after the competition at States on Thursday, the boys relay made it into the finals on Friday night. Tucker was number 17 in the 50 free, so that means he is an alternate in the finals.
Just saying this makes it seem like the swim meet was fairly calm.
It wasn't.
Tucker swam the 50 free as his first event. His time wasn't as good as it was last week, before he got the flu.
Within a few minutes, I had a text message from the swim coach. Tucker wanted to "declare a false start" rather than swim the 100 free.
Earl immediately felt he needed to swim it. That seemed to be what most of the dads around us said. He had made it into States in the 100 free,  he shouldn't miss the opportunity.
But the flu has a big impact on the lungs, and after swimming the 50 free in 22 seconds, Tucker felt his limitations. He told the coach that he wanted to save his energy for the relay, which had a good chance to make it to the finals.
So the coach was able to pull Tucker out of the 100 free, and when that event swam a few minutes later, an empty lane at the end of the pool showed where Tucker should have been.
When the 200 relay swam, they placed 15th which put them in the finals Friday night.
I recorded the race on my sister-in-law's iPad. My favorite part is before the race starts when Tucker puts his hand on a teammates shoulder and gives him some words of wisdom.
Here they are cheering on their final teammate Josh as he swims.

We knew Tucker had one more event to swim -- the 400 free relay, in which each boy swims a 100. I thought that Tucker might let the extra boy on the team swim his leg of the race, but when that boy came up to the stands, I realized Tucker was going to swim it. 

The boys finished 22nd in the 400 relay, so they won't move on to the finals. One of the teammates, Tucker's best friend Josh, was disgusted with the way he swam and walked away at the end of the race, but I got a picture of the remaining three swimmers.

We thought we were finished for the day, but Tucker had tied with another swimmer in the 50 free. He had to have a swim off. I thought he might just concede so he didn't have to swim again. But he decided to get competitive. Sucked up his energy and swam against another boy who had the exact same time.

Tucker won. I think that puts him in 17th place. So he won't swim the 50 free in finals unless someone else doesn't swim.

So for today, back to Canton, Ohio. That's about a two-and-a-half-hour drive. Earl can't go today, so unless I can convince Grace to come along, I'll be on my own or catch a ride with other parents. 

Winding Down a Sports Career

This is my last year sitting through swim meets.
Tucker is a senior in high school and he has already decided that he doesn't want to swim in college, so the feelings are a little bittersweet.
Yes, swim meets are long and warm, but I'm so grateful that they aren't outside in the cold.
Tucker swam at sectionals on Saturday and won each of his events.

The beard on his face was thick and, of course, he hasn't shaved the rest of his body yet. 

Now he goes on to Districts. Every year he has shaved his head for districts but he and the other guys decided this year not to shave their heads. They don't want to be bald for prom and graduation, even though their hair would have grown back some.

And Tucker doesn't want to have to wear a wig for the high school musical a few weeks after swim season.
If he finishes in the top two at Districts, he'll go on to States the following week.
Earl has to work on Friday, so I'll be the only one in the stands to cheer on Tucker in what might be his final high school swim.

Saturday Snapshot -- More Swim Pics

To participate in the Saturday Snapshot meme, post a photo that you (or a friend of family member) have taken. Then leave a direct link to your post on West Metro Mommy. Photos can be old or new, and be of any subject as long as they are clean and appropriate for all eyes to see. How much detail you give in the caption is entirely up to you. Please don't post random photos that you find online.
Last week I posted some pictures showing how Tucker has changed through his swim years. While the post was up, I was at another swim meet, and one of the mothers there had a camera and took some terrific pictures.
These have been on Facebook already, but I thought I'd share on my blog.

That's Tucker diving in over the head of his teammate during the 400 Free Relay race. The boys won that race. 

 
And this is the next frame as Tucker went into the water.
I'm off to another swim meet today. Three more weeks if they make it to states again this year.

Hectic and Hoarse

This morning, I'm a bit hoarse from all the cheering I did yesterday. It was one of those hectic, yet satisfying days spent supporting our boys in their athletic endeavors. And though the boys weren't always victorious, I'm proud of their achievements.
The day started when I dropped Tucker at the high school at 7 a.m. to catch the bus to the swim meet. I had dashed into Panera to get him bagels and we pulled up right at 7. He climbed on the bus, the swim coach stepped off, and the bus drove away at 7:02 a.m. I sat in the car for a minute, then turned it off and walked over to the rubberized track to run a few miles.
The swim meet, the league championship, started at 9:30 and we got home around 3. So it was a long day. But our boys team came in 3rd, the highest they've ever placed. Tucker swam in two free relays. You know the freestyle stroke: that's the one people sometimes call the crawl. In the final relay, our boys were four points behind the second place team. If they won the relay, they could pull into second place. Two senior boys, along with Tucker and his best friend Josh, who are sophomores, swam the relay. Tucker went last because Josh said he couldn't stand the pressure. Usually, the fastest swimmer goes last, and Tucker and Josh trade places as to who is fastest. I wish I could tell you that when Tucker dived in, a great arcing dive as Josh touched the end of the lane, that he pulled them into first place. He didn't, but he swam an amazing race and came in 3rd by hundredths of a second. All the boys had good times.
As an exhausted Tucker pulled himself out of the pool and walked around the corner toward the coach, he stopped in front of the stands where Earl and I sat. He looked up to the balcony and held up his hand with a 5, then a 2, then a closed fist and a 1. His time swimming the 100 free. 52.1 seconds. That's his fastest time ever. But the real thrill was that he wanted to take the time to share it with us, his parents.
He was exhausted, of course, and so were we. After a brief rest at home, plus some paper grading, we went out into the cold night to watch Spencer play a basketball game.
They played a team that had beaten them by 20 points last game and our team was tied with them for 1st place in the league. At the half, our team was ahead by two. The second half, Spencer started with no fouls, which is unheard of for him. In the third quarter he got four fouls -- many of them questionable. In the fourth quarter, his nemesis on the other team gave him his fifth foul by jumping into the air and landing on his back. What? All the parents screamed. How could that be a foul on Spencer? But it worked twice as the same guy gave our other big guy his fifth foul by landing on his back.
We lost by 4 in the end, but the team played hard and Spencer scored 11 points.
We returned home at 10. I had two more papers to get graded by midnight and with a scratchy throat I fell into bed at 11:30 after a hectic day.

Making Connections

It's a funny thing, the difference a button can make.
Last week, Spencer came home from basketball practice with a picture of himself in his basketball uniform posted on a big button. He proudly presented it to me and I attached it to my coat.
When I arrived at work, I told the secretary and the department head that "Yes, I have become one of those people who wears pictures of my children on my coat."
When I got home from work that day, Spence was sitting on the couch and I leaned over to kiss him. "I like your button," he said.
It's good to make him feel proud or happy that I'm wearing a picture of him around the city. However, I've been surprised at the conversations that people strike up based on the button.
People I know comment on it, but people I don't know too.
Like the guy at 7/11, which I never stop at, but had to run into last night on my way to teach a class. I needed a box of spaghetti as a building supply for my class lesson on teamwork. Who would have guessed that 7/11 sells spaghetti, but it does, so I carried the expensive ($2.79) box of spaghetti to the counter and plunked it down. The clerk asked about the boy on the button.
"Is that your son?" he asked in his singsong accent.
When I confirmed, he asked how old he was and where he went to school.
Isn't that strange?
Then at the downtown Columbus library, I was greeted by a librarian who offered to find the books by call numbers that I had written on my Post-it note. I handed over the yellow note and traipsed after him through the stacks. Yes, I can find a library book myself, but it seems rude to turn down his offer. After he found the books, he asked about the button on my coat.
"What school does he go to?" the librarian asked.
I told him and he said his brother teaches science at the school. Believe me, in such a small school district, the odds are rare.
I laughed and told him Tucker has had his brother as a teacher both freshman and sophomore year.
So the button is helping me make connections and making my son feel loved. I guess I'll keep wearing it. At least until he goes away to college.
I'm sure Tucker will have a button to replace the one Spencer gave me.

Excuses

So, I hope that some of you visit my blog regularly enough to notice that I haven't been posting as frequently, or as interestingly, as in the past. This is my excuses post, so you feel bad for me and give me a break. JK.
I am kind of bogged down teaching seven college classes. Add to that basketball season, which means games twice a week, plus breakfasts twice a week for the team. (I'm not sure if it's this way everywhere for high school basketball, but we feed these boys constantly. Breakfast from Panera, dinner after school from a local restaurant, Subway for the bus ride home from the game. On the weekend, we make a "spread" at someone's home and serve them that. This weekend I did waffles with blueberry sauce, cheesy potatoes, fruit, and another parent brought 8 pounds of bacon plus 4 pounds of link sausage! Do they think the parents can't feed them?)
Then Tucker is in high school swim season. We don't feed them as much, but the meets always seem to be far away and last for several hours. On Monday we drove to Marietta. I carried the swimmers' bags in my car so I followed the bus and it took two hours and twenty minutes. Next a three-hour swim meet and then a two-hour drive home.
So if teaching and sports were not all that is going on to keep me away from my blog, Grace is home for one more day. She goes back to school tomorrow.
Sometimes it's hard for me to process the fact that she'll actually be gone.
In spite of deciding that this far away school is the right choice for her, she's feeling very anxious about returning. I have tried to be supportive, saying things like, "Remember how nervous you were before you went the first time" or "This is nothing compared to staying in France for three months alone."
As her anxiety continues to rise, I decided tough love might be better. "Everyone would prefer to lie on the couch and watch America's Next Top Model rather than going to school or working..." or "It's what kids your age do. They go to school. It's not a big deal." Truthfully, if Grace doesn't go away to school, then I have failed at the process of raising her and setting her free. What Mama bird wants to set her baby bird free and the bird decide to stay in the nest?
I know Grace is just nervous because she hates change and because last year at this time she became depressed at school. She can't handle the idea of feeling like that again. I don't want her to feel that either. But she chose to return to this school and so we need to march onward so she can stop anticipating the bad.
So those are my excuses for why I haven't been blogging as much or commenting on other people's blogs.
Forgive me, but I see no respite in sight for another month or so.

And So It Begins...

Sports practices started officially last week and on Saturday I had my first full day of sporting events.
Spencer had a basketball scrimmage at 10:30

It felt good to be sitting in the gym again, even if only four of us parents showed up to watch our boys. In this photo, Spencer is in the navy shirt with the guy in red pushing him.
Then at 1:30, Tucker had a swim meet.

I sacrificed my afternoon of college football to watch Tucker swim.
But, I need to remember that this is my last year of basketball since Spencer is a senior. And I'll only have two more years of traipsing to swim meets since Tucker is a sophomore.
I vow to not complain, but to enjoy every minute of watching my boys play sports this year.

Updates

To follow up on a couple of blogs from the past few weeks:
Bald Tucker did very well at his swim meet. He missed making states but he dropped a lot of time in his events, including more than three seconds in the 100 butterfly. That's Tucker out in front. He won his heat. I know the times don't mean anything to non-swimmers, but suffice it to say that when I texted his YMCA swim coach the time that he swam, she responded: "Holy Sh**". She has asked him to go to Florida in April to swim at Nationals. Tucker is deciding whether he wants to commit that much time and effort to swimming over the next month. I know he is worn out from the season.
Spencer's last regular season basketball game was Friday. Spence played well and the teams went into overtime. With 20 seconds left, down by two, he was fouled. Spence moved his big high-top shoes to the line. Bounce, bounce, bounce. Swish. Now the team was down by one with another free throw left to go.
Time out.
No, not the opposing team's coach. Our team's coach called time out. He iced his own guy! He iced my son.
The other team's coach will sometimes call time out to make the player think about his free throws and increase the chance he will miss it. The other team's coach didn't have to because our own coach did.
Spencer missed the free throw and we ended up losing the game by three, so the blame didn't rest solely on Spencer.
And, finally, my best friend called again this week. She even commented on my blog post about unions! She said she didn't speak to anyone, even her sisters, last week while she tries to figure out her future. I can understand that. I'm here for her if/when she needs me.

Premature Balding -- Really This Time

Well, swim districts morning dawned and Tucker stumbled out of the bedroom at 6:20 a.m.to find me sitting at my desk.
"Goggles," he said. "I need new goggles."
Then he went back to bed.
Of course, he needs new goggles on the morning of swim districts, not the day before or the week before. But we had other things to take care of first.
So after a trip to Kroger for NutriGrain bars and granola, I drove Tucker to the barber. He chose to shave his head for swim team.

Here he is before the haircut. Even with his hair cut very short, it's bleached out, not his normal dark color.
The barber began with a trimmer set long and then reduced it even more.
He was willing to make the pictures interesting. Too bad this one is a little blurry.
The barber made it as short as possible with the trimmer then said he could go one step shorter with a razor.
What? How could it get shorter than this?
But, the barber laid a hot, wet towel on Tucker's head then lathered it up with warm shaving cream. Slowly, he began to scrape his razor across Tucker's head.

Luckily, the weather is unseasonably warm. The morning started at 58 degrees. Tucker walked out of the barber shop and felt the breeze on his bald head.
We drove up the highway and bought new goggles then went to the team breakfast.
There, Tucker met up with more of his own kind -- bald boys ready to swim fast this afternoon.

Early Baldness

I'm in an email fight with the high school swim coach.
She sent a message yesterday about preparation for the Sectional swim meet this Saturday. For boys, "On your head, hair must be completely off."
That's right. Bald.
Tucker has been fretting about this all season. He does not want to be bald.
He's 14. He's the fastest swimmer they have on the team. He can put on a swim cap -- like Michael Phelps did.
My arguments have run the gamut.
*The girls don't have to shave their heads.
*This is high school, not world-class competition.
*The world record holders are not bald.
She responded that this is a bonding experience for the boys.
I gently explained that bonding happens when people decide to do things that bring them closer together.
Bondage is when they are forced to do things.

As a freshman, Tucker has made many concessions, beginning with the tiny Speedo swimsuit. Previously, he always wore a knee-length suit. A 14-year-old does not want to put his junk on display. At 17 or 18, he may be happy, even eager, to wear a tiny Speedo. He might also joyously shave his head, first into a mohawk one week then bald the following week.
But 14-year-old boys are a little more fragile than 17-year-old boys. They worry about what people say.
Now Tucker is worried that the boys on the swim team will be mad if he doesn't shave and the kids at the high school will make fun of him if he does shave.
Ah, a teenage dilemma.
I, of course, get no credit for the things I didn't say to the coach, like, I wonder if the athletic director would support this mandate... followed by a pregnant pause while the swim coach realized I was threatening to report her.
To me, the annoying thing is that we have to fight about something that might improve Tucker's time by 1000th of a second. Work on his technique, not his hair length.
As I was writing this post, the swim coach called to talk. I still resisted threatening, although she thought my choice of the word "hazing" was a little strong.
I apologized for that.
In the end, she agreed to let the boys cut their hair very short and wear two swim caps if they do not want to join the team camaraderie.
Tucker doesn't know I fought this battle for him and he wouldn't thank me if he did. As a matter of fact, he might decide to shave his head in the spirit of the moment, but I'll know that he chose that for himself.

Highs and Lows

Saturday was full of ups and downs. It started with a crisp 7.5 mile run with my friends in the 25-degree weather. (I'll have a Dream Girl update tomorrow).
My day was scheduled to be full of sporting events. Not the usual college football that I watch, but a swim meet an hour and a half away, and the first regular season basketball game. Of course, the snow started to fall before I left.
I have no practical shoes for snow. I have clogs and crocs and high-heeled boots. I ended up wearing my hiking boots with jeans, which just makes me feel a little too manly. But I drove through the pelting snow and made it to Wright State University before the first race began. This was Tucker's first high school swim meet invitational.
The swim coach put him in the "B" relays at first. Then, after he swam on Tuesday, she moved him up to the "A" relays.
"She thinks I'm bad," he said.
"You'll just have to prove it to her," I said. And he did.
He came in first in the 50 back stroke and broke the old meet record. Then, as his team and another team seesawed back and forth in first place, they lined up to swim the final event. A 200-free relay.
I was nervous. I shook my leg, I screamed, I smacked my hand against my jeans in place of clapping. "Go! Go!" I yelled as the boys each dived in and swam. They were slightly behind the other team throughout. The final swimmer drew even and out touched the other team, winning the race by two hundredths of a second.
"Whoooo!" I yelled loud so the swimmers would hear. All of the parents had erupted into cheers and celebrations. Our boys' team won the meet against the 12 other teams there.
Then I slogged out into the parking lot. I was going to be late for the basketball game which was taking place an hour away. I turned on the windshield wipers to try to scrape the snow off and I searched futilely for a scraper. I used a CD case -- the Blues Brothers. It worked fairly well.
I had to slow down for a few accidents and one tow truck pulling a car out of a ditch. I made it to the basketball game at the start of the second quarter.
One of the dads explained that Spencer had been in the game but was called for traveling because one of the big guys on the other team was pushing him hard enough to scooch him along the court. Any time Spencer went into the game, the fat guys were put back in by the other team. Spencer's added muscle was no match for these 200 plus pounders. At one point, one of the moms pointed out the fat guy had carried Spencer about six feet.

Things did not go well for Spence or his team. He missed four free throws. His rebounding was done, not with sticky hands, but like a volleyball game as the ball was hit and flew into the air. The coach stopped yelling and sat on the bench. They ended up losing by about 17 points.
I parked Spencer's car at the gym and walked the mile home in the quiet night around 10 p.m. The sidewalk shone with ice and I windmilled my arms a few times to keep my balance.
When Spencer arrived home, he said, "It's just embarrassing to try that hard and be that bad."
"Everybody has a bad night," I told him. "You can't quit trying. Then you'd hate it."
"I did quit trying at the end," he said. I nodded.
That's when the coach finally took him out. The coach could tell.
Someday, maybe both my boys will have great sport days or great academic days or great days in love. For now though, as volatile teenagers, they have up and down days, usually all within 24 hours.
I'm glad I can be there for them, whether to celebrate their wins or mourn their losses.

Expectations

On Friday morning, I debated whether I should whisper in my daughter's ear, whether I should warn her not to get her hopes up too high. It was the District competition for swim. She'd easily made it past sectionals and she had high goals for Districts. 30 swimmers move on to districts, but only the top four move onto states.
I stopped myself though after giving myself a talking to about my Midwestern values. It is so typically Midwestern to caution against high hopes. But it doesn't make the fall any easier even if we guard against high hopes. We still have them.
So I don't warn her. And that afternoon, her friends came searching for me at the swim meet and said, "You have to come. Grace is crying inconsolably in the shower."
I lied to the gatekeeper whose job is to keep parents away from the pool.
"My daughter's injured," I told him.
And I found her, her face flushed red. She lay her face on my shoulder and sobbed some more. At Districts, she finished 10th in her 50 freestyle and she didn't swim as fast as the previous year. In her eyes, she had failed, although she finished higher than anyone else on her high school team.
She went on to swim the relays which finished well and made it to the podium for the top eight places. She also swam the 100 back with a decent time.
When the day ended, she wasn't miserable, but she wasn't happy. This isn't the end, I reassured her. She moves back to the YMCA swimming and then onto college swimming.
Today I drove my son home from basketball, a game they won by nearly 30 points.
"Did you see me miss those layups?" he asked. "And the foul shots?"
I wonder why my children and I all focus on the things we didn't accomplish. I think we have high expectations, but maybe we need a contingency plan, a back up for when things don't go the best possible route.
Because, even when my son doesn't make all the baskets he attempts, or my daughter doesn't swim as fast as she had hoped, or I'm not the best possible wife, mother or teacher, maybe we should all cut ourselves some slack. Maybe we can think that whatever our best is on this day is good enough.

It's Only Swimming, Right?

My kids drifted into swimming. They started with little summer leagues and my husband wondered if they'd ever learn to rotary breath (that's when they turn their heads to the side). They didn't seem particularly competitive. They'd swim their races then clamor for snacks. They were learning to swim well and I didn't mind those Saturday mornings at the pool.
Then five years ago, they started year-round swim team. At Grace's first indoor meet she had to swim a 200-yard race. She cried. She didn't want to do it. Couldn't possibly do it. I saw the swim coach dash to the end of her lane and lean over as Grace hung on the wall rather than turning around to swim another lap. Afterward, I got her some chocolate and asked what the coach said. "She told me if I got out I couldn't swim any more," Grace said. So she'd finished against her will.
"You were ahead until you stopped," I pointed out."I still finished ahead of that one girl," she replied, her fingers smeared with Snickers bar.
The next summer at the outdoor pool, Grace stomped out of the fence that surrounded the pool.
"Good job, honey. You won," I said.
"Yeah, but did you see that girl? She was trying to get ahead of me!"
That's when it clicked. She wanted to win. Maybe she hadn't realized all that time that those girls were trying to get in front of her, to touch the wall first.
Now she's the star of her high school team, her relay has qualified for a national meet and she's within four-tenths of a second of making a national time all on her own. She gets a slow trickle of letters from college coaches. Mostly small schools, division two or three, but sometimes division one schools.
"If it wasn't about the money, about a scholarship, would you want to swim at college?" I've asked her.
She says yes. She'll have a group to hang with. She'll belong.
But sometimes, when she's mad about a coaching change or when the new girl on the team flirts with the boys too much, she'll call me and say, "That's it! I am finished with swimming!"
I know she doesn't mean it. But would I be okay if she did? I think of all the money we've spent on swim. She quit ballet five years ago and I was afraid she'd really miss it. She didn't. I guess I'm okay with spending money on a sport or activity even if it doesn't lead to big college bucks. I guess I have to be.
Last week, though, a mother from our team told me a story that has me holding my breath when Grace swims. She talked of a boy who was on our team and he got a scholarship for $16,000 a year. When that boy made his national time, they upped it to $24,000 a year. Gulp! That's $8000 per year for swimming a national time. Grace is less than half a second away from potentially pulling in an extra $32,000. Can I pretend that this is no big deal? Should I not mention it because I don't want to put pressure on her? This is HUGE! I don't want to be one of those moms screaming with the raspy voice: "GET HER! CATCH HER!"
I still want to be the mom who calls, "Go Grace! Good job."
That's a lot of money though. And the next time she phones and says, "I've had it. I'm finished" will I swallow and listen, or will I say, "Get your butt back in that pool and earn your college tuition."
Maybe instead I'll just do the cheer my friend Susan taught me this weekend. She reminded me of the Saturday Night Live Spartan cheerleader skit with Will Farrell when they visited a swim meet. Their cheer went like this:
"Taco!
Burrito!
What's coming out of your speedo?
You got troubles, whooo!
You'r blowin' bubbles, whooo!"
And so, I spent the weekend looking away from high school boys in tiny Speedos, trying not to think of the cheer and trying not to expect Grace to earn her college tuition in the swimming pool. It's only swimming, right?