I continually amaze myself at the predicaments I get myself into. Why, oh why can I not just sit back and do things the easy way? Alas, I must challenge my patience and inner resolve to be all that I can be in the parenting arena. This weekend I embark upon one of the great challenges of having a child who participates in sport. The Road Trip. (I can hear you all groaning now however, I am sure you cannot wait to read about and come along for the Ride of Pain.) Yes, you read that right: A Road Trip with 16 six and seven year olds, a whack of siblings and all the respective parents who drew the short straw.
When the coach suggested a road trip at the beginning of the season it was all I could do to conjure up thoughts of what exactly will be fun about travelling with that many kids. I suppose it will be fun to play teams from other towns? Oh, honestly, that’s all I can come up with. I can just picture it now: 16 crazy Amazon children running all over the ferry, hotel and arena reeking havoc all over the place. Vacation you say? Oh no not for me. I have to stay in a hotel room with one man, two stinky teenagers and one Monkeyboy. I might just sleep in the car!
To make matters worse I was elected the Manager of this whole shin dig. I am sincerely hoping that by now the parents on the team have recognized my winning charm and propensity for sarcasm because, after an entire season of planning and abuse, if even one person complains I may go all Jerry Springer on their ass.
When I stop yelling I will keep a journal of the events that occur for your reading pleasure and for me to have a detailed record of the shenanigans so when I get asked again to book a road trip I will have sufficient documentation to back up my NO.
