Slim Jim Sammie

It was Saturday morning and we were on our way to Sophia's first of three basketball games of the day. Sophia(11) and her sleepover friend were sitting in the third row or "back, back, back" of my SUV as we call it. Haley(3) and Harrison(6) were locked into their captain seats in the middle. Rick, who often has to work Saturdays, was cheerfully sitting shotgun and I, with my control issues, was of course driving. Despite having to set my alarm on a Saturday morning, we had had a very nice one. The day before at Walmart Haley had wanted some donut holes. Frankly, so did I.  I imagined those perfect little cake like morsels melting in my mouth the next morning while drinking a hot cup of coffee. They looked so soft and warm all huddled together in that little plastic box, their glaze glistening at me. "Haley, that is a great idea!" "The girls will need some extra carbs for their games in the morning."

Harrison was unusually cooperative this morning as well. I didn't have to follow him around, telling him EVERY move to make and saying "that's "1" Harrison, that's "2" before EVERY piece of clothing was applied, teeth were brushed and even EVERY step of the bed making process was completed.  Per the 1-2-3 Magic book, I am to do this while "remaining emotionally un-involved". So instead of fighting we got to spend some special time cuddling together. He told me I was pretty and that he liked when Sophia had friends over because I was extra nice and fun. I decided to take that last one as a compliment as well. Right before the precious cuddling ended Harrison asked me if I was going to give him some money for the concession stand.

While driving to the game I gave the girls a healthy little pep talk. I encouraged them to do their best, not to be intimidated to shoot the ball if they had the chance, but most of all to have fun! We pulled off the main road which to my children signals "get into position". Harrison is to hold up his feet so Sophia can perch at the door ready to act. When the car sufficiently stops she is to get out with my purse. Harrison is then responsible for shutting the door which he is then to remain in contact with until I say "RELEASE". I unbuckle Haley from her 5 point harness, lock the car, and meet the older 2 on the other side who are punished if they are not still in physical contact with the car when I meet them.  I then point out to them all the maniacs driving in the parking lot as we walk into the store. With a few more driveway rehearsals I think we could trim a few seconds off of our best time. Things usually go smoothly unless Harrison is being Harrison. At which time I start yelling "3, 3, 3" with high emotional involvement.

I drove under the porte-cochere with the girls lined up in front of Harrison's door. With their backpacks on they looked strangely similar to tandem skydivers. (without the goggles of course) "Harrison, pull up your feet so they can get out!" I said impatiently.  I looked down at his feet. "So help me, do you have your cleats on?!" Just as I was coming to a stop I started yelling to the girls, "go, go,go"! You see my children also run perfectly on time without a minute to spare.

The rest of us then found a parking spot and walked into the gym like normal people do. I did lean down to Harrison and say, "walk quietly and I think we can get you in". Rick looked at me as we walked in, impressed I think, with my ability to give such a gentle, motivating pep talk while drafting in and out of traffic behind another mother I knew struggling to get to the same game. That look could have been shock but I chose to think impressed.

We waved and smiled and chatted with many parents and friends as we found our seats. Living in a small town there's rarely someone you don't know or have possibly dated. My parents had saved us some seats on the top row so you can lean back on the cinder block wall to avoid "bleacher back". We were all settled in and ready for the game to begin.

While I am a very competitive person I'm not really into sports at all. My husband on the other hand has a West Virginia Mountaineers' football, basketball, and Pittsburgh Steelers and Pirates problem. I did however grow up playing basketball, softball, volleyball, tennis and even ran track. In three years of 4th, 5th, and 6th grade basketball I made one basket. I had one signature move that consisted of stiff-arming with my left and dribbling with my right down the right side of the court to the back corner where I then hoped to pass. My softball team, The Patriots, was the best. I usually completed my coach required 2 minutes per inning in the right field. I could feel my whole team tense up when a lefty unexpectedly stepped up to bat. I did play third base on occasion and one time made all three outs in the inning! The first two being luck and the third occurring from deeply hardwired neurologic reflexes that allowed me to protect my face from the line drive that was coming right at it. It was there in the dugout with Coach Moran that I perfected some of my freestyle cheerleading as I called it. I wasn't fast or particularly blessed with endurance so I found myself running the mile for the track team. There were other girls running this event as well thank goodness, so the coach didn't have to put all his eggs in my basket to carry. On the last lap when everyone else started to sprint I kept on running my same steady pace which was all I had in me the entire time.  I was least terrible at volleyball I think. The Greenbrier County School System's budgeting didn't allow much over the years for Junior High Girls' Volleyball. So each year we went down to the scary, damp basement, dug through a cardboard box of dry rotted, out of style, uniforms to come up with one "good looking team I  tell ya' ".

Anyway, it was time for the game to begin. I was sitting all cool, calm and collective until
Sophia's teammate tipped the ball off to her. I jumped up and let out a "WHOOOOO" similar to Hulk Hogan with hand motions and all. I started yelling "DRIBBLE, RUN, SHOOOOOT!" Like she wouldn't know what to do if I weren't telling her. I sat down but Rick slid over. She then got a foul. Up I sprang again,"C'mon man, what are you talkin' about???" Not to mention that I really only know enough rules to be dangerous. "Don't worry, there's more of that, where that came from!" I said before sitting down. It continued like this the rest of the game. When I was in my seat I would lean and twist helping the ball into the net which made it difficult for Haley to snuggle with me like she kept trying to do. At one point she had her arms wrapped up in mine and was leaning sweetly against my leg.  Sophia got the ball.  I jumped up and yelled "SHOOOOOOOOT". (You see this is what I yell regardless of where Sophia is on the court or how many tall girls may be hovering over her.) Haley then flew into the bleacher floor but I scooped her up quickly and told her to "shake it off, shake it off" before all eyes were on us. I was thinking about how I could smuggle in an air horn for the next game, blow it, then quickly get it inconspicuously back into my purse, when a girl from the other team had a fast break for a layup. I jumped up and hollered (not yelled- there is a difference you see) "GIT 'EEEEERRRR" with all I had.  My DNA was taking a break on the bench so I started people watching. I soon slid over to Rick and leaned in to proclaim with astonishment, "look at those parents from the other team clapping when our sweet little girls get a foul!"  "I can't believe it!" "The audacity of some parents." "They are just children and its just a game."

Well, we came in second but we had two more games to go. After some self reflection I promised myself I would be better behaved at the next two games. I don't know what comes over me. It could have been the donut holes.

Before the second game I gave Harrison and Haley each 2 "1 dollar bills" as Harrison calls them. I told Harrison that if he behaved well during the first game I would let him pick out his own snack and drink at the concession stand. Considering I had no room to talk about behavior, we were walking to get his snack. He is a "biggest bang for your buck" kind of guy. He wanted to buy the four Slim Jims for $1. I asked him to pick something else telling him he didn't need to be eating 4 Slim Jims, explaining to him that Slim Jims consist of residual meat and other parts that no one else wants to eat. He then explained to me that he must be "no one else" because he does like to eat them. Rick said, "Aaauuuggghhh, it won't kill 'em they are only 4 inchers Sooz". I caved and he walked away happily with his poor quality meat sticks. He told me he didn't want a drink that he wanted to save his last one dollar to pester me during the entire next game to go back to the concession stand. I on the other hand needed a Gatorade. I was exhausted from freestyle cheering.

Sophia's next game was better for everyone involved including me. She scored 6 points but should have been eight if the ref. knew what he had been talking about. (I said I was better, not good) They won the game and were 1 for 1. The last game was tight and I was distracted when Harrison asked to go to the concession stand with his buddy Hunter. I said "sure, whatever, go" and gave no guidance with how to spend his money.

On the drive home Harrison asked me to pull over to spend his last one dollar on a drink. I said "I'm confused Harrison, I thought you spent it with Hunter?" "Well", he said, "I told Hunter you wouldn't give me any more money so he used his and bought me 4 more Slim Jims and now I'm really thirsty".  "Harrison!!!!!!!" I said. "No one should eat that many Slim Jims. They are terrible for you!" I am further irritated that this information doesn't bother my carnivorous husband in the least. While he calmly sits there shotgun I begin performing parental justification math.
8 X 4 inch Slim Jims = 32 in. of sub-par meat bathed in nitrites = almost 3 linear feet of HOLY COW my kids just age enough beef lips to silence a small herd of cattle! Considering however, that the average Slim Jim is approximately 6 inches, my son really only ate 5. 5 Slim Jims. So, I now feel exactly 0.3125 less terrible. In continuing my calculations I consider "If said 4 in. Slim Jims were laid side by side on a piece of bread and topped with mustard, would some not call this a sandwich equivalent to bologna?" I never buy bologna and that's really UN-American I concluded. I went on to tell Harrison that I was proud of his patriotic decision and Rick, who was only partially listening to me as usual stated "oh I didn't know they had sammies at the concession stand".