Get back in your own season!

There’s a reliable cadence during any given year as the seasons change. NJ is one of the states where we really get bang for the change-of-season buck. From blizzards to heat stroke, and every temperate temp in between, our lives are set to weather rhythms. Well, they used to be. Apparently the whole, “to everything (turn, turn, turn), there is a season (turn, turn, turn)” memo was not read by all. The tried and true markers of seasons are a-changing themselves, and our body clocks are sure to suffer in generations to come. Like many fast moving trends with unintended consequences, it seems spurred by well meaning parents and coaches we seem unable to refuse. Behold the days of winter lacrosse, fall baseball, and summer hockey. Cue the apocalypse!

Maybe astroturf is to blame, because actual grass growth cycles became irrelevant? Was it Under Armour? Has that flexi tech apparel marvel that clogs my laundry bins made warm weather sports comfy at odd times? Did global warming cause this? Is it simply warm enough to play summer sports year round, even without the body gear? But then how do you account for ice hockey in August? Our mastery of artificial climates is totally screwing with our sports seasons. Our kids’ seasonal reference will be more jumbled than mall shoppers faced with Christmas decorations in October.

Have the year round baseball advocates never heard of “spring training?” That’s when the whole shebang kicks off- not November! Did Don Henley sing of “The Boys of Winter?” I think not. Youth baseball has its place on the calendar. Please put it back there. And tell it to take softball with it, because the girls in town in their visors and knee socks look really out of place at the bagel store next to the football players.

It’s one thing when seasons overlap. Sentences like “I want to go snowboarding but I have lacrosse,” are perfectly fine in months that straddle seasons like March. Son1’s lacrosse vs. snowboarding debate was in December though last year. NO NO NO. For the love of God, I can’t even change out the Thule cases and sports gear racks on my car that quickly. You get one sport’s worth of gear smelling up my car at a time, Son1. Uno. I’ll give a pass to sports like swimming, karate, and gymnastics. They just never seem to end, you poor parents.

I’m always surprised how many kids do multiple team sports at the same time, and this seems to be escalating as the seasonal mash up continues. The 7th grader on Son1’s soccer team playing football and soccer has a busy schedule. He also has a friend though playing football AND baseball this Fall. To my seasonally-anchored-sports mind, that’s like surfing and skiing on the same day. Apart from that, when can they possibly be doing homework, and when do their parents ever get to stay home? I’ll be honest and say flat out I’m too frazzled and too selfish to spend every waking moment in carpools and on bleachers. Pick one, play hard, and then come home.

There is another category of concern in all of this sports jumble. It probably bears as much of the blame as superior HVAC systems. In an effort to foster what many parents see as a talent, they also think they see a way to fight rising college costs. Let me say clearly that if half of the kids on my sons’ soccer team think college bucks are coming, they’d better get cracking on a Plan B. (Lest you think I too share the delusions, I am totally including my own two in the Plan B planning team.)

Visions of financial aid have forced many parents into the delusion that honing their children’s abilities year-long will render them thoroughbreds worthy of NCAA nods and the scholarships that follow. So now we’ve messed up the natural rhythms of sporting goods retail AND deluded our children. Dick’s Sporting Goods’ merchandising team can adjust. The egos of some of these young athletes may take some more time when the light bulb flicks on that they’re not Division I, I-A, or even XIV-Z material.

Tonight, soccer practice is on the schedule, then ditto for tomorrow since both sons play. At some point, homework that is being brought home will be completed, and various household and family activities will ensue. It’ll be a busy autumn weekend, but it’ll be just an autumn weekend. It’s warm still, so some summer activities may resurface for the open slots, but spring and winter sports need not apply. You’ll have your turns soon enough, in your own season.

Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we shall fly

The perils and joys of travelling with children are only truly experienced with airline travel. Cruise ships make even the boarding aspect fun since you are usually standing close enough to see the ship and gawk. Car travel is like any other nightmare ride to a soccer tournament 45 minutes away, just longer and more nerve-grating. But airline travel, with it’s own thrills of TSA checkpoints, what exactly fits into a 3.5 ounce bottle, interminable terminal waits, and the ever-dreaded runway respite… ahhhhh… now that spells migraine like no other travel mode.

Tomorrow morning, bright and early, we are heading to the airport so I can fly with the boys to go see PopPop. I’ll drop them off in MS, and fly home. This journey is in exchange for our freedom for a one week. Next weekend, I will fly down to retrieve them. Probably. I feel like one of the Air Marshalls escorting the Russian spies leaving today out of JFK.

Now, through the beauty of online check in, I have boarding passes in hand to avoid at least one airport delay. I will do everything short of packing one child within another to avoid checked bags and the delays they can bring. Most of my time in airports and on planes with sons in tow is spent apologizing profusely for something they did while wrapped up in their own little bubbles. Now, with advance seat numbers in hand, I can actually speed up the trip and get the most uncomfortable parts out of the way.

Before I go any further and morph into my “Do you not see I am at the end of my rope?” mode tomorrow morning… Fine professionals and fellow travelers in Newark Liberty Airport, I would like to apologize in advance to:

• The patient staff and patrons of AuBon Pain/ McDonald’s/ Starbucks who will listen to me tell Son1 at least twenty times he is not getting a sausage biscuit, with extra sausage, and a bacon side. I also may need a minute to get an order out of Son2, the least decisive person on the planet.

• The gate agent who will be approached (three times) by 12yr old Son1 for a First Class upgrade since he seems to think he’s entitled to the lap of luxury my airline miles occasionally afford. He’ll be the boy saying, “no, just one seat, not for my brother.”

• The man who approaches me when he spots me lingering outside the men’s room exit. (Really, were I a man doing so outside the ladies’ room I’d be arrested.) I appreciate your return to the bathroom to make sure there are two dapper boys somewhere in sight not crawling through the duct work to escape.

• The kind sirs who will emerge from said mens’ room with water splashes all over them from an impromptu yet epic soak-fest-fight at the sink. Even if I weren’t frazzled, I couldn’t acknowledge you because you would then know I was the parent, and expect some restitution. Oh who says water stains don’t come out of pure silk ties? Please.

• The flight attendant welcoming all aboard, and body blocking the cockpit. Sorry, they’re just very curious. And flexible. Really, no harm, no foul.

• The fine gentlemen/ladies in seats 13A and B for the seat whaling that will take place.

• 13C for the lethal force to be used grabbing your seatback (and maybe some hair- may want to consider a hat) when Son1 storms through to the bathroom. Five times in a three hour flight.

• The flight attendant with the beverage cart who will want to throw a soda at Son2 when he pitches a fit that you have Sprite, but not Sprite Zero. They're both sweet, both clear. Lie to him, he'll never know. It's just easier, trust me.

• 26C, seated near the lavatories. Sorry about the Bloody Mary incident. You’re right, children should not be unattended on planes in the galley area. It was totally accidental. Ditto, 26D.

• The helpful gentlemen who always seem to be seated across and one row back. Yes, you sir in 15D. Thank you for trying to help Son1 take his stuff from the overhead. Really, once the bleeding stops I really think that broken nose will give character to your face.

• Rows 15 through 26 (except for 15D and his wife E who are being tended to by the paramedic). You all will ever so patiently wait while Son1 AND Son2 take turns stepping into the aisle to pick up and close their backpacks. Lord forbid this were done upon approach, descent, landing, or the 20 minutes we inexplicably sat mere inches from the gate.

• The elderly woman in the jet way behind me, who upon de-boarding will have to listen to my, “just shut it shut it shut it shut I said shut it what is the problem did you not hear me say shut it” to each son regarding Nintendo game cases, backpacks, and mouths.

• The guy driving the vehicle-thingy they use to transport disabled people or large items to the gate. Really, I have no idea how he got a skateboard into his backpack. Nice slalom manuever! Have you thought of Formula One? Were you as scared as I was when that oxygen tank flew right off the back? Whew.

Alrighty then, I feel more prepared for the morning. Getting those awkward looks, confessions, and remorseful pleas off my chest now makes me feel a lot more optimistic for tomorrow’s surprises! Looks like it’ll be a nice dinner tonight, a fortifying yet calming glass of wine, and the kids let lose to “make merry” (read as run around out side to burn energy)… for tomorrow we fly!