My stoopid, no good, stoopid day . . . aM

If that headline doesn’t make you want to read, I don’t know what will!  

So, Andy has been rowing (and rowing and rowing). We picked the group, we knew the drive and the time we were committing to when we started. Andy loves the coaches, he’s become friendly with quite a few kids on the team. I’ve had a chance to settle in and work on writing while Andy practices. Overall, it’s going really well. 

But, it’s kind of weird. It’s not a sport where some parents drop off their kids and others sit around and watch practice. Everyone drops off their kids – it’s not really the kind of practice you can watch. It makes it hard to get to know parents. Mike and I have met a few parents, but it’s not like we see them on any regular basis other than regattas.  

Since January, I’ve had this feeling we’re out of some loop. Today, after checking all morning (we had heavy rain and a tornado watch until 11 pm) for a cancellation of practice, I finally drove Andy over, figuring they would be lifting weights or rowing on the Erg things inside the boathouse.  After 45 minutes in heavy, accident-snarled traffic, we made it just in time. Just in time to locked gates and a locked boathouse. As we were the only car there, I’m pretty sure all the other parents knew practice was cancelled.  

It took us nearly 90 minutes to get home.  (Our regular one way trip averages 27-35 minutes). Maybe because I stayed up late last night getting our corned beef and colcannon casserole ready so we could at least celebrate our anniversary and St. Patrick’s Day after practice.  Maybe because I’ve been scrambling for information since Andy joined this club. Maybe because I have yet to make a friend with another team parent. Maybe just because it was rainy and yucky.  

We got home and I tried to explain to Mike how my feelings were hurt.  If you know a man, you know men do NOT get this kind of thing. Mike tried to understand, bless his lil’ heart.  I’m not on the right email list – I don’t think it’s because there is a conspiracy to leave me out (or IS there????).  But, gah, all that time and travel and driving in bad weather and on my anniversary… 

I sort of know one woman after the Regatta on March 8.  I’m going to email her and find out what the secret code is to be included.  I just hope she’s not tired of my questions (or one of the conspiracy leaders . . .)

I’m dangerously close to being 50 years-old.  When does it stop feeling like eighth grade?

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