I'm tentatively scheduled to be a Team Mom for the Batson's spring soccer team. When I heard this, I had a moment of misgiving. My girls were at that particular point in time running around the house screaming, "Zombies! Zombies!" and laughing hysterically.
They're two-and-a-half, in case you haven't caught that. I happen to find that hilarious, but many people probably wouldn't, because they have severe cases of FOOP, otherwise known as foreign object of the posterior, otherwise known as a stick up the bootay.
But then again, I can't possibly be worse than my camp counselor way back when. On an overnight hiking trip, he got us lost in an overgrown vinyard and blew off his eyebrows when he immolated the camp stove, then forced us to pitch tents at the top of a hill in a thunderstorm. We ended up sliding down the hill on sheets of mud. At least no one got torched. Other than his poor eyebrows, of course.
After that, he looked permanently surprised.
Anyway, even if I teach the kids the wonder that is Undead Soccer, I can't possibly be that bad, right?
Why am I asking you? You voluntarily read my blog; you're probably just as bad as I am. And I mean that in a complimentary, FOOP-less way.