Many Sides of Ben

Last week was homecoming, which was a crazy-busy week of fun activities for the high school kids. I wanted my students at school to understand what homecoming was all about, so when we watched the parade on Friday, they could share in the excitement. I asked Ben and a couple of his classmates to come to school and speak to the kids. I was thankful that he agreed, especially since he had been sick at home the previous two days. For his part, he brought his football gear and told the students what all the equipment was for. Later, he even went out on the playground to play catch with some of the kids. 

The coronation assembly was Friday, and I can only imagine how nervous and uncomfortable he must have felt, walking across the gym floor while his bio was read. He stood and posed for pictures with the rest of the homecoming court before, during and after the ceremony, and I marveled to myself...remembering the little toddler that used to cover his eyes if someone spoke to him that he didn't know. 

Last night was the final part of homecoming, the Powderpuff football game when the girls from the junior and senior classes play against each other. The boys provide the comic relief because they serve as cheerleaders. We laughed as we watched (hopefully our last chance to see) our son dressed in drag, prancing around the field with a bunch of the other guys. This is the same boy who as a young child, scowled from his seat in the shopping cart and exclaimed, "Don't WOOK at me!" if some nice lady greeted  him at the grocery store.

If you would have told me 14 years ago that I'd be watching my son do all these things, I never would have believed it.

The Brother's Weekend

Joey doesn't call home or email very often from college, but he scored big points with me when he invited his little brother to come spend the weekend with him in Iowa City. It was homecoming, and he was able to get an extra ticket for the game, so he invited Sam to stay with him at his apartment for the weekend.

He got to join Joey and his friends with lots of their homecoming activities from a concert on the Pentacrest to bowling, and of course, tailgating and the game. I know Sam will never forget the time he spent there!

I remember when I was Sam's age and I got to spend the night with my cousin Pam at her Iowa State dorm. I was fascinated by everything from the bunk beds to the elevators and I felt so special and grown up to be hanging out with college students. That created such an impression for me, so I'm grateful that Joe decided to do the same thing for his littlest brother.

Working at the Swim Meet

Staff members at my school district can earn their activity pass for the year by working at athletic events. Some involve supervising, which I shy away from, as I supervise all week long in my classroom. I don't need any more opportunities for confrontation in the off-hours. The other duties involve being timers, scorekeepers, and record keepers at the various games and meets. 

This year, my first duty was timing at a girls' swim meet. I'd never done it before, but everyone I talked to assured me it was easy. I was looking forward to watching the diving portion of the meet and seeing my friend Darci as she coached the girls. When I reported for duty, I was relieved to see another first grade teacher there. She was an experienced timer and had daughters on the swim team. We were given their stopwatches and we took our places at the end of each lane. I felt awkward and conspicuous. Wasn't there a more out-of-the-way place I could stand?

My mind raced back to high school, when my first cheerleading experience was for the girls' swim team. We wore short sleeved polyester outfits instead of the traditonal cheerleading sweater, and I remember how the humidity of the pool area played havoc with my carefully styled hair (think: big and puffy) The red and white saddle shoes that we wore were slippery on the wet tile. Doing jumps as we cheered was out of the question.  I remembered standing at the opposite end of the pool and getting a face full of water as the girls did their flip turns. Thinking back I tried to remember the chants for any swimming cheer. What did we yell? ..."S...W...I...M...??"

Would that year of experience help me remember the various swimming events and how many lengths of the pool each race went? How long was that pool anyway? I fought the urge to hand my timer to the next passerby and declare myself confused and unprepared. The meet was beginning and I would just do the best I could.

When the alarm sounded for each race I had the important job of clicking the timer for the swimmer in lane 6. During the race things got even more complicated because I had to keep track of which lap of the race she was on. Counting should be a cinch for a first grade teacher, right? I fought the panic each time I was sure I'd lost count and the race would end before I realized she was on her last lap. My experienced friend Julie helped me count from her lane, so I didn't miss any swimmers on their final approach. The big moment came at the end of each race. As my swimmer completed her final lap, I had to carefully work my way through her cheering team-mates, lean down, and reach the cord for the button-thingy that stops the touch pad. Leaning down near the edge of a pool while high school girls are jumping and bumping around next to me made me scared. I was sure I would get jostled at the wrong second and be first timer in Boone High history to get knocked into the pool.

As it turned out, the swim meet ended without any major problems or controversy. I'm fairly sure none the girls' Olympic trials were resting on their times from this meet. I was a bit wet from the flip turns and taking-off splashes, but I reminded myself that at least I wasn't wearing a hot polyester cheerleading outfit.

Boys Will Be Boys

We've had a bit of a problem with wasps in the backyard. There was a nest as big as a basketball hanging from the garage overhang. Over the past few weeks I worried as it grew in size and lovingly reminded my dear husband the we (he) needed to take care of that before someone got stung. Well, one day last week, our son Sam was jumping on the trampoline and got stung. Perry felt so bad and went to the hardware store bright and early the next morning. The resident wasp expert talked him out of spraying because that same evening we would be hosting the weekly football team dinner. Apparently, spraying toxins at their nest causes wasps to become cranky.

That night was rainy, so we used the basement and garage for the dinner. It was a success because no one got stung. The behemoth in the backyard was the subject of conversation for the dads, and as the evening went on, these overgrown boys brainstormed many creative ways to destroy the nest. You know what little boys do when they have a large stick in their hands, right? Well, you can imagine what one grown man did with a golf-ball-retriever-pole. After poking a hole in the nest, he barreled around the corner of the garage without getting stung. This only encouraged the rest of the group.

Another dad threw a football at it, and got stung. Later, after more strategic planning, the "offense" march back to the yard with my husband as the official quarterback. A few seconds later, there were cheers as the pass was complete and the nest was hit squarely, breaking it and releasing hundreds of angry wasps. The guys ran for all corners of the neighborhood before breathlessly coming back to declare the mission a success.

A few days later, with the help of a large can of poison spray and some colder temperatures, the wasps appear to be nearly gone. Sam can go back to the trampoline and the dogs won't be afraid to go outside anymore.

A Little Brainwashing

Call me a proud mom, but with the beginning of the football season, it's hard not to be excited about watching my son Ben's games. At school today I was proudly wearing my new Toreador football sweatshirt. During my daily writing demonstration this morning, I wrote a story about going to the football game tonight, and encouraged the kids to attend the game with their families.

Later in the morning, as we walked to PE class, I told the kids that their PE teacher also happens to be one of the team's coaches. I asked the class, "What will you yell at the game tonight?" Mr. Hoover patiently played along and guessed, "Go Boone?" 

"No," they corrected him. "Go Ben !"