You Win Some, You Lose Some

Gabrielle and I have were playing in the pool last night. After almost 72 games of Marco Polo, she wanted to have a race. She's been swimming weekly in a class and she was anxious to show off her skill. I was a little tired, but I agreed to a quick race. When I was her age, I competed on the swim team. In fact, I was the fastest swimmer in Atlanta in backstroke and freestyle. (Tony is now rolling his eyes, but where else do I get to brag about that little tidbit of trivia) Anyway, ready, set, go...I sashay down and back, and when I turn around to see how far she has to go, she touches the wall. When did that happen? I mean, she isn't more than 3 seconds behind me. You should have seen the look on her face. You'd have thought she won the Olympics. But it got me to thinking...

Last winter during basketball season, Matt would drag me outside around 9:00 every night to play a game of basketball. We would play to 20, and I would usually beat him by about 5 points. This year, the first game we played, he beat me by 3. I chalked it up to luck, but I congratulated him on his win. The next night, we played again, and he beat me by 3. For the next 4 nights, he beat me every game. On night 7th night, I finally won, but only by 2 points. And over the course of the season, he consistently won. I was really proud of his improvement, but I was privately bummed that I could no longer win. I looked forward to baseball season where I knew that it was just a matter of throwing grounders and not competing, but it was not to be. One evening after baseball practices had begun, he asked me to come out and catch him while he practiced his pitching. I grabbed the catcher's mit and knelt into position. On the first pitch, he threw it so hard that I missed it and it hit my foot. It hurt so much I actually cried... in the middle of the neighborhood. Matt was so upset and sorry, not realising that his strength had surpassed my ability. My husband, having witnessed the entire event, burst into laughter, and then quickly tried to recover by suggesting that I go inside and get some ice. (This reaction is the subject for a different blog entitled "Times When You Should Not Laugh At Your Wife").

As I sat inside, it occurred to me that my days of practicing any kind of sports with my son were coming to an end. I guess it won't be long until he will agree to play me in a kind of patronizing "oh sure mom, I'll spot you 20 points" tone.

When Tony and I were on our honeymoon in Jamaica, there were ping pong tables out on the beach and we decided to play. Having only known each other for about 9 months, we had never actually played ping pong before. Now I grew up a tomboy with 3 brothers in an extremely sports-minded family, and we had a ping pong table. My dad taught me to play at 4 years old. So needless to say, I whipped Tony's butt. He challenged me again and again, but I beat him every game. Later in the day, we took up paper football, and he regained the winner's crown. He beat me every single game. To this day, I still think he might have cheated (I know Tony, how do you cheat at paper football?) , but I have no proof of this. Thankfully, 3 days later, I turned back into a girl, got my hair braided like Bo Derrick in "10", and we returned to honeymooning.

It's hard to be a competitive person and lose to your children. A good mother applauds the fact that her children are developing skills and becoming better athletes....but you know, there is that nagging voice inside that says "I'll practice and get you next year.."

As for Tony, I'm dragging him over to the pool in the morning. And if I don't win that race, we're going to find a ping pong table...

So until tomorrow...when I'll hopefully find something I can win at...