Don't get excited - it's not that. We all know that Day 6 is much, much too early to be peeing on sticks. Besides, my new peesticks haven't arrived in the mail yet.
This morning I had to attend a meeting about Field Day. As a specialist, I am expected to assist with relay races and, if I were a more able-bodied sort, I would be expected to entertain the masses with, oh, a little PE dept vs. specialists running action or something hideous like that. Thankfully, I have a painful and crippling disease and can't be asked to do such things.
I. HATE. FIELD DAY.
I haven't been to one yet, but I know that I am going to hate it. It offends every last one of my sensibilities. I hate all sports. I don't enjoy moving around at all anyway, but what I hate about sports is competition. I have examined this long and hard and I believe it to be my most quintesential Quaker core that speaks here. I cannot find anything redeeming about it. It is not that I mind losing (as I always, always did in any sports-related thing). I know you won't believe me. It really isn't that, because I didn't care about sports anyway. It's just that I don't understand why we have to use our physical abilities as a way to teach kids about winning and losing.
I am all for good "sportspersonship," as we in schools say nowadays (blech, I know). I sort of enjoy board games and the like, but only with people who don't get mean and nasty. I do not enjoy any sort of competitive spirit. When it comes out in me, I am embarrassed.
It has been most present in dance classes - ballet was MY thing as a kid and I very much wanted to be the best. I don't think this was good. It meant that still, at age 28, I came home after my INCREDIBLY ELEMENTARY first yoga class and SOBBED ON THE FLOOR because my knees wouldn't position themselves correctly. I am too hard on myself in class settings. But at least it's all me - there was no "yoga team" to get pissed at me about my bad knee position. That would have done me right in (OK, I was done in anyway, huh? I did end up in the looney bin a mere two weeks later, I believe).
Wes is very, very different from me in this way. He loves to be competitive academically and would like to get gold stars on his head for doing things correctly. Because his mother did that for him as a kid. Yeah. I know.
But he does like things his way. Once, in Ikea, we were arguing about vases. Wes REALLY likes vases. It is so oviously Freudian that I can't believe he doesn't sublimate it shamefully into something else. Instead he is actually loud and open about his love of vases and constantly wants to buy more of them even though anyone who had an even slightly sizeable wedding received enough vases to hold even a surgery's worth of flowers for a week. No, we never have enough according to him. So we were in Ikea, and he wanted some piddly little bud vases and I was denying him this in my meanest teacher/mommy voice and he burst, like a small child, into "NO! I WIN I WIN I WIN!" And he did. Because of my mortification at being seen with such a raving lunatic.
But still, we have a fundamental harmony in our hatred of team sports. Thank heavens.
In pregnancy news, my colleague who has been trying to get pregnant for about eight months (though she only finally just read TCOYF and starting charting and timing it correctly) got the bad, bad news this morning. Now I am worried about how she will feel if I manage to do it the first time. But really, our swimmers have it so much easier - we cut out a good 4 hours of their swim time by sticking them where we did.
So really, there's no excuse for it not to work. Well, except for the fact that they were frozen for a year and then thawed and stuck up there in such lesser quantities. But hey, I got my highest temperature ever this morning. And I DREAMED that my boobs were sore. Does that count?
Oh, god I hope it worked. I want to win at something.
