I am officially signed up as a Proper Texas Mother. Er, I mean, I signed my kids up for football today.
Not kidding, it was a three hour ordeal. This is a come-and-go process for two entire Saturdays, and the lines were still that long. We stood in no less that seven different lines and spent no less than four hundred dollars. This is serious business.
Both boys are signed up, and the girl said she wanted to sign up, too, but I told her she had to play a season of flag football, just like her older brother. The little one is only five, so he plays flag. Here in Texas, they can't tackle each other unless they can hold up their heads with the helmet on, and apparently that happens around the age of seven. The oldest one was fitted for pads and a helmet, and I regretted not feeding him a giant breakfast, because he weighed in on that scale at 69.5 pounds.
Both boys had to weigh in, get measured, do the long jump, run some random yardages that were timed. They were nice enough to let that little one run barefoot, because he made sure and tell everyone in the most pitiful way that he just couldn't find his sneakers. WHEN YOU LOOK FOR TWO SECONDS IN ONE PLACE, IT'S HARD TO FIND YOUR SNEAKERS. But I refrained and allowed them to pity the poor baby and let him off easy. THIS TIME.
All for the fun. Here's hoping that we don't see the inside of the emergency room. For my bouts with insanity when we're practicing SIX DAYS A WEEK. They give you Sunday off so that you can watch football. This is Texas, after all.