I hab a bad cod

Translated, that's I have a bad cold. I survived the scourge of stomach flu that ran through my household last week, only to succumb to this evil virus. So, if anything I write doesn't make sense, you'll know why.

COACHING KIDS

This evening at indoor soccer practice, another mom and I were trying to decide whether or not we should return for another season of coaching. And we decided that it's not the kids we minded, it was their parents.

Last season, we had three asthmatic kids on our team. I wanted to name our team the Wheezers, but was outvoted. My point? Oh, yeah, the wheezing kids. The parents would either drop their kids off without their puffers or simply drop them off and leave without giving us a number to reach them. Now, I have an asthmatic kid (my oldest son) and know how quickly an attack can turn bad. And these folks would get missy with me when I told them their kid wouldn't play unless there was a responsible parent with a puffer on hand. Like my name wouldn't be the first one on the lawsuit if their kid died while in my care. Idiots.

But for the most part, the parents on our team were great. It was the parents on the other teams that were the real problem. They'd scream at our kids during the game, then scream at us. For crying out loud, the seven and eight year olds showed better sportsmanship than adults did.

So, I'm still on the fence about the whole thing. Maybe when I feel better I'll be able to make up my mind.

THE SUPREME WISDOM OF THE QUEENOSHEBA:

My co-workers are amazed that I can coach children without harming them mentally or physically, because I am not the most patient person. But I explain to them that it's easier for me to deal with 7 years who act like 7 years olds, than with 40 year olds that act the same way.