Ugh, Football

Anyone who knows me at all knows that I don’t particularly enjoy sporting events. I don’t enjoy participating and I don’t enjoy watching. I will endure a track meet because my child participates and I do enjoy watching her. But high school football games? Save me.

Why do I bother, you ask? Again, it’s because my child is a participant. Not in football, of course. That would just be weird. Though if she wanted to play high school football, I would do what I could to make that happen for her. But that’s a whole other topic.

No, she’s in the marching band and they perform for the pre-game and the halftime at football games. And because of this, I drag my tired butt to the field, a whole three-ish miles away from our house, pay $6 to watch her toot her flute (she actually plays the piccolo during marching band but toot her flute sounds funnier) for five minutes, sit through what is supposed to be twenty minutes of football but is ALWAYS over an hour until halftime and I watch her for another ten minutes.

It’s totally worth the six dollars and the time because it means the world to her. My mom and I are both usually there and we’re both bored out of our minds during the actual playing of the football but we endure because we love Lyss.

Tom loves Lyss too, but he loves being home and excuses himself by insisting that Liv, who hates any sort of extracurricular activity with the heat of a thousand suns, should be able to just stay home and a parent is needed at home with her.

I say she’s old enough to be told, “You’re going, you’re behaving the way you know you should and it will be over before you know it.”

But it’s not the hill I’m willing to die on, so my mom and I go. Liv and Tom stay home and I always “forget” to tell my dad that I won’t be at home on game nights so Tom has to visit with him for the ten minutes it takes to tell my dad I’m not there. Is this cruel and unusual punishment? Maybe, but considering the time I put in at the football game I figure it all evens out in the end.