At six o’ clock last night I ceased parenting. At least effectively.
The Gonzaga men’s basketball team, whom I’ve yet to see play–even on t.v….in something like decades…was, well, playing. Which, I’m sure, is a normal occurence in the winter.
Only last night’s game meant a little bit more. As in the winning team would walk on air to the NCAA tournament. And though I couldn’t identify a single player on the team, nor do I have a vested interest in Gonzaga, I suddenly couldn’t miss this…because…
because Gonzaga needed one more person inches from the screen biting her nails.
The only weird thing?
Me. Trying to work a remote. And parent from my peripheral.
Heh…I did my best…
to watch the game, that is.
And my kids…
my kids poked around their imagination, and came up with a way to shove everything from their suitcases, plus a hotel towel or two, down their pajamas and still zip the things up.
Uh…hard to be prouder. Which is why I present…two hefty looking children who–bless their hearts–let their mother enjoy a basketball game.