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Destinations, Dreams and Dogs - International adventure with a fast-track family (& dogs) of Old World values, adopting the Russian-Italian-American good life on the go…!

My New Life as a Tennis Mom

tennisMost moms would put the kid in the car and drive him to tennis.  Over and out.

Not so for us.  We have to make it into a larger-than-life ordeal, an against-all-odds type of story that will exhaust you simply to read about it.  So here goes….

Monday morning, Day One.  After driving seven hours between homes on Sunday, I awaken at 3:30 am on Monday, ready to do it all over again.  My oldest son needs to be at tennis practice around 12 hours from now, at 3:30 in the afternoon.  I force my body into the shower, do the face, do the hair, dress.

I glance outside and think I see freezing ice pellets falling.

“Power of suggestion,” Benedetto shakes his head, having opened the front door and taken a peek for himself.0118pike1

“But it’s a 90% chance of freezing precipitation…” I argue.

“Not yet.”

Emphasis on yet.

By 4:30 am, Petya is shaved, showered, and fed.  He’s carrying my suitcase and computer out the door.

“Mama, the ice pellets are falling heavily,” he reports.  “You’ll need an umbrella.”

He brings me one and Benedetto urges us to leave as soon as possible.  The city trucks have not treated the streets for ice, and here we are, headed out on the worst morning imaginable.  There are many bridges and hills to cross before we are well on our way.

We pray, say goodbye, and go.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERASlowly and steadily, our car makes its way over hill and over dale.  All is icy and slick, but miraculously, we are safe.  Lots of sandy, salty debris is thrown onto our windshield from the few roads that have been treated a couple of days previous.  It becomes hard to see in the darkness and visibility is further reduced by fog.

Oh joy.

I tell my 16-year-old to sleep, knowing full well that he thinks I need him.  Heading onto the Interstate, he’s finally able to drift off to sleep.  My eyelids fight against the warm air inside the car, and I’m happy when we finally have to stop for gas.  The bracing air brings me back to consciousness.

By 8:00 am, Petya has propped up an i-Pad Mini on the dashboard and I am Skyping spelling tests to the other children.  We have our Hebrew tutorial and chat.  A tractor trailer starts heading down the highway in our direction, against traffic.  I apologize to the children that their brother will have to call on them when they raise their hands;  I have to keep my eyes on the road in this bad weather.

Seven hours and many mother-son conversations later, we arrive home, the temperature ramping up from 32 degrees to 72forever-21-black-floppy-hat degrees.  I have purchased a very cute sunhat for upcoming tennis matches when I will sit in the sun and cheer my boy, but today we need to consider the clothes.  For now, I’m simply dropping him off, and the heavy sweaters and winter coat will need to be shed.  That’s suddenly a problem.  I am left with a clingy outfit that needs some shaping underneath.

Never mind that I’ve never had good success with “shapers”, those Lycra wonders that are extremely difficult to wiggle into, and which seem to spill one’s shape over the edges of wherever the Lycra ends.  I’ve tried the tank-top-and-shorts all-in-one piece, but then using the restroom turns into an all-day affair.  I’ve tried the long tank top which cures any bra or side and back bulges, yet, where it ends at the hips… can be a problem.  One bend-over or sit-down and the bottom edge springs out of place, rolling up like a cheap shade on a mediocre-minus motel room window, resulting in a BIG roll around the waist.  (Sorry if that’s TMI.)

31uqx9vXHOLToday, I realize that my shapers, particularly a corset-like one which would be perfect for this outfit are, yes, at the other house.  (Apparently, I’m walking in the footsteps of my younger daughter who leaves everything behind.)  So I find something else in the closet, still with the tags on.  Looks like shorts with a very high waist which will reach above the waist and beyond.

Ahh, nice and smooth, I admire, hearing my son call for me, it’s time to go.

Only then do I spy a tag, in the inside front, across the belly.  I HAVE THE SHAPER ON BACKWARDS!  No wonder my popah is so flat, and the belly has a popah-like pudge in the front, with the legs very taut across the front.  I am barely able to move forward… and I must move quickly to get him there on time.

Sitting in the car, I feel the shaper inching down toward the popah and 628x471the front, too-high waistline starting to roll downward.  I’m sure it was designed to be higher in the back-!

What to do but hold my head up high and suck in the gut as I greet other mothers and teen sons at the club house.  This should be my biggest problem.  If only they knew how much we had gone through to drive him to the varsity team:  the ice storm for the first 150 miles, a long-distance commute, wild temperature fluctuations, lack of sleep, and Lycra shapers gone awry.

Maybe they’ll ask to carpool with us!



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2 Comments : Leave a Reply

  1. avatar Sybil says:

    If I did that my son would forever call me the “Grand Poopah”. You are taking such a big chance on putting that kind of information in print where the kids can see it! lol

    • avatar admin says:

      Ha, ha, ha, I hear you, Sybil! Thanks for the heads-up. My kids know in a vague sense that I do a little writing. It’s best not to be too specific for now! 🙂

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