Game Set Match

Oh for the love of Pete.
Keegan is taking his summer tennis lessons.
It's session 2 of 3.
He is 7.
It's 45 minutes 4 days a week for 2 weeks.
This should be no big deal.
Twice a week Maren and Kieran go to daycare.
This leaves 2 days a week that they accompany me to lessons.
This session, I have decided that 2 days is too much.
This is entirely because of the other parents in attendance.
It's true. I am letting OTHER PEOPLE affect my shit.
Last session one of the moms had 6 kids with her! 6!!!!!! And only 1 of those kids was actually taking lessons!!!
She rocked!!
Kieran was in AWE!! He looked like a PRINCE next to her kids!  She and I just LAUGHED at all the shit our kids got into during lessons!
Cereal smooshed all over the grass. Flying balls.  Toys strewn everywhere.
All the other parents were super laid back and when Maren whined or fussed no one even FLINCHED!!
"Been there done that" was the look on their faces.
OH I LOVED IT!
I almost asked for their addresses so we could look for houses in their neighborhoods if we can ever afford to move!!!
This session...............................
Completely different.
The moms put their chairs nose-to-chain-link-fence.
All of their other children are at least 9 years old.
They yell and cheer and scream every time one of their kids hits a tennis ball.  Even if it whangs to the left or the right.
Or if their kid doesn't hit it they yell: "THAT's OKAY! YOU'LL HIT IT NEXT TIME!!"

(Clearly they have never watched a real tennis match....as I recall, it's kiiiind of a quiet game.)

I sit farther back on the asphalt because I loathe wet morning grass. Gnats. Bees. Ish.

However,  I CAN HEAR EVERY CONVERSATION THEY ARE HAVING BECAUSE THEY HAVE UBER LOUD VOICES AND THEY TALK ABOUT SUPER ANNOYING TOPICS LIKE CLEANING OUT THEIR GARAGES FOR THE PAST SIX YEARS OR HOW THEY MET THEIR HUSBANDS BACK IN FOURTH GRADE OR WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT EDUCATION AT THE SCHOOL THAT THEY HAPPEN TO BE SITTING AT-WHICH HAPPENS TO BE MY SCHOOL-SO IT BUGS THE SHIT OUT OF ME BECAUSE I KNOW EVERYTHING THERE IS TO KNOW ABOUT THE SCHOOL THANK YOU VERY MUCH-STOP TALKING ABOUT SHIT YOU DON'T KNOW....OOOOOH I HATE THAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I don't have a lot of tolerance for things like that.
And I just want to watch my son have a good lesson.
In peace.
Really.
So I have decided to quit playing doubles twice a week, because if Kieran squawks or Maren melts down...it's just going to be a disaster. I am going to get pissy and self-conscious and UGH.
I don't need it.
I just want to be the quiet mom in the back.
Let them think what they want about me..which hopefully is nothing.

That's not true.
Not after today..ooops I forgot this part.

As were leaving today. I ran into a teacher from school.
Of course I did, it's the school I TEACH AT..and summer school is going on..
LOUD MOM got to him first.
"HI!  HOW ARE YOU? BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH!!!"

"Hi," I said as I walked back to my car with 3 in tow.
"YOU KNOW EVERYONE TODAY!!!!!!" loud Mom screamed at him.
"I teach with him," a hint of you're a dumb shit, in my voice.
"YOU'RE A TEACHER? I'M A TEACHER TOO!" she screamed.
Wait for it. Wait for it. Because it's coming. I shouldn't have. I should have said, "Oh how nice." or "Oh where? That is so fucking interesting!"   But I didn't. Of course I didn't. Because after four days of hearing her YELL HER FUCKING HEAD OFF, I WAS UNGLUED. I'm sorry, dear reader. I WAS UNGLUED.
Snot. Shitty. Dead pan delivery:  "Good for you."
Done.
Then Kieran slipped on the gravel.
LOUD SHITTY VOICE BACK: "AND YOU DROP YOUR BABY."
Sigh. Defeated me: "Yep."
 I didn't drop him by the way. I wasn't carrying him. Jeepers. I should have dropped her.
 "And they still let me teach."  Dammit!! I thought of that later!! Wouldn't that have been the BEST reply?? WHY am I not quick on my feet??!! Dammit!


So next time I'm playing singles. It's just Keegan and I at lessons.  I'm not going to let her say I'm a baby dropper anymore!!
And I'm wearing something super slutty.  Because I also saw her dagger eyes look at my small butt.
Game. Set. Match.