Mars and Venus and Friday Night Lights

I love football. Not to the degree my husband does; I don't start the countdown to college football season three months in advance. Nevertheless, I'm a fan. It follows that my favorite place to be on a Friday night in the fall is on a freezing metal bleacher, cheering on the home team. I also enjoy doing this in the company of six of my closest friends. Now that I'm an a-dolt (that's how my daughter sees me sometimes), this also means I have my kiddo in tow, not to mention my hubby. This also means my friends have their respective offspring and spouses in tow.

Back when I was in high school, (couldn't resist!) I spent a good two hours making sure I looked fabulous before I went to the game. After all, I went there to be seen, not to watch the game! Now I spend that time gathering blankets, hoodies, coats, hats and gloves. Hey, it's just as fun...

So last Friday, I rounded up all the necessities, swung by the ATM to grab some cash, and we were on our way. We met my husband there, because he was coming straight from work. So, we paid our 5 bucks to get in, and the fun began. All the kids began running around, acting like the animals they are, and all the mothers schlepped the blankets, coats, muck-lucks, etc to the stands, while the husbands stayed a good 20 feet ahead of us, pretending they were cool, single guys who had never ever met the crazy people swarming around them. Once we got settled in to the five benches it took to seat everyone, I stopped to take a quick breath. Well, half a breath, because my girl immediately HAD TO GO TO THE BATHROOM AND NEEDED A SNACK!!!! I managed to put her off for a good 3o seconds and then said, "FINE! Let's go." I handed off the load of coats to my boyfriend, accidentally smacking him in the face with G's "Super Fuzzy Hood" (another day for that story), and headed down the bleachers, kiddo in tow.

After walking a good 5 miles through the gauntlet of loud, screaming, hormonally-crazed teenagers, we reached the bathroom and did our business. Back to our seats we went. I came thisclose to getting my butt on the bleachers before she said, "I want Rollos and a Pepsi!" Sure, why not? A little sugar and caffeine should keep her warm. My good friend was there with her little boy and his friend, who was hanging with them for the weekend, and they decided they needed snacks too. After calling a Mother's Summit on Letting Kids Go to the Snack Bar On Their Own, the committee agreed to let them go BY THEMSELVES! They had strict instructions on sticking to each other like glue, and one Momma handed them her cell, making sure they knew the phone number for everyone within a five-mile radius, in case of an emergency. Off they went.

Meanwhile, the littler ones were bouncing around the bleachers, playing, pushing, screaming and yelling, and generally having a grand time. I should note at this point that the game was well underway, and I'd seen about 1.5 seconds of play. Mothers don't really go the games to watch football so much as to talk. It's what we do. Fathers go to watch the game. I know, it's a foreign concept, but we love them anyway. My husband gets in his football zone, and there is no way to break into that zone unless you're wearing pads, a jersey and a helmet.

The big kids finally returned, well-stocked with junk food, and happy as clams at having managed to do it on their own. Everyone did just fine for awhile, and then they started to get cold. It is cold when you're sitting on those bleachers in the middle of October, but one would think they'd stay warm jumping around, wrestling with each and making their mothers crazy. One would be wrong. Midway through the second quarter, they started in with "I'm freezing! Can we go now?!?!" Yeah, like that's going to happen. The moms all decided we should call Starbucks for a delivery, but that didn't happen, so I finally caved and went after hot chocolate and something that vaguely resembles coffee. While I was there, I decided to slap down a cool ten bucks for some burgers, throw a little ketchup on them, and head back to my seat. I handed my husband his burger and coffee, and I'm pretty sure the grunt was a thank you. He has so many grunts, it's difficult to tell sometimes. We watched some more football, which was getting exciting; the team pulled off the win in the last few seconds! Then we gathered everything up and began the long walk back to the car.

By the time we got home, my butt was frozen solid, so I slammed down a hot chocolate with some peppermint schnapps and began to slowly thaw. Once I could move my lips again, I asked the husband how he enjoyed the game. "It was fine." I said, "You didn't mind all the kids jumping around and screaming in your ear?" To which he responded, "Huh? They were doing all that? I didn't hear a thing." It's a gift. I don't know how he does it, but he does.

So yes, I love football, but in order to really enjoy it, I'll stick to my couch and the remote, thank you very much.