I promise tomorrow to talk about something besides motherhood (which I seem to dwell on incessantly this week)--but this takes the cake:
Two weeks ago Mr. D takes a message while I'm at karate and writes on the calendar: Mr. B soccer practice 5:30. Duly noted, I press him for more information, but am told "A woman called--that's all she told me."
So last night I fed kids, supervised homework, geared up Mr. G for karate and Mr. B for his first soccer practice (choosing to blow off his THIRD t-ball practice of the season--Listen, buddy, it's t-ball, not the World Series. They have to what? Know which direction to run after hitting a ball off a tee. Big whup. Give it a break, coach!). Mr. D was at his team's practice so I drove the circuit to drop Bachelor #3, drop Bachelor #2, pick up Bachelor #3, pick up Bachelor #2.
We arrived at the soccer fields to see 7 teams practicing and my fuel light went on in the Momvan. Ruling out the teams with girls and kids older than 6, I approached a team with boys from Mr. B's class and introduced us. The coach was really cool, I hung around for the parent talk, collected my schedule, agreed to a half hour practice this Saturday morning and ran out to retrieve Mr. G (who, as it turned out, broke his first wood board in karate with a back leg front kick and was totally geeked).
Buckle in Mr. G, fill up the Momvan with gas, return to the soccer fields. Am happy to see Mr. B's best friend is on his team, chat up the other parents and coach a little more and then the coach starts handing out t-shirts.
All the t-shirts are handed out and Mr. B's just standing there. Without one. Because his name is not on this team's roster. "I've been calling your son 'Paul' this whole time!" the coach tells me. Turns out 'Paul' is on this team but didn't show up for practice. Hence the coach's not even questioning Mr. B's presence until the end of practice.
I dropped off my kid to practice with the wrong team. And we still don't know which team he's on. I quizzed Mr. D--"Did the person who called mention like a color or maybe a name like Mars or Pluto?" Nope.
You know what this means. I have to call the director of youth soccer--you know, the guy I just called 2 weeks ago to explain that I'd help but won't be a head coach and try to sort this mess out.