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A Day at the Races
I have said it before and I will say it again. I am not Super Mom. I am however, Supportive Mom. If my kids want to do something, I am their biggest cheerleader. I buy gear, get lessons, bake cookies, show up , yell louder than anyone, and most of all embarrass my kids at every single event. Because that is my job as a parent. I do it even when I don’t want to and even if I disagree with whatever it is that is going on. Take for example, The Snake. He still lives.
So on Sunday, I was at the dirt bike racetrack. The Boy loves to race. He is good at it. He loves it so much that it is one of those things that you can threaten him with when his behavior is less than acceptable. So I let him keep doing it. We wake up early, drive to wherever he is racing, spend the day, I hang out in the bleachers, and yell my ass off.
This race track is owned by a really nice young couple. She is one of those women who had a baby 2 months ago and today looks like she is malnutritioned. She is pretty and sweet and everyone likes her. So imagine my surprise when she opened up the day on the very good PA system with “Hey everyone.” And then she burst into tears. And then she went into this whole thing about how mean people are because her husband is charging so much money for the race fees. And then she talked about how her husband works really hard and works 3 other jobs just keeping the whole thing afloat and how we just don’t understand. And then just when you think it can’t get any worse, she goes on to tell us that her husband has had a really bad life, and that his dad was a raging alcoholic and he wasn’t treated well as a kid. Then she went on about how he promised himself his kids would have a better life. And her husband wasn’t there.
That was the start of a really awkward day. It was too hot,the little kids raced at the end of the day, and there were too many injuries and too many competitive dads. Especially this one dude who even on his best day couldn't be cool in his safari hat.
But the worst part of the day was the port a potty. Yep. I said it. It’s time to get real about what happens in there. It was 105 degrees in the desert. There were a total of 3 Andy Gumps spread out over 5 acres. There were 500 hundred people. And they were placed in a way that allowed not one ounce of privacy. Just walking to one was the walk of shame.
When one little boy got hurt I had to turn away and await the verdict from others who could bear to watch. He was ok. When I mentioned in passing to one of the mom’s that yes, this is a very dangerous sport, I got this response, “Yes, well, they could get hit on the street by a bus tomorrow.” You can imagine how hard it was for me to not engage with her.
Anyway. The Boy won first place in his race and then he won first place in the summer series. And now I have 3 weeks before I have to look the woman in the face and pretend like she didn’t have a nervous breakdown, and 3 weeks to prepare for my next round with the outhouse.
And of course, The boy sleeps like a log.
That’s what I call vacation.
Posted by Tasty's Big Butt