So you know how in the last post I said that Andrew and I know phenomenally little about football? You want to know what makes our lack of awareness even worse?
We live in Massachusetts.
You know? Massachusetts? Home of the New England Patriots, the team that was going to have a perfect 19-0 season?
I actually kind of wish I did care about football this year because it sure would have been a fun season to watch. As it was, however, my reaction when the Patriots won the 16th regular season game to become the second team ever to be undefeated in the regular season and the first team ever to win 16 games in a row in a single season was simply, “Neat.” And then when they lost the Superbowl so improbably and failed to become the second team ever to have a perfect season, I thought, “Well, that’s a shame, that is.” And then I went to bed.
So, yeah, I’m not much of a football fan, and thus present you with this, the (incomplete) list of things I do not understand about football.
The (Incomplete) List of Things I Do Not Understand About Football
* The 2-point conversion
* How come the clock seems to run all the time in the first three quarters but stops whenever the players stop in the last quarter
* Holding (I understand this in theory, but it seems to be randomly enforced)
* The man in motion
* Why there are apparently hundreds of men on the team but only ten or so on the field
* Special teams
* Seriously, the 2-point conversion has been explained to me about twenty times but I cannot for the life of me remember how it works
But you know what I am a fan of? Eskimo kisses.
Yesterday was Jack’s 15-month checkup, and we learned that he is in the 20th percentile for weight and 40th for height (22 pounds, 31 inches for the curious). The doctor asked again if he is saying “Mama” and “Dada,” and I had to say no, but that he is saying tons of other words. And then I made Jack perform like a performing monkey by asking him how old he is, to which he gave his standard reply of whipping up his index finger while grinning. The pediatrician was impressed by this as he was with the fact that Jack can say “Thank you,” because that is two words put together, and two words put together usually come later. (I did not mention that Jack pronounces it “dee deee” or, sometimes, “hmm hmmm.”)
I know that pediatricians have to maintain professionalism, but through is demeanor I could totally tell that Jack’s doctor was saying, “My goodness, but this child is clearly the brightest, smartest, most adorable baby I have ever met in lo my many years of practicing pediatrics.”
Have I also told you that Jack knows that six comes after five and eight comes after seven. Yesterday afternoon I tried to get this trick on video, but instead of counting for the video camera, Jack blew raspberries.
But then he called me “Mama,” and that was a good substitute.
I believe in that last photo Jack is wearing Packers colors. He apparently also thinks the Patriots are just "neat."
My child is still calling me Dada no matter how much I reinforce that I am Mama, MAMA, do you HEAR ME BOY?
In other words, I am jealous of you.
Sweet sweet pictures!
I was kinda bummed I didn't live in Mass during this football season. That kind of collective excitement is so much fun!
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