There’s been a fair amount of inquiry as to how our Saturday morning went, and since the saga of the missing soccer shorts was one of my most read and commented upon posts ever; I’m going to tell you.
As mentioned, I found the shorts before I went to bed. They were in a laundry basket upstairs. She didn’t know I’d located them. So, on Saturday morning, as the minutes were winding down, I said, “Okay, Elise, you’ve searched every inch of the main floor and basement. They’ve got to be somewhere upstairs. Go upstairs and look in your room, in every laundry basket, in the laundry room, in every laundry basket, in the bathroom, in every laundry basket, in the area around the couch, AND IN EVERY LAUNDRY BASKET.”
“Found ’em!” she triumphantly called down the stairs.
My external response was, “Great!”
Internally, it was more along the lines of, “No shit! Probably because I just told you right where they were, ya stubborn ass mini-me.”
As circumstances would have it, we still didn’t technically make it for me to check the team in on time, because my favorite husband was lolly-gagging. Tournament instructions specified that teams needed to be checked in an hour before the start of the first game. Big effing deal that he is, he determined that specification didn’t apply to me (i.e. him needing to be ready to leave at the specified time.) I was frustrated, and let it be known. He condescendingly explained to me how it was going to be fine to not be right on time for check-in. Just proving once and for all that if it’s not one thing, it’s your husband. Lord help me.
Of course, he was right. Tournament officials let me check in with no issue. The team finally got their first win of the season. Had I not blabbed it on the interweb, there’d have been zero indication of the massive amounts of angst I’d experienced in the past 18 hours. Nothing to see here, folks. Everything is PEACHY FREAKING KEEN.
After the game, I asked Elise where she’d found the shorts. She informed me they were in a laundry basket outside her room. “I have no idea how they got THERE. Obviously I didn’t put them there. I never put ANYTHING in a laundry basket.”
Right you are, 13 year old, right you are.