The in-laws have been here since Friday night.
The entire weekend has been spent attending to soap-box derby racing. I have mentioned before that the girls race soap-box cars, right?
If you don’t know what soap-box derby racing is, check it out here.
Maj and Kallan love it. Mark loves it.
I find it to be just about the most boring sport in the history of the world, but I try to keep this piece of information to myself. The girls love it. Mark loves it.
I usually just stay out of the way.
But Grandma and Grandpa timed their visit to coincide with a soap-box race down in Salem this past weekend. And because I am a stunningly fabulous daughter-in-law and mother, I went along to spend the day at the track and watch the girls race.
I may have whined a lot.
But it was quite educational. And now? I will share that knowledge with you.
1) Despite the fact that the cars are fine-tuned precision instruments? The administration of the races? Not so fine-tuned or precise. In soap-box derby racing, if they say they are going to start the race at 10:00 am, but then they don’t actually start the race until well after 11:00 am? Everyone involved exchanges self-congratulatory high-fives for their excellent organizational skills.
2) In soap-box derby racing, each car involves at least one parent (usually a dad) and child working together to build, perfect, and then race a car. If you imagine the sum total of the interest and motivation involved in this endeavor to be a whole pie? There are some children whose shares of that pie are barely more than slivers. It is immediately apparent to even the casual observer which drivers are only there because Dad has eaten the whole pie.
3) There are a lot of dads who have eaten a lot of pie. This is not a sport that requires conditioning, apparently.
4) If someone leaves a yellow Labrador tied to a tree just next to the racing staging area? And if that dog is male and horny? Some of the boys will find the fact that they can get the dog to hump their legs beyond hilarious. And when this happens? Everyone except you will pretend that the dog is not humping a series of gleeful children.
5) If you yell at the boys to leave the dog alone? Sassy small boys will get right in your face and inform you that this is not your dog. But they will stop messing with the dog, because it turns out you are scary up close.
6) If you spend an entire day at a lovely tree and grass-filled park? The allergies that have so far this year remained largely at bay? Will attack you. Also, they will attack your older daughter, but your eyes will be too swollen to properly appreciate her grief.
7) If the only medication you have available to fight off the allergies is Benadryl? You will feel nappish and groggy for several hours. And then? You will find that your allergies have worsened during the nappish, groggy period . . . you just weren’t coherent enough to enjoy this fact.
8) Sometimes motivational speeches go awry. At the celebratory dinner the night before the race, there was a man who gave a lovely speech encouraging the kids to not forget that the race should be about FUN. He then went through the letters of the word FUN and spelled out his inspirational message. Even at the time, I thought his N message was lame – that the kids should feel “No Shame” about losing. That particular part of the speech didn’t resonate with the kids either, resulting in Kallan running around the track yesterday afternoon asking people, “Remember that guy last night? What comes after F-U?”
Nobody knew.
9) If you pack a lot of food in a cooler, you will realize too late that you should have consulted with your father-in-law about what he would have liked to eat. He will eat some food, but at the end of the day he will be starving. You will know this because at Fuddruckers that evening for dinner? He will order and consume a 2/3 pound hamburger. Do you know how big a 2/3 pound burger is, people? Way big enough to make clear that I failed at packing lunch.
10) It is much easier to be a good sport if you finish out of the running (as Kallan did) than if you miss out on being in the final showdown heat for 1st and 2nd place by a few thousandths of a second (as Maj did). Maj recovered quickly, but third place was a momentarily bitter pill to swallow.
11) If, at the end of the day, you are just dying? Your allergies are so bad that you are just dying? That will be the moment when you will be called, all miserable and puffy-faced and streaming-eyed, up to the awards podium for photos with your daughters. Lovely.
12) And while you are up there, all reluctant and miserable and unhappy and allergy-ridden? They will hand you a bouquet of flowers in celebration of all that you do to support your soap-box racing daughters. Flowers . . . sigh. And also? Achoo.
13) Your older daughter will be puzzled at the bestowing of the flowers, because, as she will point out on the ride home, “You didn’t do anything.”
14) Which is why you choose to give the flowers to your younger daughter, whose attitude on this day? Was lovely. Kallan remembered to keep the fun in the day, even if she didn’t remember what came after F-U.
Speaking of which . . . If I had given the flowers to Maj (whose allergies were far worse than mine?), it would have been a huge F-U.
15) It seems wrong somehow to end on 14, so I will leave you with this . . . Soap-box derby racing? Way fucking boring.
But my daughters? And my husband? They love it.
Gramps eating a 2/3 pound hamburglar and this: “Flowers . . . sigh. And also? Achoo.” made me laugh, a lot.
Wait, Mom got flowers, what do the whole pie-eating Dads get?
Father in law would like me to explain here that he LOVED my food, and that his decision to order the larger burger was a function of the price. The larger burger was only 50 cents more expensive than the smaller burger. And that he loved my food. Loved it.
Your father in law sounds like a very smart man. :)
Hee hee!
Ha. How long will Kallan be running around saying F-U? That’s pretty awesome.
I hate allergies. Mine have gotten better with age, while my husband, worse, much worse. Which leads to MORE SNORING.
Kallan has NO IDEA that F-U is dirty. She seriously wanted to know what the next thing was, and what the N stood for.
But what she said was, “What comes after F-U?”
I love her. So very very much.
She makes me giggle.
I will never, ever reveal to my husband or son that I know anything about–nay! have ever HEARD OF–soap box derbies. It’s just the kind of thing they’d get all into and drag me around to.
Your post, entertaining as always, was also a PSA. Nice going!
Good luck keeping it a secret, because if they ever find out?
They will be completely addicted and out of control.
Trust me.
I’m cracking up…
My favorite part is the part about the dog. Because? That would totally be my dog.
It was both hilarious and horrifying.
Stupid boys.
I think that maybe you should race the cars, that would be fun, right? Or maybe not, it would be hard to see with swollen shut eyes. Hmmm
Riding in those cars would not be fun. I am positive I would crash.
Pretty sure.
I always thought that sport was really unsafe…I picture them going down huge hills with no breaks on those cars…but I’m sure that’s just because I worry about everything, right?
No so much huge hills as long gentle slopes, and while they do build up some pretty good speed by the finish line . . . they have brakes.
Flintstone-style brakes that stomp out of the bottom of the car like a big foot and drag the car to a stop.
It’s pretty hilarious.
The only injury I have ever seen at a soap-box derby race was to a foolish father who stepped in front of his daughter’s runaway car. The car stopped when it hit him, but the dad was all broken.
All broken. That was impressive.
They should just make it a thing for the dads. Because I for one don’t think its fair for the kids to have their dads always making their cars. Or better yet, have said child and their father both make a car. Now that would be more like it. Then the dads wouldn’t have to PRETEND that they are just helping the kids.
Yuk, allergies.
My daughters both helped build the cars. They both helped a lot, actually. But when it comes down to it, Mark is the one obsessed with getting everything perfect.
Perfection is time-consuming. Who knew?
And allergies?
Yuk.
Allergies suck. I hate them and want them to be gone.
As for everything else, all I have to say is in this particular instance, better you than me. I am not one of those people that hides her feelings well. If I don’t like something, everybody knows it!
I seriously try to stay away from the race track, because my disinterest and annoyance is written all over my face.
The staying home while Mark and the girls go off to race for the weekend?
That part is seriously lovely.
This saturday? I was at a car show. And let me tell you, no matter when the race starts? At least they race. So much better then looking at a bunch of parked cars and walking in the heat for an hour when you haven’t eaten or had anything to drink in 12 hours because your husband rushed you out the door and is as excited as a dog in heat is when children let him hump their legs.
And for the record? I couldn’t tell the difference between a chevy and a toyota to save my life so best cars at the car show = which car has the prettiest paint job.
My husband’s hobby is just like car shows, only substitute something I have even less knowledge and/or interest in: antique tractors.
Since most shows are local, you usually have the same people and tractors. The median age of most (tractor owners) is about 65. Number of things I have in common with any of them: 0.
Antique tractors???
I am all snorty and giggling and superior!
That’s way worse than soap-box car racing or care shows!
Way worse.
I have done my share of car shows. New cars, old cars, race cars, antique cars . . . on and on and on.
Car shows? Are one of the levels of hell.
One of the more painful levels.
And my favorite cars are always blue-green and sparkly. Always.
You had me at “But they will stop messing with the dog, because it turns out you are scary up close.”
Isn’t it a joy to scare small children. I do it every morning with my slept in makeup and bad hair. I have found it’s my most effective discipline window.
Are we talking soap box derby like Little Rascals?! I gotta find that here!
I have a very excellent mean face and a crab-assed voice. Both of these things are occasionally extremely useful.
And yes! It is just like the Little Rascals, except that the cars are much more standardized now.
And seriously? Mark and the girls have a FABULOUS time.
Mmmmmm… pie.
Does it matter what flavor pie the dads got to eat? Because that might be a factor in what size of slice the kids got. I could probably pack away an apple pie or a sweet cherry pie… strawberry rhubarb might be a few days, but I’d kill it eventually.
Wait? What were we talking about?
What comes after F-U? If you’re fast, it’s “asshole”. If you’re slow, it’s someone else’s fist to your face. Unless you text someone… then it’s pretty much fair game as to what follows “F-U”.
:-D
You’d be dead if you were still here. Pollens and other floating crap were bad the last few days. Really bad. No, we’re talking wanting to rip your own sinus out like some crazed freak on an bad acid trip… that bad. My 24 hour OTC meds only last 3 hours before coming to an itchy-back-of-the-throat demise.
I have missed you!
Until yesterday, my allergies seem to have been confused about the change in location.
But now they have figured things out, and they are kicking my ass.
FYI: There is a LOT of mean green stuff up here. Plus moss and fungus . . . all of which has decided to attack me.
Mark’s pie? Is of the chocolate cream sort. I believe I mentioned elsewhere that he is not big on fruit.
I am also cracking up about the dog, unfournatley, that would be my son, trying to get the dog to hump his leg. Ugh!
I agree w/ you Soap Box Derby…BORING!!!!
Is that a boy thing? Because the humping dog hilarity . . . that’s just weird.
As for the other . . . I know, right?
Did you pack pie in your cooler?
Mmmm… pie.
No pies.
But lots of crap. Crappy snacks are a requirement for a day in the park.
According to Maj and Kallan and their Daddy.
Just? Dying laughing lmao.
Yay, me!
It is probably wrong that the thing I am carrying closest to my heart right now is, “My GOD I want a 2/3-pound hamburger. With FRIES.”
(I have been a little food crazy since the whole gall bladder thing.)
But you said something about cars… and dogs. Dogs having sex with cars?
Sorry.. REALLY got distracted by the hamburger.
Isn’t gall bladder stuff the worse? Me and my friend were just talking about how when we had the gall bladder attacks while pregnant we were on the “no sugar, no dairy, no spicy, no flavor” diet and lost so much weight. And as soon as it got done? OMG, move out of my way, I need FLAVOR.
You are too funny!
Fuddruckers does make a tasty burger, and if you are on a low-flavor, low-spice gall bladder diet?
I can see how the thought of such a hamburger would be distracting.
Okay, here’s what you have to do at Fuddruckers: go over to the pump cheese (what?) and put a mountain of it on your tray and then dunk your whole burger in it. What? Like it’s the cheese that pushes it over the edge? Delicious and hedonistic. Two birds, one stone.
It has never occurred to me to dunk my hamburger in the molten cheese!
That is a genius plan!
Genius!