Time management

Mark was very excited to make the flag football team at school last week. He was a little less excited that football and jazz band practice were at the same time.

I knew which activity he'd skip if given the chance, so I offered a compromise. 

"Go to the first half of jazz, then to football if you get out early," I told Mark.

"Then I have to take TWO bags," he grumbled. "My music bag and my football gear. I don't wanna waste my time lugging all those bags around."

I sighed. Sometimes arguing with Mark is like conversing with a foreigner--he knows I'm speaking, maybe even giving good advice, but all he hears is "Blah, blah, blah."

"You don't need your football stuff. Just practice in your school clothes," I said,
pointing to the t-shirt, shorts and tennis shoes he was already wearing. He just snorted, and rolled his eyes at how lame I was for thinking he could play football in his school clothes. (The very same clothes he plays football in every day at lunch.)

After Mark left, the music teacher emailed, confirming that it was the first day of jazz practice, but that she'd only keep the kids about 15-20 minutes. I knew Mark would be excited, and relayed the message to him when he called me at lunch.

When I got home, I asked how football went. I expected to hear rave reviews, or at least a little excitement.

"It was okay," Mark shrugged. "I only got to go for 10 minutes."

I was surprised. I figured he'd get in a good 45 minute workout at least. 

"The music teacher kept you the whole time?" I asked. Mark just grunted and went silent.

But the football talk picked up again around dinner. 

"I need new cleats," Mark announced. "Mine are too tight."

"Wear them to practice first, then we'll see," I said.

"I wore them today," he said. "They don't fit."

I looked at him, confused, because I know he didn't take his football gear to school. 

"I came home to get them," he explained. I was still confused.

Mark sighed like I was the most clueless person around. "I came home to get my cleats and PE clothes," he said. "Then I went to football. And I got ripped off, because I only got to practice for like, 10 minutes."

I did the math in my head--it's a 10 minute walk to school, or 8 minutes if you're a 13-year-old boy running. So 8 minutes home, 10 minutes to dump his backpack and search for his socks, cleats, PE clothes, and mouthpiece, then change into them. Two minutes to pet the cat, three minutes to down a glass of water from running, and one minute to tie the cleats he left untied when he put them on. Then, 8 more minutes running back to school (on cement, in cleats, trying not to slip)--for a grand total of 32 minutes. Which, added to the 20 minutes of jazz practice, did indeed give him only 8 minutes of football.

"You--" I started, but then I just stopped. I knew if I kept talking, this would become my fault (I made him go to jazz), his music teacher's fault (she made him stay in jazz) or maybe even Fernando the cat's fault (why does he have to be soooo cute and irresistible?). It would be everybody's fault but Mark's, who personally wasted all his practice time running back and forth.

Instead, I took the high road (which, in our house, actually is the road less traveled). "Bummer," I said, and Mark nodded sourly in agreement. 

"Oh well," I said, changing the subject. "At least you'll get another chance tomorrow." 

He nodded. Then I sighed, and hoped the kid is better at football than he is at time management. Because today, as far as that goes, he definitely dropped the (foot)ball.