Heather is a twin mom, an English teacher, and a football coach's wife. Her blog is called postmodernfamily.blog because it defies conventions, just like her. She is a fifty-two-year-old mother of preschool twin boys and adult daughters. She loves to explore the challenges of motherhood and football on her body, her sanity, her marriage, and her lifestyle. You can also find her on Instagram and Facebook.
I know who their parents are, where they come from, and where they hope to go. I know their strengths, and their weaknesses too. I know who struggles with neglect, who is spoiled rotten, who wants a D-1 scholarship, who just wants a family and fishing pond. I know who lost their mother to drugs, who reads on a 4th grade level, who travels from apartment to apartment to outrun bill collectors. I know who loves Hot Cheetos, or Hair Bands, or X-Box Live.
While the numbers may not sound promising, God's faithfulness does. And hearing other people's stories about trying to conceive helps you feel less alone. Because this is a story so many of us share.
Yes, football and marriage are team sports. And for the team to get stronger and for the game to go well, each member needs their expectations set and then met. That's what makes a good team into a great one.
It’s the most wonderful ball of the year
With the brackets all forming
And top-seeds all donning their jerseys and gear
It’s the most wonderful ball of the year
It's October. It's football season. It's week 8. It's 90 degrees. I'm pretty sure some penalty flags are in order...
Oh, how I'd love to throw them!
Fragrant foul: Laundry. Unnecessary roughness, nose guard. Offensive violation, tail back. Off putting penalties.
Illegal motion: Away Games. 60-mile penalty.
Horse collar: twin toddlers. Fifteen-minute time out.
Personal foul: Halloween. Unsportsmanlike conduct. Fifteen Reese's cups from the time of pillage.
Holding penalty: October. Illegal grasp on summer. 25 degree penalty. Automatic cool down.
And I'm reminded that while my life might be hard right now... and my shoulders and knees may be bent way more than usual... that is a far cry from a bad thing.
I needed to be humbled. I needed to shake things up, to be shaken, to be bent.
Yes, Friday nights give me goosebumps. Good old-fashioned, puckered-up chicken skin. And not because I’m lucky enough to get a pre-game kiss from a tall mug of coaching caramel macchiato. (Although that helps, too), but because boy, can our boys play some ball. And man, can our men coach ‘em up. There is nothing like a good, crisp, spiral-sliced Friday night.
But that phrase reminds me that yes, while I am struggling -- absolutely, positively, no-doubt-about-it struggling -- that doesn't mean I'm failing. I've gotten some points on the board. Not as many as I'd like, but some.
I’m writing this as a gentle reminder that all of us have been there. We’ve all been the New Wife -- the one no one knows. And sadly, some of us have even been the New Wife that no one ever knows… the one that no one ever reaches out to before the transient nature of the football life has its way with us, and we move on to our next location and our next potential football family.
Because starting in less than a few short weeks (and then for the next five months), my life will be FILLED with powerful emotions. Wave after wave of powerful emotions. No doubt about it.
You see, my husband is a high school football coach, and he’s been married to the game for a really, really, long time. They were a thing long before he and I were a thing. And when we started dating, I had to come to terms with the rules of engagement.
Yes, football and being a football family requires physical demands and emotional commitments from everyone involved. There are so many lonely dinners and difficult bath times. There are so many rushed labor-day cookouts and daddy-less trick-or-treats. There are so many tears from kids who miss their daddies -- and occasionally from mamas missing them too. Because there may not be crying in baseball, but believe me, there is crying in football. A lot of crying.
But most of those tears are the good kind.
