It was a great 4-1 victory. Not because our team played particularly well, not because of my one goal contribution (a tap into the right hand corner with the right foot on a cross from Elyse on the left...I'm really proud of how well-placed it was), and not because Mick, our coach, handed out Cadbury chocolates after the match, but because the level of play stepped up. Again, that's not to say that our team played particularly well- there were constant errors, only to say that the other team knew what they were doing and our placement on the field was strong. And I shouted myself hoarse. "Der Tod , das ist" might have to wait. I did more slide-tackling than usual but this was inspired by the other team's tendency to call me "The American". I need to think about why I took offense at that. They didn't call me 'number 6', 'the blonde', 'center mid', nothing I've been called before that's logical. They actually bothered with the three syllable of 'American'. And so I tackled. A lot. A make their sidelines really cranky lot.
I need a shower, I need some soup, I need an orchid for my room, I need a functional phone. Oh, and hugs.
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What a ko-inky-dinky, ma, I made her a chocolate cake and brought it down to Boston. It's sitting on the counter and kate has promised me it'll still be sitting there when Mol returns for to eat it!
Loved the soccer descripts -- forwarded them to daughter of my boss who's a freshman (HS) who plays with some-but-not-enough spunk. Hoping she sees there's a way to find joy in playing hard.
Be well, toots.
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