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The Living Without Series

This is a series of posts that I wrote back in 2006 on living with less stuff. Check them out: liv011Living #2liv031liv04

Coal Creek Farm on Facebook

The Chicken Doctor


The Architect


My Son is a Stander a Very Good Stander

My oldest son is playing football for the first time in his life. His father never played football. I never played football. Football is a foreign language in this house.

My son seems to enjoy playing, if you call standing on the sideline until the last twelve seconds then running in the game to do whatever it is they do out there, if you can call that playing football then I guess he likes it.

Here’s the thing.

I don’t like football. Especially when I go to my son’s game to watch him play and I sit on a hard bench in the cold waiting and waiting and ooooh he’s going in…nope, waiting and waiting and waiting. Why am I here? Can I go home? Will someone call me if he gets to go in? I’m going to go warm up in the car and listen to the radio. At least that’s what I’d like to do. But, I sit and wait. And as the last minutes of the game tick to a close I see him run in and do whatever it is he does. Except I can’t really see him because he’s on the other end of the field and I have no idea what’s going on out there.

This is what I know for certain. I only enjoy watching my children’s games when they are actually PLAYING IN THE GAME. If they aren’t participating I don’t give a flying flip about anyone else on the field, I don’t care about the score, I don’t care about the call the refs are making, I just DON’T CARE! I’m there for one reason, My KID.

And even when my kids are playing it’s sometimes hard to stay pumped up. There have been numerous baseball games and soccer games that I’ve begged Clay to give me the keys so I can just go home already.

So, I’m wondering if I should approach this football thing a bit differently. Maybe, I should think of it as an opportunity to get to watch my son STAND for two hours. Stand with his back to me with fifty tons of pads and gear strapped to him. Yes, this change of thinking could do me a world of good next time I decide to fill my gas tank up and drive an hour to my son’s standing game.

Does your son play football?

Me-No, he stands.


Me-He’s a stander. He stands. He likes it. He stands very well. He’s a very good stander. I’m proud of him for standing.

Ah and then there’s the gear. The lovely loads of gear. The mud stained, sweaty, smelly gear that he piles up in front of the door because obviously that is the safest spot for fifty tons of pads and plastic and spandex and whatever else there is, that’s the best spot for it, in FRONT OF THE DOOR!

Now, if you all will excuse me, I’m going to go make food art to de-football my brain.

This is what I look like after a Standing Game. Yes, I really do look that good.

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