Maggie was thrilled that tonight was breaststroke, her favorite event. She dropped time, grinned, and placed 3rd silver.
100IM garnered her a 1st silver. Go Mags!
Morrigan happily worked the bake sale, allowing proud moms to watch their kids' heats.
So with the stats out of the way, can we move on to the bitching and drama? Of course we can!
As in previous weeks, I was in charge of tables, where, with my crack team of volunteers, we enter all the times and produce the results sheets and labels for the ribbons. I'm sure you all know that I enjoy the job and feel generally well suited for it. And try to keep it all in perspective. No need to sit hang out with me before the results start coming in, unless you want to, of course. And I tell all the tables volunteers to make sure they watch their kids' races. Sheesh, the last thing that should happen at country club swimming is you miss a real life event in order to average some score. I've been told that my approach, the sane one, is a refreshing break from some of the more hardcore hosts.
But not tonight.
And then the ribbon debacle. We didn't print them for the kids over 12 because, at the end of the summer, our club generally has a whole box of them that the older kids don't even bother to pick up. But some parent from the opposing team flipped out because their darling wasn't getting a prize. So after we had everything packed up, we had to drag it all back out to print some ribbons. I took full responsibility for not printing them in the first place and offered an apology.
Would you like to know the irony in the whole evening? I was the person who lobbied to share our post meet ice cream with the opposing team, free of charge. We want to be the nice team, I said. We'll just file that under no good deed goes unpunished. And in the second helping of irony department, this is the only team from a church.
After finally finishing up with my responsibilities, I found Maggie sobbing because she was left out of some post meet game. F dash dash dash.
But wait, we aren't done for the night. Peeper drama awaited at home. We've had a raccoon eating the birds' food in the evening. But he wasn't bothering the girls so I figured we would just put the food away. When we arrived home, poor James Blond was all alone on the deck. We knew there was trouble. Putin and the Koch brothers were in the coop but Tank and Attila were missing. We found Attila out of bounds and distressed. After herding her in, we feared we were down a chicken. Luckily, Mags and I didn't give up and found Tank, looking distraught, stuck on the fence.
I have no idea what went down, but all the girls are safe. Talk about a roller coaster evening. But with everyone happy at bedtime and all the Peepers safe, we'll take a deep breath and call it good.