My kids have balls.
Lots of balls.
And we can never locate any of them because we also have really bad aim.
Once I was trying to play basketball with my (then 6 year old) son in our driveway. He had no skills. No skills whatsoever. Which is unfortunate because his father is 6’5″ and is an awesome basketball player. But as a single mom it was up to me to teach him. Which added to his unfortunate circumstances because my hook shot ain’t so good…and I don’t really know the rules…and I break for naps.
So, we were outside playing a little “one-on-one” and it goes well for about 10 minutes. He’s learning to dribble and he’s pretty darn fast. I couldn’t even get the ball away from him. I begin to think there’s potential there. Then he goes in for the shot. The ball FLIES over my head and lands in the trees behind the net.
“That’s okay” I tell him. and I go to get a broom to poke it out.
I come back with the broom.
As I’m looking up at the tops of the tight border of trees that line the driveway behind our net I notice not only our recently lost ball, but like 12 other balls stuck up in the canopy of the trees.
“What’s with all these balls you guys?”
“What?” They run over to look up into the line of trees.
There are a million of ‘em up here! (exaggeration is a family trait…) Did you know this?”
They laugh. “Yeah.”
I poke at one and try to dislodge it. Two balls fall on my head.
This is hilarious to them.
I continue to poke around. “I’ve been wondering where all our balls were. Did anyone ever think to try to get them out? ”
“The question is, did anyone try?”
“Not really.” Why am I surprised. “I don’t know how.” Says Ben. “Let’s blow up another one.”
“No! Balls cost money! We’re going to use the balls we have!” I shake the trees and more balls dislodge and pelt me. Leaves fall into my hair and down my shirt. A few get stuck in my cleavage. I think I just pissed off a spider.
Ben and Livi are laughing at me because I’m shaking trees, poking with a broom and I have leaves all over me.
A tiny red hackey sack ball falls out of the tree canopy and pings me on the shoulder. I’m annoyed now.
As the balls fall out, the kids pick them up and start trying to throw more baskets – resulting in the balls going right back, up and over the backboard and lodging in the trees again.
“Stop you guys! We’re going to lose them all again!”
Obviously, this is just one big vicious cycle.
“Let’s just blow up new ones.”
“We’re not blowing up new ones. We have a ton of balls! You’re using what we have.”
I keep poking at the trees. I manage to get 7 or 8 balls out. A few are beyond my reach and I give up.
I line up my “harvest” on the driveway. “Here you go. Balls. Try not to lose them.”
“YAY!” They start shooting baskets again and the balls go in every direction including up and over the backboard…into the trees. They’re not even TRYING to aim! Unbelievable.
Yup. My family has balls. And if you ever doubt it, I can show you just where we keep ‘em.