Last time I updated we had returned from our mini-vacation to Corpus Christi, and I had made the quick trip down to Houston to return Davis to campus. We buzzed through a couple of loads of laundry and re-packed suitcases for me and Erin. First thing Monday morning (well, when I say first thing what I really mean is second thing. . .the real first thing was watching the bottom fall out of the sky to start an all-day rainfest) Erin and I headed to Anderson Park for our three day mini-soccer camp extravaganza.
You might doubt my sanity.
I chose to spend the first three days of my spring break staying in a (rather rundown) hotel suite with seven 10 and 11 year-old girls. My friend and co-coach Lisa Villalobos did exactly the same thing right across the hall way from me. We didn't make it outside at all on Monday, though First Presby Church gave us a break and we used the fellowship hall (Marie, notice I didn't claim that our church had a gym) to run around, play, and dissipate some of the energy that had built up in the fourteen girls over eight consecutive hours of indoor tactical sessions. It really wasn't as dreary as all that. Lisa had made up a variety of games like Soccer Trivia (not really trivial trivia , like who scored the winning goal against Romania in the EasterEuro Cup Quarter Final match in 1967. More like soccer terminology that we might use that novice players might not know) and my favorite, What Would You Do Next? In What Would You Do Next? we showed the girls various field situations and asked them what options they would have for moving with and without the ball. They really got into this and proposed creative and sometimes appropriate alternatives.
We also let them swim in the not heated pool, which was somewhat akin to letting them swim in Puget Sound in February.
After blowing off some steam with indoor soccer, we showered, ate, and played a little cards before dropping off to sleep.
Erin tucked in with Sydney; Kylie and Kaitlyn shared a room, and Megan, Morgan, and Emily thought they could squash all three of them into a double bed in the third bedroom. I kissed them each goodnight on the forehead, and got my room (AKA the living room) ready for bed. That's right. I drew the sofa option. . .the sofa option had five feet four and a half inches of seating (or lying) space. I'm five foot six inches. Almost (I emphasize almost here) perfect. Oh well. It had the strategic benefit of being in the cross traffic to both bathrooms.
On Tuesday, the sun came out, and even though we had two inches of rain on Monday, the ground was firmer than it had every right to be. We headed out to the park and knocked it around. The rest of the camp went exactly as planned: lots of soccer, lots of laughs. When we weren't on the field we did soccer crafts and watched a soccer game and a soccer movie.
We even had the girls write their parents thank you notes for letting them come to camp: Here is my little Mystic writing her note:
The only other remarkable thing was that I got to play my own bonus round of What Would You Do Next?
Here's how it went: Spending three days with fourteen pre-teens is not hugely consistent with privacy and quiet time. I had the cunning plan of waking about forty-five minutes earlier than everyone, dressing, having a cup of coffee, and doing a bit of reading before the mayhem. The first day went off without a hitch, and I began the camp day with a peaceful heart. The second day started fine. I made the coffee. When I went to toss out the packaging the coffee came in I noticed housekeeping had not picked up the full trash can, so we would have not place to put our breakfast detritus.
What Would You Do Next?
I did just what you would do. I found an extra trash can liner, tied up the full trash bag, and went to set it out in the hall. Unfortunately, since I was doing my usual domestic duties, I momentarily forgot I was in a hotel. As I moved a few feet down the hall to put the trash somewhere that the girls would not trip over when they stormed into the hall, I heard to door click shut. . .with my key inside. . .and my cell phone inside. . .and my shoes inside. . .and my non-pajama clothes inside.
What Would You Do Next?
That's right. I knocked on the door. None of the girls, sleeping behind the closed doors of their bedroom, heard me.
What Would You Do Next?
Since it was 6:30, I thought I might risk a quick trip down to the lobby to get another key. As I walked up to the desk, I said, "Does it ever happen that someone locks themselves out of their room accidentally?" The clerk said that he had actually done that himself once in Austin. He started looking for an extra key, but I seemed to have the only two for that room. I was ready for that and asked if he would just call someone from housekeeping or just get the housekeeping master key and let me into the room. Shea (that's what he said his name was) said he'd love to do that, but since that very night was his first night on the job, he had no idea where such a key might be. He added that if I just hung on until 7:00, his manager might show up and solve the problem.
What Would You Do Next?
I asked Shea to call up to the room, and I would get whoever answered to let me in. He started dialing, but couldn't seem to get through. He said, "Oh, it would help if I didn't use the broken phone." When he tried on the other phone, he had no more luck than on the broken phone. I was getting a little less understanding by this point. It's true that the mistake was mine in the first place, but it was easy to forget that when I was standing bare-footed on cold marble in my pj's talking to a newbie desk clerk who couldn't work a phone. He said, if I called the hotel, he KNEW he could transfer my call to the room. KNOW is a relative term. I think he knew theoretically how to do it, but not actually.
What Would You Do Next?
I went back upstairs, intent on knocking until someone answered or until I bloodied my knuckles. As I started knocking I heard my cell phone alarm, "Fanfare" going off. I knocked and knocked and knocked some more. Eventually, I heard little footsteps stomping across the floor and a voice that said, "Okay, okay. I'm coming. I'm coming." The door cracked and my little red- and toussle-headed daughter looked up at me through the crack in the door, smiled, and let me in.
I think I won.
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