Worst Football Wife

Football widow… a term most of you would give to your “armchair quarterbacks” who leave you every Saturday, Sunday, Monday and the occasional Thursday, to yell at the television or invade their local stadium to cheer on the proverbial home team.  Football widowship for me and a selected lucky few is a way of life. It’s more than your typical football season of fall and winter gridiron battles; we have spring ball, camps, and recruiting. You brace yourself for one as the other slowly comes to a close. And those battles on the field don’t just result in a grumpy man for the next day or two, it can mean the difference between a contract extension or a career execution.

                But this isn’t to complain about my husband’s career choice, this is about the hilarity of my life as I see it. Because I am the world’s worst football wife, maybe in history. I am the most anti-pintrest, anti-cheerleading, and many times antisocial girl on the block. Most, freely come and gather hours before game time with homemade delicacies, with themed out children in tow, perfectly coifed and ready with rosters embedded in their brains. I on the other hand, barely make it to kick off (even with my kids with a babysitter), hope to God I know who has the ball and will, nine times out of ten, have play doh stuck to my ass.

                So , this is about my life. I am wife of a wonderful man who is scarcely home, and a mother to two adorably monstrous boys. I will video or photograph any wrong doing before I correct said behavior, if I deem it funny enough. I am a ridiculously bad cook and maybe even worse baker. I don’t DIY and the only homemade thing I make is well… oh, that’s right… nothing.  So here I will start my little blog, retelling stories of my dim wit, delciously devilish boys, and my struggling to keep my head above water. So hopefully you will chuckle or at least feel way better about yourself at the end.