His team didn't qualify for States. At least not in the traditional way. A whole season of tournaments and never once a finalist. Then a few days after the last tournament of the season, after we packed away the power strips and scheduled the take-apart-the-robot celebration, my son's team got an invite to the state competition, much in part to his skills as the Lead Driver.
Like most parents tangled up in competitive youth sports and clubs, I have mixed feelings about tournament season. On one hand, hip-hip-hooray! His team worked hard and it paid off. On the other hand, a quiet, internal groan that the season is still continuing despite everyone and their sister wishing it over and ready to reclaim their weekends. Lazy Saturday mornings, come to mama.
Of course I can't tell him the second part. Instead I'm all "Mrs. Supportive Pants," with my, "I'd love to burn one of my very limited personal days to take you and your team out of town to compete in a weekend-long event that you miraculously qualified for by the skin of your teeth."
But God was quick to reveal to me that there is grace for the end-of-the-pack team and the self-elected Team Mom who is more than ready to cash-in her imaginary Team Mom retirement fund. Grace for my son. Grace for me. There is always grace.
That out-of-town tournament? It just so happened to be on a day that was seventy degrees and sunny and afforded me oodles of downtime relaxing outside in the glorious sunshine, a very delightful personal day for me after all. And the tournament venue? The National Museum of the US Air Force. My jet-plane loving kid, competing among his fellow nerds underneath stealth fighter jets and between enormous retired aircrafts, a B-52 here and a hotel-sized cargo plane there. The state tournament isn't just the last tournament of the season. It's quite possibly the last of my son's robotics career.
The atmosphere inside the venue could not be more perfect for him, and the atmosphere outside the venue could not be more perfect for me.
And don't tell him I said this, but given the tournament standings, the chances of my son's team qualifying for the World competition are about as good as me ever understanding the mechanics of supersonic stealth technology. Which is probably for the best because I'm ready to turn in Mrs. Supportive Pants, pull on my favorite comfy sweats and reclaim my Saturdays.
Theoretically, anyway. Spring soccer season starts tomorrow.
Hip-hip-hooray.
It's all grace.
#graceupongrace