Zen and the Art of Motherhood

My husband is an avid soccer fan. He's been playing since he was a little kid and absolutely loves the game. Unfortunately at times its a very one-sided relationship, with the game selfishly not showing the love back.

This was evident after his last indoor game last night. As I came down to breakfast, there he was limping. A stoic kind of guy, he said it was nothing, just a few hard hits. But as the damage was assessed, we discovered he took a blow to the back and one to the ankle, the worst being the ankle.  It was swollen up like a balloon and sporting a lovely shade of purple.

This is not his first stint on injured reserve, mind you. In the last couple of years, he's had his share of back issues, at least one broken finger, a broken bursa sack and some pretty good bruises.  Now we can add -- as the ER doc told him in technical medical speak -- a "doozy" of a sprained ankle. Not to mention the chronically bloody knees and  aches and pains.

And here I used to think that soccer was such a civilized sport. Not as bad as football or hockey. I guess it can be, as long as you're not the goalie. A good one at that. My husband takes more dives and slides than most baseball players. He gives it 110% and then some.

Its this very enthusiasm that gets him in trouble. While his mind is definitely up for the challenge his body is in major revolt. A revolution that until this point he has chosen to ignore.

Overall, he's hanging in there, but it might be time to take one out of the Master's play book. Don't worry hon, even Beckham is slowing down a bit these days. Those old bones ain't bending like they used to. Maybe its time to take up a nice, serene hobby. Golf anyone?