I Loathe Basketball

I never was the biggest fan of sports.

I mean, I used to tolerate them fairly well. This all changed when I married a man who has a serious commitment to all things sports.

Now it's a fair assessment to say I'd rather do about anything else than subject myself to some sports game on the television. Live I'm OK with -- it's the broadcast games I can't stomach anymore.

One of the things that makes me dislike the sports to such a degree is that I know more facts and terminology about sports figures and games than I could ever care to actually know.

But these inane facts come slipping off my tongue with alarming rate.

On Christmas Day, I found myself comparing my life to a game of basketball.

We got the kids all dressed up in their Christmas splendor after a fast and furious morning of present opening (we were in California and my parents' church does not begin until 11 a.m.).

They were adorable. There was extra fabric from Jane's dress and my brilliant mother made a matching tie for Elliot to wear.

And of course I couldn't get them to look at the camera. What kind of matching-outfit triumph would it be if they actually looked at the camera?

Anyway, dressed and beautified with their ultra-pregnant Mommy uncomfortable in her Sunday best (and their father looking dapper and perfect), we packed off to church.

All my sisters made it home for the holidays and we took up two entire rows ... that we had to take at the very front of the church building.

Did you know I have 3 sisters and 1 brother? It's true. I do.

One sister and my brother seem to be nearing the close of their families, although this is not a decision that involves me, so I can't speak with any authority on the issue. They each have one child younger than my oldest, Jane ... both who are only slightly older than Elliot. Then I have two sisters who each just had their first, making them the next grandchildren after Elliot and 7- to 10-months older than the baby I am currently baking.

This makes my family the jelly in this grandchild sandwich. And I love it.

At any rate, we sat there on Sunday morning.

I found myself watching Katie and Diana with their new little babies. Yes, the babies were slightly fussy and I could see my sisters and their husbands trying to calm down the one little infant they held on their laps. (A very sweet scene.)

I then watched as Julia's three oldest sat fairly calmly and sedate and her youngest, who is smack in between Jane and Elliot, made the kind of ruckus appropriate to a newly-minted 3-year-old.

At that moment, my attention was diverted by a well-placed punch to my expanding stomach. I watched as Lane and my section of the bench was a fury of 8 arms and two squirming children.

Are we insane? I thought. Here we are. Not one child to two parents, but 2 on 2.

We are man-on-man defense right now and barely making it through the hour of Sacrament meeting to when nursery begins.

Soon we will resort to zone defense.

And we're not the best team in the league. I know my children are the NBA champs and Lane and I might be that team that barely makes it into the playoffs, but gets knocked out in the first round.

{Deep cleansing breathes.}