Football.

I am not of a sports family. I am not a fanatic, but I do love me some football.

We are not yellers at the t.v. We do not alter our schedules to watch games. We do not own football apparel of any kind, and we do not Face book our feelings about various plays throughout the games.

My husband is a creative, artistic, incredibly talented singer. He is tenderhearted, even keeled, and a non loud man. He leads worship at our church for a living. He is passionate about loving people, Mac products, hair color, reading, and his family. As for me, I would rather catch a great episode of So You Think You Can Dance or Divine design over a game any day of the week. Despite the fact that, I did spend countless hours cheering for games in high school and did find myself on a powder puff team once (and even intercepted a ball), there is nothing about our family that screams SPORTS.

Although, we do watch football… with our five pound Yorkshire Terrier on our laps.

It is from this household that my 11 year old son enters his first year of tackle football. He is playing for the school he attended for four years. Even though he is no longer at school at Bradshaw Christian, he is allowed to play. He has played sports 3 times in his life. Community soccer at 4 and community basketball at 8 and 9. So, we thought we’d start small and throw him into football, in the Sacramento heat. He wanted to play in the beginning. 80% of the time if you ask him if he still does. The other 20% is after a bad practice or on a 107 degree day. Then “he will never play football again.”

I can’t list all the good things it is doing for him. He’s growing up, learning to work on a team, learning to respect and trust some tough, yet incredibly respectable Godly men who are coaching Him. The first home game was last Saturday. Did I mention I love football? It was an unseasonably 77 degrees at 2 pm. I sat my 7.5 month pregnant self on the metal bleachers with family and great friends. We saluted the American Flag with song, opened in prayer, and watched as our young men children marched on the field in perfect lines. They were adorned in pads that are almost bigger than some of them and respectfully held hands during the opening moments. Then it was kick off and they proceeded to run for a touchdown in the first 2 minutes…

I’m a football mom of number 33. I’m lovin’ it. Go Pride.