Uniforms are not Costumes.

We were riding in the car and I decided to maximize our time by holding a little family meeting to map out the week while everybody is here and captive. I whip out my Bullet Journal and talk through the items on the calendar. Meetings, lessons, and all the color-coded greatness.

“Tuck, don’t forget that you have a football movie night on Monday.”

“Movie night?”

“Yes, remember? Where you watch the video from last weekend’s game, and you study the plays and all that?”

Peter puts his hand on my knee and whispers, “Okay, so, babe? It’s called ‘film study.’”

I gesture with my fine point Sharpie.  “Right. Film study.”

The backseat peanut gallery pipes up to tutor me once again.

“Mom. Let’s go over this again,” says my athlete.

“There are actors and there are athletes,” says my artist.

“There is rehearsal and there is practice.”

“There is halftime, and there is intermission.”

“There are costumes, and there are uniforms.” The boy in the jersey points to his number for emphasis.  They volley the vocabulary back and forth, with cadence that seems rehearsed. Or practiced.

“There is makeup, and there is eye black.” 

“There is never football mascara.”

“And my uniform is not a costume.”

Right. Whatever. It’s clean, and that was no small feat.

You all better be careful with my learning curve or I’ll have you diagramming sentences and doing word sorts all the way from backstage to the home plate zone.