Trophy Life

The boys had their first chess tournament of the season this past Friday. I suppose our Russian chess master figured we might as well get the gang used to not having a date or other plans on Friday nights. As has already been documented in this blog, my sole purpose as a mother is to raise the biggest chess-playing, violin-loving nerds I can. It's my insurance policy against becoming a grandmother before my time.

My husband has been trying to thwart my intentions at every turn, insisting on hockey, soccer, and baseball. When a mother seeking intellectual development has children with a father seeking athletic prowess, the end result is inflicting a horribly over-scheduled life on their unsuspecting children.

Of course had I known I'd be spending 3 hours watching kids play chess in a church basement on a Friday night, I may have reconsidered my whole master plan. Instead, I witnessed a bunch of Bobby Fischer's kicking my kids' asses. Thankfully, Daniel attends a Bobby Fischer type school and his team placed 1st in the tournament.

They'll be managing my 401k in a couple of years.

Jack, being the only representative from his school, left with an "everybody wins" medal and no trophy. I bought him a chess key chain at the souvenir desk as a consolation prize. 

My youngest son, Joey, is obsessed with the whole trophy thing.  He waits expectantly at home with his father any time he hears that his brothers are at "Awards Night" for whatever activity I signed them up for that week.  He was inconsolable this summer at soccer when his brothers refused to share their trophies.

Due to my thrift store tendencies, I have neutralized the situation with the purchasing of several used trophies. 

The kids mocked Joey's "99th" place trophy.

Somewhere out in the world, there is a Jeni Thompson who was "Rookie of the Year" for the Aurora Sharks in 1999.  I wonder if she knows her mother dropped off all her old trophies at Goodwill last week? 

Hopefully, she doesn't read the blog.