The girl is at overnight volleyball camp. When she phoned me this morning, it was mostly to moan and groan about her shoulder bothering her, the roommate situation (two of her Winter Club teammates) and that she sucks at volleyball.
Okay, let’s be realistic. This is a SERIOUS vb camp that is sold out months prior and junior players from all over the country come here. All different levels of play. My poor girl is only 5 feet 6.5 inches. It doesn’t matter that her dad is over 6 feet and that her younger brother will top out around 6 feet 4 inches and that her mother is no petite thing either. She is what she is (right, T?) and she’s not going to grown anymore. She compares herself with players that are inches taller than she is and, although I call her The Beast and she IS a beast, she is a Petite Beast.
It infuriates me that she calls/tm’s and says stuff like this. And then I respond in the following manner (all through text messaging, of course):
PB: I couldn’t get a single hit in (as if).
Me: As if.
PB: My jump serve went straight down.
Me: You only did one jump serve? (doubtful)
PB: Yes and it sucked.
PB: I totally sucked.
Me: If I hear any more of this nonsense, I’m coming up there, pulling you out of camp, and you will be DONE. Period. No camps. No varsity. No vb.
PB: Mom! I am…
PB: Thanks for hanging up on me, Mom (all attitudish). I love you TOO.
So that was first thing this morning. This afternoon I receive the following text:
PB: Mom! The top spin on my jump serve was AWESOME today and by the second session (they have three a day’s) my hitting all came together. How is your day? Love you! I so miss you!
I should know better by now.