We’re staying up until 12:30 or 1:00 every night to watch the Olympics. This is probably a bad idea when the newborn would totally let us get a full night’s sleep if we’d go to bed at a decent hour. But it’s the Olympics, so we make sacrifices.
After all, we want to watch as much Michael Phelps as we can while we can. I’m a huge fan of this humbler, more mature Phelps. And I love the way he talks to the crazy poolside commentator that drives me nuts. He answers her questions respectfully, but I sense that on the inside he’s rolling his eyes just as much as we are at home.
Speaking of Olympic commentators in general: I kind of wish they’d be more “Go Team USA!!” and less, “Look at how perfect those Chinese divers are!” (Okay, maybe that’s less “general” and more “specific,” but you get the idea.) It’s good to learn more about the sports and all, but when all is said and done, I’m watching this to cheer on my countrymen and not to hear about how much better the other guys are.
The boys have really gotten into the games as well. Manchild wants to try everything and loves it when the USA swimmers make it to lane 4, but it is volleyball that has really caught his eye – which brings his volleyball-loving father much joy. Manchild has asked his dad for some pointers on how to execute the various hits and, in true Manchild fashion, he processes the guidance mentally, asking question after question until he gets it. Meanwhile, Squish, in true Squish fashion, processes by executing a series of surprisingly good hits using his plush soccer ball.
Finally, not that I plan on raising any Olympians, but I enjoyed this perspective about what kind of parents it takes to raise an Olympian – or maybe what kind of child it takes to become one.
(image from here – click to see more views of the image and to look more closely at the details, it’s pretty cool)