You Dented The Siding!

So, recently, I tried to relive some good memories of my childhood. A favorite game of mine (growing up poor in the sticks, keep in mind) was Annie, Annie OVER! This game is simple enough. Split up into two teams. Kick a ball over your house and yell, “Annie, Annie OVER!”. The other team has to catch it w/o bouncing on the ground. If they do – GAME ON! …the chase begins around the house. The kickers have to get all the way back to their side w/o being hit, dodge-ball style, by the receivers. If you’re hit, you’re a part of the opposing team. If it bounces before the other team catches it, they kick…and so on, until there’s only one team standing.

My Dad’s house was a single story Ranch style. My house is a Cape Cod. Close enough. My dad had no trees in his yard. My house is surrounded by massive trees of all types & sizes. I quickly explain the game to my husband (by this point the 6 & 4 year olds are screaming with excitement to play). We look objectively at the house. We size up our scenario. There’s only one small window of playing opportunity…and it is a four foot width over our garage. Sad thing about this…there’s a retaining wall the opposite side of the garage, with a six foot drop. Of course I send my husband into the back yard, with my four-year-old son. Here is what ensues:

I scream, “Annie, Annie OVER!” I kick the ball. The ball hits our house, bounces off and onto the top of the garage. The ball springs off the garage roof and slams into the side of my neighbor’s house. Ooops. I tromp into their yard to snag my ball back. I yell again. Kick. The ball soars above the garage. I swear softly to myself. It is batted down by a pine tree. The ball bounds back to the driveway. My two-year-old claps and squeals, “Do it again, Mommy.” I now see my son leering at me from the breezeway into the backyard. I’ve begun mumbling to myself. My oldest tells me that this game is no fun. I kick again. This time the ball flies up, hits the roof, smashes into another tree branch, bounces off in pinball fashion into my house, back into the garage, into my kitchen window and lastly, blasts my baby in the head. She’s knocked clear to the ground. [Thank God they have an unnatural love for and wear their bicycle helmets all the time]

“IS THE BALL COMING OVER OR WHAT?!?”

I’m doubled over in laughter. The littlest attempts to kick it over the house. [my back still hurts from that one] Finally! I nail it and the ball courses over the roof perfectly. We wait. And wait…and wait. THERE THEY ARE! I scoop up the baby (she’s no good running on her own) and bolt around the garage. OMG! I’m hefting a near 35lb kid while trying to run my out of shape body around my house. I try not to stumble…last thing I want to do is fall, land on the kid, and have to explain to family & friends how the baby died: “Yeah, so we were playing this game you see…and I crushed her.” No good.

I’m running (a feat in and of itself), carrying the biggest two-year-old known to God, trying not to trip and fall when my daughter loudly announces, “Daddy’s coming Mommy! Go faster!” Are you kidding me???

“Cap’n, I’m givin’ her all I’ve got!”

“You’re so funny. I have to pee.” Well…that motivates me. Not wanting to take a dodge ball to the head or get peed on, I run for my life. I wind up back in my front yard, standing in the driveway, wishing for a sudden thunder storm and praying for death. Out of breath and thinking this is much harder when you’re 25 years older…my children scream and whoop and beg, “Let’s do that again!”

I look at my husband. [sigh] I yell, “Annie, Annie OVER!” and kick the ball into the garage door…