Hold a Chicken in the Air

Both of my children are as different as two children could be.

The most obvious difference, the first one being a boy, the second one was being a girl.

They have the same surname, and the same parents, and both share a love of the Volleyball, and any other sport which happens past them, but that is about where it ends.

At school, Boy did what he needed to do, and got by. He excelled at English, and didn't have to try too hard. Toolibelle, is a worker, and a studier and hates English, and therefore has to try very hard at it.

Boy plays his sports with all abandon and is very, very loose with his mouth. His friend once wrote a song for him, which included the line, "And on the court you will hear him say 'F*& U Ref,that ball was in", and pretty much sums up his potty mouth.

Toolibelle plays her sport like she works at her studies.

She watches, learns, and developes her play. Until she has figured her surroundings out, she is never quite relaxed. When she moved to senior play, away from school, it was watching a different person play. In school she was quite vocal in her non-swearing encouragment of the team. In woman's league, she was withdrawn, and so anxious looking on court, her dad and I sometimes wondered if she would last the match.

Now that she has played a season, she is more relaxed, more familiar with her fellow team mates and is happy and smiling on court. Potty mouth still does not exist for her.

Last weekend, she went for a ball, and slid 6 ft along the floor and ended up wedged under the bleechers. She has a bruise across her thigh that makes it look as though someone tried to remove her leg just above her knee. Her only exclamation when this occurred; "jobbies".

Yesterday, as I unpacked the shopping, she stepped back in horror at the chicken I had selected.

Reading the label upside down, she had come to the conclusion that I had purchased a Garlic Born out of Wedlocked Chicken.

Go Figure.

She never says the word. I didn't even knew she knew it!