So Easily Embarrassed

Eleven-year-old Sara is beginning to think I am the most embarrassing person on Earth. This is going to be a fantastic developmental stage, in my opinion.

It was a busy weekend. On the list were:

1. Bake Brown Soda Bread;
2. Turn in Girl Scout Cookie money;
3. Watch Nathan's soccer match (while freezing to death);
4. Make a slow-simmering Guinness Beef Stew...
5. ...and a big pot of vanilla bean pudding;
6. Host a dinner party (why else would I be cooking like a maniac?);
7. Do the week's laundry;
8. Shop for the bits and pieces I need to make a "Pele" costume for Nathan, for a school project;
9. Clean out the window wells;
10. Play in a soccer match.

This last thing was a little (more like a LOT) out of my comfort zone, as I have never played soccer before. Watched WAAAAAYYYY too much of it, yeah. Played it myself, no.

Sara's friend, O. (He's my boyfriend, Mom! Why don't you just say it?) likes to do this sometimes. He will rustle up as many friends and neighbor kids as he can persuade, and issue a kids vs. parents challenge. I called his mom to make sure I understood correctly. I was expected to PLAY? Did she understand that I didn't really know how? "Neither do I," she said. "We just kick the ball toward the goal. No rules. We cheat like crazy."

OK; since we're not taking it too seriously, I told Sara, I might consider a costume of some sort. Her eyes widened. "What. What!?! What KIND of costume, Mom?"

"Well, I could wear a funny hat, but it will fall off right away." [ponder, ponder] "I know, I'll wear my sweats with my bikini over the top."

"No. You will not. You are not allowed to do that. That will embarrass me." Ooooh. I am mentally rubbing my hands together.

The next couple of days were very long for Sara. She tried baleful glares at me across the supper table. She tried begging and pleading. She cried. She tried hiding my swim suit. She insisted that she knew I was not really going to do it. So of course, on game day, I got myself all dressed up and she was beside herself. Simon played along nicely: "WHOOOOO-HOO! What a hottie!" I did my butt-jiggling dance around the kitchen.

Eight-year-old Nathan appeared and said to Sara, "I know how to handle this." He left and came back a moment later with a ten-dollar bill from his birthday money. "Mom, if you take off the bikini, I'll pay you ten bucks."

Oh! Deal.

Later, at the match (if you can call it that), I was relating this tale to O's mother. She was hugely disappointed that I had relented, and has committed to wearing her swimsuit over her sweats next time, if I do.

Do I have to give Nathan back his $10?