In basketball, it's when you vehemently use your body to prevent the guy on the other team from getting the rebound. My high school basketball coach relentlessly drilled into us the importance of boxing out. It was one of those hard-work-without-glory type of skills, and most guys just wanted to leap for the ball rather than find their man first and use their butt and legs to move him backwards away from the hoop.
In high school, I worked hard to box out.
But I haven't used the skill since my most recent pick-up games which (I;m ashamed to admit) were more than a couple of months ago. Okay, more than a couple of years ago.
Until yesterday.
Tyler and I were at a playgroup at the church, hanging with the Bob the Builder trucks, pushing dolls in strollers, and making choo-choo trains...well...say Choo! Choo!
It was all great and fun and delightfully giddy and imaginative. We even had tea (for me), juice (for Tyler) and chocolate-covered biscuits (for us both!).
It was great fun, indeed, until I had the relentless urge to urinate. Usually, I can plan my events and outings with Tyler so as to minimize my own need to pee while we're out and about. I found, early on, that he was far too curious about the stream and, generally, about touching everything in the bathroom-covered-with-a-thousand-germs.
So, I have designated public bathrooms for a Tyler-diaper-changing-only visit when he and I are out together.
But yesterday, I just couldn't hold it. It was impossible. It was like trying to hold back Niagara Falls. Or something else really forceful that is very hard to hold back.
So Tyler and I made a trip tot he men's room at the church once the playgroup was over.
Needless to say, my boxing out skills were put to use diligently, and they came back in full force.
Tyler's trying to go for the stream from the right side! Quick--keep your butt low and BOX OUT! Good...whew...oh no! Tyler's coming from the left now, butt low, BOX OUT...whew. Now he's going for the toilet seat--quick! Dig deep and BOX OUT far, far left and low!
When Tyler and I left the men's room yesterday--my need to relieve myself, well, relieved--I also felt this incredibly odd sense that everything does somehow connect. After all, I never thought my bench-ridden time as a high school ball player would one day grant me a small victory while urinating with my two-year old in tow.
But it did.
(Not that I'm in any rush to box out again.)
