Chloe totally deserved first place, not the third she got. And she definitely should have beat second-place Maddie. Really, don't those judges have any idea what is going on backstage with the moms and Abby Lee? Don't they even watch the show?

This is what the conversation in my head sounds like as I watch Dance Moms. I'm not proud of having an inner voice that sometimes sounds like a teenage girl. In fact, I am fully disgusted with myself, but it is what it is.

Have you ever watched Dance Moms? It's this fascinating "reality" TV show about the Abby Lee Dance Company, the competition team dancers and their mothers (I like to refer to them as monsters).

First off, Abby Lee has to be one of the most unlikeable people on television. I love to hate her. She screams at her dancers (age 7 to 13), throws chairs, tells them they aren't good enough, threatens to cut their feet off, berates their mothers in front of them and pushes her dog around in a doggie stroller. What more is there to hate?

The girls are great dancers. The youngest, Mackenzie, is so cute I want to pinch her cheeks. They are all pretty innocent (although they don't look it when they are wearing costumes even a hooker wouldn't be caught on the street in). They are incredible-- learning a dance for competition in three days and winning 8 out of 10 times. They are really the victims in this whole scenario.

The moms are volatile. They have put up with Abby treating them and their daughters poorly so long, but they can't seem to break the tie. It's like they are drug addicts. They threaten to leave - often walking out - but come crawling back every time. I haven't figured out if it is because they like to win, or Abby's is the only dance studio in a few hundred miles. These women spend the time during rehearsals and lessons in a viewing box talking crap about Abby and one another while they sew costumes. The pressure builds and builds until finally one of them cracks. That's when the magic happens.

It's sick, I know. I have them on my DVR if you want to come over.

It was Mom's Weekend last week at Washington State University, and University of Idaho will follow with their own "act like a co-ed" weekend beginning today. It's funny-- the universities also sponsor a Dad's Weekend, but it seems to me as though this is a time for the whole family to come to campus (mom, dad and younger siblings). But on Mom's Weekend it is mostly just the moms.

I call them "act like a co-ed" weekends for a reason.

Many moms who attend often try to relive their college years (or the ones they never had) during the two days they are on campus. They sleep in the dorms with their kids, wear skirts that are too short, shirts that are too tight and drink more in two days then they do all year at home. The university towns don't help either-- to some extent they encourage it. There are several wine tastings scheduled and the bars advertise that no mom stands in line for a drink.

But really, they don't need much encouragement. At last year's UI men's lacrosse game during Mom's Weekend, the moms brought their own wine glasses and bottles of wine to the sidelines. I hadn't realized lacrosse was such an upscale sport, but I guess it is the Northwest's polo.

What makes women act like children during this university weekend? Is it being away from their partner, their jobs, their regular lives? Are their kids embarrassed by them and for them? I know I would be embarrassed if my mom came to visit me on campus and got inebriated and out of control. Frankly, that would not have been an issue with my mom, but I can imagine if it was how embarrassing and uncool it would have been.

To all the moms out there, there are a few simple ways you can make your visit special without the drinking and debauchery. 
Take your student grocery shopping. Take them out for a nice meal that doesn't involve ramen noodles and mac and cheese. Buy a University of Idaho Mom sweatshirt and wear it proudly all weekend to show support.

Be a real mom.

My youngest daughter plays soccer. She has returned to the sport after an unfortunate incident in 2006. During her first game, of her first-ever season playing soccer, she went in as goalie. Then she got hit in the face with a soccer ball. She sat on the sidelines the rest of the game refusing to play. Four years later, she got excited about it again. She is having a blast. Me, not so much.

I had this idea in my head of sitting on the bleachers with other moms talking about our awesome children and not caring that some of us were homemakers and others were career moms. I thought youth soccer would unite us. It started out this way. I learned all the other kid's names and cheered for them as much as I did my own daughter. I spoke with moms about their child's teachers and we chatted about the weather and laughed at the comedy of errors happening on the field.

Last night ruined all of that for me. Last night, I sat next to a woman I have known for a few years. She is a nice person. I like her, but last night just sitting next to her made me feel fat and ugly. She didn't do it on purpose. She owns a local gym in town. She has an amazing body — you should see her calves (she could break a person's neck with them). She was speaking with one of the moms last night — one who I had several pleasant, uneventful conversations with in the past — and mentioned that she broke her foot during a marathon last week. The same marathon she finished — even with broken bones. She went on to say that she could not stand being dormant and not working out so she was going to teach her pilates class anyway and still do a few spinning classes each week.

So, I know what you're thinking — 'So what, she likes to exercise?' That's the problem. Even with a broken foot and in pain, she gets out of bed every morning excited to exercise and stay fit. I, on the other hand, intend on getting up and go running most mornings. Then, I pull the covers over my head, sleep too long and have to rush to get ready for work. While working I proceed to stuff my face with croissants and diet soda (taking the occasional break to make a batch of cookies). Dang that woman. She made me feel guilty. I hate guilt (when it's my own).

So, what is the solution? I suppose I am going to have to actually exercise every day now. I should probably stop eating junk too, but I'll have to ease into it. And next week, I will show up to every game in my track suit, just to show her that I do exercise. Come to think of it, the closest thing I have to a track suit are the sweats I sleep in. I guess that's better for me. I won't even have to get dressed those days. I'll just wear my pajamas/tracksuit right out of bed and to soccer.

This is definitely not a sport’s blog, but I feel the need to talk about lacrosse. Lacrosse is a great sport. People get to catch balls in small handheld nets and toss them back and forth. They get to go behind the goal, which is unheard of in other goal sports, and they get to hit the opposing team with sticks. Sounds fun, right? It is. Saturday I attended the University of Idaho lacrosse game against Boise State University. Unfortunately, UI lost in sudden death but that’s beside the point.

What really interested me was the crowd. Here is a sport, that to be honest, isn’t always well attended. Saturday the sidelines were packed. It was packed with mom’s here for Mom’s Weekend along with their spouses and children, other UI students and Moscow community members. All in all, this was not the usual lacrosse match crowd. Many of the spectators were not lacrosse enthusiasts, having attended their first match for the first time that day, and others assumed lacrosse at UI was an upscale event. Let me explain.

One girl in the crowd asked her friend what the point of the game was. When told it was to get the little white ball into the net she asked which net. She is definitely not a regular attendee.

Then there was the alcohol. I expected to see the usual red plastic cups, but what I didn’t expect was the wine. One group of women brought their own bottle of wine and stemmed wine glasses. Talk about classy. They were sipping Bordeaux on the sidelines while the team was practically knocking their opponents unconscious.

Next game I am bringing a tea set (in real china) complete with tea cozy and enough cups to share with surrounding spectators. And instead of screaming at the top of my lungs and abusing the refs I will wave a flag daintily and hold up a supportive and tastefully decorated sign encouraging my team to victory.