Officially, I am a “Soccer Mom”, admittedly, I do not fit this role well.  The Kid is 4 and has limited organized sports experience.  Limited as in, never having played real sports because I don’t think we can count “Sunshine League”.  That is an entire series of posts for another time.  Soccer is what The Kid has wanted to do since Dora wowed us all with her Super Soccer Kick.  Funny enough, when he decided that he was going to be a soccer player he also made it clear that I was going to be a Soccer Mom.  Those are his words, not even kidding.  He begged and pleaded and while I had no issue with him playing, he just wasn’t old enough.  I managed to slip him in past the birthday cutoff this year and was hopeful it wouldn’t be an issue. 

Who was I kidding?  We all have issues in this family.

If ever I wondered about The Kid’s attention span, well, this experience has confirmed that he doesn’t have one.  We’ve spent a few nights hanging our heads in shame as he goes through the Power Ranger imitations, talks to his buddies and runs off the field MID GAME to sit with a ponytailed blonde.  I do have to say, The Kid’s endurance has improved immensly since starting and he does have a genuine love for the game and that has been my only concern.  As long as he continues to love the game and the experience of playing, then I will continue being his Soccer Mom. 

I do have to say that I’ve had some moments of, well, full-on-frustration.  Not so much with him but with other parents.  Since this is his first real go at sports, I figure it’s for fun and since it’s only clinic, that we don’t have to worry about winning.  I wish others felt the same way.  Mothers shouting at their kids to be in position, get the ball, get out there and so on really do ruin the experience.  They also drown me out as I’m yelling for The Kid to stop picking grass, get the ball out of his shirt, pull his hands out of the net and to get out of the bushes. 

I mean, really, you’d think they could be more considerate especially when it’s a given that 15 minutes before the end of practice and games that they’re all picking grass, being chickens and looking at airplanes.  That’s how we know it’s almost time to go.