(And now you are hearing EverClear scream in your head about pron stars and volvo-drivin’ soccer moms. And if you’re not, you are looking it up on youtube!)
Yes. My work here is done.
My son started soccer this week. As mentioned in a previous post, I managed to wrangle free soccer clinic for Chris two days a week with coaches who are team members from the NY Football Club.
The first day, we dressed, brushed and medicated accordingly and I inwardly prayed Chris wouldn’t be such a spaz that the coaches tell me to take my crazy kid home. Hey, he isn’t exactly the most socially graceful kid out there and usually ends up in a meltdown. Messy. Not good.
He actually survived a good portion of the clinic without totally going ape shit. He did get frustrated a couple times and got bent during scrimmage because he got knocked down and missed his goal. Actually he was more upset about missing the goal than getting knocked down which, for him, is progress.
It occurred to me, as I sat there watching my kid try to fit in with all the big kids, I have become a soccer mom. While I never really lived a wild life, like the song, and I don’t drive a volvo-
I have still turned a page in my Parenting Book. I am a soccer mom.
Has anybody seen my pom-poms?