That's right. You heard me. I am officially a Soccer Mom now.
Soccer Mom is a title I had hoped to avoid... er, like, forever. But here I am, Soccer Mom. I claim this title with love and jest and angst and irritation.
Straight to the point: I did not want any of my kids to excel in soccer. My oldest, Aidan, started playing organized soccer quite late. In my social circle, I would frequently receive comments like, "Your kid is not in AYSO??!!" And I would reply, "No, I cherish my Saturdays." I had good reason for my anti-AYSO insanity.
My big brother told me what AYSO stands for: "All Your Saturdays Occupied." My brother raised his own two super soccer players. He was Dad, Coach, Ref, and now–10+ years later–on some sort of "Administration" (cuz AYSO is that huge.) My niece and nephew excelled in soccer. Of course, we are all so proud of them. Yet, selfishly, I thought for many years, when is there a weekend for us as family without circumventing the friggin' soccer schedule?
Oh, I was so naive... way back when...
My Aidan, age 8, has quickly advanced to Club Soccer. Two practices and one skills class per week, a phat check, to boot. As a mom, it feels like too much: the commitment, time, money. But as a mom on the sidelines, it feels just right. He is not perfect. He trips, falls, mis-kicks. He unconsciously grabs his crotch when he is nervous, which absolutely drives me insane in the membrane. I watch him listen to his coach... My young Aidan's eyes averted to the grass but listening attentively to his coach. I know the lesson sinks into his brain. I know he wants to excel. I know he wants to prove that to everyone. I quietly want him to prove that to everyone, too. This makes me an official Soccer Mom.
When I, Soccer Mom, am on the sidelines, I am trying my best to entertain a 6-year old, a 4-year old, beach blanket, spilled munchies, pencils, paper in the breeze, and an iphone with low-battery. Then, when you'd least expect it, Aidan is racing down the field, focused like a predator, and low-kicks that soccer ball hard into the corner of the goal! That moment is the BEST! That kind of moment eclipses everything of my day. That moment he is so proud of himself, and I am so proud of him. That moment will be part of our bedtime chit-chat that night. The BEST part of his day. It's a big deal for a little eight year old. It's a big deal for Mom.
That Big Moment will have faded by breakfast time.
The new day will surely bring a new story.
xoxo Breeze
