Last weekend, I became a soccer mom for the first time. I am in the camp that loves sports. I have always loved sports. And I have always wanted my children to love sports. That said, I do not believe children should be pushed into activities they do not want to do. I believe in giving them a choice.
Unless that choice does not involve soccer.
In all seriousness, I debated waiting to enroll Hadley in soccer. At 4, she has done a myriad of sports that include gymnastics (her face and the springboard often met their match), dance (she performed an unscripted solo at the recital) and murder ball (her little brother is often the target).
But soccer is a sport Hadley really wanted to try. Last Saturday was her first game and Jamie has been prepping her for weeks. His initial strategies centered around scoring and ball handling. But after a series of mishaps and subsequent tantrums, he instituted the No. 1 rule of soccer: “No crying.”
Someone should have told me that before we got completely massacred.
Haddie’s team was doomed from the start because 1) They played against a team who has been training together since birth and 2) Her team name is “The Butterflies.” There is absolutely no intimidation factor in a flittering insect whose lifespan is only a few days.
I will be campaigning to change it to “The Bruisers.”
I have always thought it is completely ridiculous that younger teams do not keep score. I reasoned how are you supposed to teach children about the dynamics of winning and losing in life if you don’t quantify it?
Until we lost. Big time.
After yet another goal by the other team, I groaned, “Oh no!” My friend Lisa leaned over and whispered, “At this age, you’re supposed to cheer when they score.” I countered, “Not after the 20th goal.”
It’s true. I read it somewhere in The Soccer Mom Handbook.
And how did my daughter do? Overall, she did pretty well and made some great plays. Her strategies were to 1) Yank on the other team’s jersey when she tried to get the ball and 2) Throw herself over Said Ball to prevent anyone else from getting it.
Because if she can’t take proper possession, no one can.
We were all becoming weary at the end of the game after the opposing team’s Beckham Jr. had yet another breakaway. I started to throw in the towel until a mom next to me jokingly shouted:
“Take her out at the knees.”
It was then I knew I had met my soccer mom soul mate….
I'm a Canadian-born mom of two, former Denver Post columnist, family travel writer, editor of MileHighMamas.com and 9News contributor. Expert on all things Utah, Denver, family and travel. Lover of laughter and life. Happily married to a man obsessed with growing The Great Pumpkin. 