I'm a Motha-Freakin' Soccer Mom 4 Eva

I'm the soccer mom that walks onto the field in some Chuck Taylors, greasy ombre hair with over-grown bangs, big sunglasses and an Urban Outfitter ensemble.  If ensemble is even the word for it at this point. 

Hot mess...I don't really own an athletic pair of shoes (my gym shoes are 10 year old Nikes)..or a matchy matchy track suit or fleece.  I don't believe in them.

I don't yell for my little girl - even though she's fucking awesome. 

I watch.

I clap.

I prefer to silently support.

I don't have a bumper sticker that says, "soccer mom."  I don't believe in bumper stickers...period.

And as a side note (complete tangent), I am against those stupid fucking stick figure family car decals (you know the ones with mommy, daddy, Susie, Johnny and little doggie Max) and mini-vans.

Okkkaayyy, that felt good to get out. Anyways....

Let me tell you why I wouldn't miss a soccer game for the world. 

My 3-year old has never really played a sport on an organized team.  For the first couple of practices, she was shy.  Sometimes, it was hard to get her to play.  I didn't push her, daddy didn't push her and the coach didn't push her.  After a few practices she had enough confidence built up to not feel shy.  Even though - she's the smallest and slowest of the whole pack.

She's a runt.  My little, low-birth weight baby.  The smallest one on the team who tries as much as she can to keep up.

After practice she tells me, "Everyone is really fast."

So she is aware that she's slower.

To avoid completely agreeing with her (and putting anymore unnecessary judgement on her skills) we say things like, "Yes, and you really kicked that ball super hard that one time."  Or  "And you can trap the ball really well."

With a few practices under her belt and words of encouragement- it's game time. 

We're on the field with the rest of the soccer mommies and daddies early Saturday morning.  They are so chipper.  Immediately the feeling wears off on me.

Although for a brief moment, I did think to myself shouldn't I be getting in my kickboxing class?!

That's selfish.

Moving on.  I take in a deep breath of morning Spring air. It's crisp and my feet are cool in the dewy grass - but my face is so warm from the beating sun.

The energy among the team is electric.  The kids are so pumped to have their new team jerseys.  All matching, all neon green.  The team is called Dynamo.  Half of kids have no idea what a game is or how to play it (my daughter included).  They're just happy to be there.  They can tell, that this is going to be really fun.

The coach mixes and rotates the players in the game so perfectly - so all of the kids have a chance show off their skills, and build upon them. 

I did watch a lot of the game (okay mostly the parts my own daughter played)...whatever..you get it.

So while she was resting on the sidelines - I saw a lot of other cool things too.

One of my daughter's teammates has taken my little daughter under her wing.  She's older, taller and super fast on the field.  But she is always sure to give my daughter pats on the back and high-fives.  The girl even puts her arm around my daughter while they watch the games on the sidelines. 

This older girl totally accepts my daughter - and treats her as older.  Which in Little Girl Land (as we all know) feels awesome.  My whole life I wanted to be older and accepted by the older girls. (Except when I hit 25 and realized that I really want to be accepted by the younger girls...the girls whose tits aren't on the fast-track to sagville.)  Ohh wait, ANNND I was knocked up while everyone else was having cocktails.

Moving on.

Another little girl, instead of chasing after the ball like everyone else, is dancing with her shadow on the far end of the field (blissfully unaware of what's going on).  Her mom points her out and laughs so hard she cries.  Sure it waaas funny.  But those tears - tell it all.  I know them well as a mom.  They come unexpectedly.  They come when you realize how cool and amazing your kid is - when they're NOT doing what everyone else is doing.  When they ARE being awesome - while being completely different.  And you, as a mama, are so proud you cry.  I got a little welled up for a second.

My other observation - was of another completely spaced out kid.  This kid totally gave me the hippy dippy, mother earth little girl vibe.  She was picking up inch worms on the sidelines.  Collecting them really.  She let the worms crawl all over her hands - and she showed them off to her teammates.  Then - BAM! she gets called into the game.  She tries to run onto the field with the worms - and about half-way on the field, she realizes she has to put them down.  She runs back to the sidelines and carefully places the worms on her hoodie.  She tells my daughter to keep them safe, especially the one she named, "Rainbow."

Of course, you already know.... I have no idea if my kid's team won the game.  Don't know the score, don't care.

I still don't even know if my daughter understands how to play a soccer game...maybe by game #3 she'll get it.

But I am addicted.  For all of my childless readers - this probably sounds like the stupidest, sappiest load of bologna.

Maybe you were wondering if I brought my flask? my cooler? Maybe this is a wine-soaked musing on a Saturday morning.

No, this was a completely sober, sappy soccer mom moment for me. (I was hungover, but I thought it would be bad sportsmanship like conduct to bring that up).

Watching my daughter play soccer filled me with pride and happiness that I've never fully experienced before.  Totally raw (finally in a good way) and pure.

Yes, I've seen her try new things, experience new things... but to go out on a field, the smallest of the pack - with a bunch of other intimidating kids around (boys included - little assholes....just teasing..not really), and kick a ball.....it was awesome.  Best reward yet. My child doesn't give a fuck if she's a girl, if she's small, if she's slower.  Boom -point for me.

By the way - you dooo realize I was smoking cigarettes and walking around the track during gym class in high school, right?  Oh yeah, with heavy black eye liner and lots of hair spray too.  I had ZERO confidence in my athletic abilities, and in my awkward teenage mind, I decided to be the bad girl who was too good for sports instead.

Some things never change.  But at least, I'm teaching my kid something different.

So while I may never fit the soccer mom mold or stereotype, I'm a soccer mom for life!  (Or basketball, volleyball, track, football, dance, activity-of-the-moment mom)....for life.

And here's a link to Urban Dictionary's definition of "soccer mom." Hilarious!  Personally, I feel like I might be #5.

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