Okay, so 6.5 years ago, i swore on everything i could put my hands on that i would not, under any uncertain circumstances, be a soccer mom. i lied. not with intent, mind you. but i still lied. (i did, however, manage to keep my word about the purple dinosaur.)
Last week begun my indoctrination into the world of AYSO. We made it to our first practice. Jakob was fine. He jumped right in - had a blast, actually. I, on the other hand, was already feeling the nomenclature of "soccer mom" sinking its hideous veneers into my neck. I promptly volunteered to bring snacks--not once, but TWICE. I then proceeded to offer to help the "team mom" if she was okay with me doing it on the sly. Yeah, really, how special can i be? So...Saturday came and i find myself on a Mad Mission for ice and an effing cooler. I then found myself in line at the FOURTH store of the day with the last bag of ice and two other moms, who were on their way to their kids' games, flanking my sides. And then it hit me. It's official. Whether i like it or not - I have joined the ranks of Soccer Mom's everywhere. Now I may not be as stuffy, or conservative, my hair isn't feathered a la Dorothy Hamill, and my son isn't over-scheduled, but still, I am one of them...albeit in my own way. I even went so far as to wear my son's colors to his first game. Oy vey.
2 comments:
Oh, lady. It's okay... You have a lovebug who happens to play soccer & you happen to be his mother...
It reminds me of being in second grade and having many "boyfriends" but really they were "boy friends." but kids can be merciless, "he is a boy & he is your friend, therefore boyfriend." Ah, if only it was that easy, but in conversations you don't see spaces & cliches take-over.
Well written article.
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