Soccer

Nowadays you'll find us sitting on the sidelines of a soccer field 3 times a week. I know, right? 3 times seems excessive and just imagine if one of my other kids were to play. It'd be death to the family dinner hour. As it is, however, Mathew is the only one of my children to choose to play sports. Ethan refuses, but I think it's because he sees soccer as the usurper of horse riding lessons. I know in his mind if he says yes to sports, soon he'd be horseless and he simply won't budge on the issue. It's horses or nothing. Megan sees no point in putting on a uniform that does not involve pink or splarkes. I bet your sweet bickies if I were to bedazzle a soccer uniform, she'd run out on the field and play like a Central American...(c'mon, you know those guys rock at soccer.)

So, I must admit I am enjoying this season MUCH more than our previous two. As you may recall, we've had a few speedbumps in past years. It might not surprise you that I came into this year with fairly low expectations. But no. This year we have a goalie. We have a real ref. We have strategy. We have little boys who really really want to kick the ball and relish in the glory when that ball rolls into the goal (ok, sometimes accidentally).

Our team is called the Green Machine. I dig their new uniforms....it helps that it reminds me of my good ole Payson. Go Big Green! Oh yeah, I just remembered that I always hated yelling that. Big green? What the heck is a big green?

Nevertheless. I love sitting on the sidelines and getting into the game. And not that it matters, it so totally does, but the Green Machines are unstoppable! They are undefeated...even by the 8 year old girls they scrimmage with twice a week. 8 year old girls!

So, so far I haven't gotten in any fights with other soccer moms, so that's progress. Although Laney did fall down the cement steps by the field because she thought it was a hilarious game to run from me while I scream "NO LANEY! NO! DANGER!". Not so hilarious after all. Ouch.

The other thing I've noticed is that boys really need a coach. You know.. a guy who isn't your dad and won't take any of your bologna. When that guys says, "Mat! Stop pickin your nose!" or "Mat, hustle! Get in there and kick that ball!", he stops pickin, hustles and kicks the ball. It's inspiring. And because he's not his dad, and he doesn't love him and have to say it, when he yells, "Way to get in there!" it's like manna from heaven to a six year old boy. The only challenge is to zip my lip and let him do what he needs to do, although every ounce of the mommy in me wants desperately to explain that perhaps the reason he isn't hustling is because he's a little tuckered out from the cold he had last week. No excuses....just coaching. I'm zipping the lip and Mathew is loving soccer.

So am I.

Go Big Green.