Team Benchwarmer

I never played soccer when I was a kid.

I know, I know. What kid didn't play soccer? Well, me. The kid who was tall and gangly and afraid of the ball. I was that kid. I still am. When you lack hand-eye coordination and don't like things being thrown or kicked at you, you're pretty limited in the sports you can play. And if you don't care about winning or losing or being part of a team, maybe you're doing everyone a favor by staying on the sidelines.

7th grade me showed a serious lapse in good judgement by signing up for basketball, which was really just a precursor for all of the judgement lapses that would soon hallmark my teenage years. Anyway. It didn't take long for me, or the coach for that matter, to realize that I had no business being out there on that basketball court. I'm not sure why my teammates didn't hire out a hitman to bust up my kneecaps or at least vote me off the team, which really would have been the humane thing to do. Instead I played. Well, I "played" if by "playing" you mean that I shuffled up and down the court and ducked/cringed whenever the ball came near me.

Alas, no valuable life lesson was learned and in the spring I volunteered to be on the softball team. That was much less humiliating since I could just strike out quickly and return to the bench. I think- my memory of middle school grows mercifully hazier as the years pass- that we may have even won some sort of championship, no thanks to me, of course.

And then I married Brent. A real soccer guy. He knows and loves the game and I'll never forget the first time I saw him play indoor soccer because he is an actual athlete, who becomes a completely different person when he steps onto the field. Soccer Brent is super aggressive and loud and smells much worse than Regular Brent.

Now I recognize that same intensity and drive in Jack. He flies up and down that field. His eye never leaves the ball. And even though you don't technically keep score in first grade soccer, he wants so badly to win.



It's not about winning and losing when you play first grade soccer. You're supposed to learn about being part of a team and practicing good sportsmanship and all that feel-good stuff that gives kids like me false hope about their athletic futures. Jack will sit patiently through the team-building exercises and play Red Rover over and over and over again, but all he really wants to do is play soccer.

I'll never have that drive. I'll never feel that competitive intensity that pushes you to play to win. But I will have the sidelines.

Being the working parent means you sometimes feel disconnected from your kids' schools. I worried about that in the beginning, especially since we live across town from our school. Would I get to know the other parents? Would I feel like I belonged?

I've spent the last month watching Brent out on the field in coach mode while Sawyer runs with the other little brothers and sisters who will probably be on his soccer teams someday. I've been a big contributor to the official sideline chatter. I've shared shared snacks and blankets and cheered for kids who we'll know for at least the next 11 years. And while I've watched Jack's circle of friends expanding, I've made new friends of my own.

The last soccer game of the season was a relief, no more evening practices that leave us sitting down to a rushed dinner at 7, no hustle out the door to make a 9am Saturday game. But I have to admit that it's also a bit of a letdown. I have learned to love the game, too.

But only from the sidelines.

Tweet

Non Sequitur

1. Thanks to Pandora's Halloween Party station, Sawyer had his first exposure to Michael Jackson's "Thriller." This kid loves to dance and, let's face it, who doesn't want to dance like a zombie while decorating the house for Halloween? Not me. 

It turns out (this will NOT surprise some of you) that I was actually better at doing the Thriller dance before I watched the YouTube instructional video. Whatevs. Choreography is not for everyone.

2. Why don't more adults throw themselves birthday parties? Grown up parties are so much more fun than kid parties. No gift bags, no pinatas, just booze and a lotta cake.

3. I live in fear that people refer to these two as the "Ross boys" as in "Stay away from those Ross boys." So when they manage to play together without throttling each other, it's a photo worthy experience.

4. My rough and tumble, toothless, dirty kneed boy wanted more than anything to go to the ballet. He cleans up nicely, don't you think?

5. And then there was the sun.

6. A half day at my school meant an afternoon of volunteering in Jack's first grade class. I dropped Sawyer off at preschool on my way and was reminded that we never submitted our family photo for the "Special Friends" book. Damn.

So over the three day weekend I was determined to get a picture of the five of us. How hard could it be? People do this all the time.

We should have gone to Sears.

7. Brent and I collaborated on a ridiculously awesome pizza. Chevre, garlic, red onions, and pineapple. We ate the whole thing, just the two of us. I regret nothing.

8. Apple picking is a lot easier than blueberry picking. 50 pounds in thirty minutes. Hell yeah.

9. Obvi too busy to come up with any substantial blogging material. C'est la vie. I've got applesauce to make. And awkward family photos to take. Happy fall!

Tweet