Soccer

David Beckham can sleep well knowing that there is no threat of Mikie stealing his job. . .Today was Mikie's first soccer practice. Technically, last weekend was his first soccer practice, but due to the remnants of Hurricane Hannah, we just drove over and picked up his uniform.

Mikie is one of 65 Mighty Mights. Yes, there are 64 other kids he is practicing with. The Mighty Mights team includes all kids who don't qualify for the youngest of the youth soccer teams (ie, anyone under the age of 5). And, I was amazed to see some people did enroll their 2 year olds to play soccer. I found this incredulous. Because my 4 year old has a hard enough time listening to directions, I can't fathom anyone younger listening. But I digress. . .65 children under the age of 5 surrounded by at least one parent/grandparent per child. That makes for a whole lot of people crammed around a tiny section of soccer field. After the coach reviewed his expectations of us as parents of kids under 5 (basically, don't just drop your kid off and leave in case they get hurt or scared), all the kids grabbed their soccer ball and ran onto the field. The first task was dribbling the ball (kicking it back and forth between your feet for anyone who hasn't played soccer). When the coach yelled "red light" everyone was supposed to stop and put one foot on their soccer ball.

The first problem with practice was all 65 children looked identical. Every child looked exactly the same. For one, every child was wearing white shorts, white soccer socks pulled over their shin guards, and an orange shirt, all labeled with the number "1" on the back (so as not to hurt anyone's feelings). Secondly, every child really DID look the same. I kid you not, we must live in the least diverse city in the country. Every child had dirty blond/light brown hair. So, after watching other people's children that I THOUGHT were my son, I started trying to identify him based on the color of his soccer ball (Mikie having picked a red ball, his favorite color). See if you can identify him in the picture below:(In case you aren't sure, he is the kid in the orange shirt to the right of the girl in a green and white shirt).

The second problem with practice was that Mikie thought it more important to chat up the little girl who lives down the road than listen to the coach OR play soccer. If I couldn't find Mikie, I would simply locate Erin, and, odds were, Mikie would be standing nearby flirting. What was even funnier was how equally enamored she was with him. When Mikie actually DID focus on playing, Erin would suddenly realize she couldn't see him, and you could hear her calling "MIKIE" from everywhere on the field. And, like a lost puppy, he would make his way back over to her. I had to laugh, because I realized if anyone of our friend's from college witnessed this, I would have been harassed, since I was guilty of calling down the hall for Mike the same way when we were in college. (For anyone having a "Where's Waldo" moment, Mikie and Erin are pictured in the center of the photo, in front of the dad in the blue shirt.)

The third problem with practice (and why I will never make a good soccer mom), was other people's kids. Most of the kids were great, out having a good time. A few were timid, and wanted mom to hold their hand as they ran through drills. Then there were the kids who you just wanted to yell "suck it up" at them. Unfortunately for me, one of these kid's parents happened to be stationed next to me. At one point, the team started to play games of freeze tag (the kids all kicked their soccer balls up and down the field and if the coach tagged you, you were frozen). Every time this particular kid got tagged, he ran of the field crying hysterically. His parents kept trying to reassure him that it was "all part of the game" and he was "doing great". By the third time he ran off the field, I had to bite my tongue to keep from screaming at him "get a grip".

Alas, like "stay-at-home-mom", "soccer-mom" seems to be a personality trait I lack. Thankfully, the coaching staff seems to be much better at handling kids.

Aside from this, practice was very amusing. From the Massachusetts accents which many of the parents and the coach all seemed to have (I was wondering what he meant by "pitchers" since we were playing soccer; it took me a minute to realize he was talking about team "pictures") to Mikie raising his hand that he was a girl (we had a long conversation about that afterward). And, most importantly, Mikie had a lot of fun (and got immensely dirty and sweaty). So, it appears that we will all be continuing to participate in soccer. I will just need to learn to become more tolerant before next Saturday.

Love, The Trahans