by definition, i’m a soccer mom. middle class. three kids. minivan. carpool, at a private school. after-school activities. basketball. dance. swimming. i pop an occasional xanax. i have a house in the suburbs. a park across the street. a nanny.
the one thing about me that doesn’t scream soccer mom is, well, THE SOCCER.
i hate it. i’m not cut out to be a literal soccer mom.
sure, i love his little (read: gigantic) uniform.
(please note: old picture. that PACI is gone with the wind)
and i love seeing his growth from trotting around aimlessly on the field to actually going after the ball and getting down and dirty. (i now have to stop paying him to touch the ball. now i pay him for goals)
but when i go to games…i spend way more time planted in my maple leaf chair from Canadian Tire…i spend more time taking pictures with miss emily…
and i spend more time huddling in the corner trying not to FREEZE my ass off…
and i spend more time watching Isabella do laps around her daddy…
…than i do, actually, erm, paying attention to the game.
i can’t stand at the sidelines and YELL YELL YELL until i lose my voice. i can’t use profanities (like some of the moms do) to get my son to be more aggressive. i can’t complain to the 13-year-old ref when i think she made a bad call. i can’t compete with these moms. they are ruthless. i’m so much more of the buy the equipment and throw your kid on to the field and leave him in the hands of the coaches who know more than i do and celebrate when he does something good kind of mom
and this fall, i’m going to be attempting to do something much, much more ruthless.
i’m going to be an ICE HOCKEY MOM.
now, i know some moms are going to tell me that age five is already late to start playing hockey…and Josh has been taking skating for the last 3 years…but i think it was ME who wasn’t ready…
i’m scared of the other hockey moms. if i can’t be a soccer mom, how on earth am i going to be a hockey mom?!?!?!? i mean, of course, after i’ve gone broke from buying all the starter hockey equipment…
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