And a totally enthused and dedicated soccer playing kid.
A few weeks ago I signed Caroline up for soccer, while depleting our bank account rather significantly, in the process. She's played soccer before. She liked it enough, but she didn't profess undying devotion to the sport. Her lack of enthusiasm led me to come to terms with the fact that I'll never be a soccer mom. You know the type. During Kindergarten we did two seasons of soccer, and a season each of basketball and t-ball. Caroline went, played, had fun, but didn't care one way or another if she ever did it again. Her ambivalence led Craig and I to determine that she's just not a team sport kind of person. I think she has the internal competitiveness that I posses, leaving her more suited towards running or swimming. Something on an individual level.
We did swimming lessons last year, but after two sessions, Caroline declared that she needed a break. So for the past six months we didn't participate in any sort of organized activity. It was fine and kind of freeing; she played hard outside and spent lots of time with her neighborhood friends. I tend to believe that above all else, kids need to play. This is a foreign line of thinking to our friends and neighbors, much like being a conservative in the liberal mecca that is the Northern Virginia/DC area. Kids around here are over scheduled and involved in a plethora of activities at any given time. Mom's spend more than half their life in the car and well over half their money on all these activities.
Caroline's two best buds play soccer and being the type of kid she is, Caroline declared that second grade would be the right time to start playing soccer again. Eh, whatever.
So we signed up, but found that a coach hadn't been secured for her team. After some emails sent by the director trying to guilt the parents into coaching, one
I was SO close to just giving up on the whole thing. I even composed an email to the soccer director, but once I spoke with the coach, I changed my mind. There is something about knowing the coach and recognizing familiar faces that makes this seem a wee bit more enjoyable. Caroline is more than fine with jumping into a new situation, where she doesn't know anyone, but not me. And I'm not even on the team.
We're supposed to have a practice tonight. The first game is tomorrow (!). But, it's raining. And windy. And the temperature has dropped significantly in the past few days. The field will, without a doubt, be sopping wet. We're supposed to meet, regardless of the weather, to at least pass out uniforms, but these poor kids are going to show up clueless tomorrow.
Well, not clueless. They're all six and seven so I'm pretty sure they recognize and understand the basic premise of soccer: kick the ball into the goal. The OTHER TEAM'S goal. Of course, Caroline has the added issue of FOR THE LOVE OF PETE, DON'T GET HIT IN THE MOUTH to focus on. If she breaks any more teeth, you'll find me in a hysterical blob on the field, wailing, cursing, sobbing and losing my ever loving mind.
I told her the first time she gets hit, I'm getting her a mouth guard. Target had the cheapy kind by the soccer gear and I really should have bought one. Perhaps I'm hopeful that all teeth will remain firmly placed in her mouth throughout the course of the season.
I'm the model of positivity.
And, keeping with this theme of positive thinking, Caroline is now able to both put on and remove her shin gaurds all by herself. You have no idea how exciting this is. I reckon she'll need help with her socks, but at least she'll be able to contribute a little bit to the soccer prep. What a relief.
With that being said, the jury is still out on whether or not she'll put her jersey on the right way.
She's the type of kid that just cannot be bothered with details.
Makes me wonder where her real mom is hiding. Because it surely can't be me.