One minute I'm standing in the clubhouse of Yankee Stadium interviewing Derek Jeter. The next I've become a soccer mom.
A SOCCER MOM!!!
How did this happen?
Actually, it was quite simple. I got married and had Sawyer and Sage and then "retired" from the newspaper business. Sawyer turned four and that opened up some new athletic opportunities for him. And how can you live in the OC without at least attempting soccer?
I wanted my kids to play sports. I just didn't count on this particular fringe benefit.
It became official this past weekend when I sent David over to the community center to sign Sawyer up for AYSO, starting in the fall. No idea why I had to sign him up five months early. Apparently our "region" is in the top ten for participation in the country(over 3,000vkids), so they need all that time to process the paperwork. Because I guess they haven't quite entered the computer age.
Sawyer is also going to play in a rec league that starts in a couple weeks. I had to buy him shorts, socks and shin guards, which practically come up to mid-thigh. We're still working on getting him cleats. Cleats! Thank the lord I don't have to buy him a cup yet.
I never played soccer. It wasn't really big yet when I was growing up. Our high school only had a varsity team since there weren't enough girls who played. I was interested in it, but I had a lot of pain in my knees back then so I never tried.
Some of my college friends played and I got to see first-hand what the sport can do to a pedicure. Yeouch.
As a sportswriter, I covered tons of soccer, from the high school to the NCAA Division I tournament level. I get the game. I know the rules. I understand the strategy. I know what a nutmeg is. I know when to yell "good ball!".
What I didn't know is that soccer balls come in different sizes. It never even occured to me! Basketballs are basketballs! Though come to think of it, is the girls ball still smaller than the boys ball? Anyway. Baseballs are baseballs, softballs are softballs..you get the picture.
I went to Target to get Sawyer some shorts, and decided to get him a ball. He needed size three (five being the biggest). How cute is that?
Pretty soon, I'm going to be hanging around the soccer field. An official Soccer Mom, which to me, means we're going to have to go out and get a minivan to fit in.
I really do think of a Soccer Mom as a not-so-young woman schlepping her kids around to practices and games and weekend tournaments. She's kind of frumpy. She has goldfish cracker crumbs permanently embedded on her butt.
She is SO not sexy.
Aren't I too young for this?
But you know, I've promised myself I won't be one of "those" parents, who humiliate their children by making complete asses of themselves, screaming at the refs, the coaches, other players, whatever, like their kid is freakin' David Beckham.
So I'll haul my kids to wherever they need to go. And I'll cheer them on. Because unlike those moms (and dads) who are pushy stage parents of the pitch, I know it's not about me. Or my label.
I'm saying it loud and saying it proud: I'm a Soccer Mom.
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