Soccer Mom

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I seem to have gone from “cool mom” to “soccer mom” in like 0 to 20mph in a school zone. In what may as well have been one week, I received a 2003 Honda Odyssey with 150,000 miles on it (thanks dad!) and signed two of my boys up for soccer. The two go hand in hand right? It’s on the purchase ticket that soccer be included in the sale? Honestly, I don’t know why minivans get such a bad rap. Stepping into mine for the first time was like finding God after being all squished into a Ford Escape for so long. And oh my, it even has a DVD player in the back, but I digress!

I’m going to be serious here for a second; I don’t know if I’ve got what it takes to be a soccer mom. She says with hands cupped over mouth like it’s a big secret.

It turns out for his first season ever playing a real live competitive sport, so far he had been in all instructional, that my oldest son’s team has played well enough to be ranked 1st in their division, which means they are going to the playoffs this weekend. I’m not entirely bragging as much as I am worried I may have a stroke from all of the stress.

Charlie has one practice a week and plays his games on Saturdays. As the season has gone on and the kids have progressively gotten better and better, the games have become much more intense. Last Saturday which was the last game of the regular season, my son scored the only goal in the game which helped his team go on to win 1-0. Proud mama moment right there!

Seeing him score for the first time coupled with the look of exuberance on his face, and I nearly broke down into an uncontrollable ugly cry of pride. I choked back the overwhelming emotions while clinging to the baby in one arm and my vanilla marshmallow almond milk latte in the other. The game ended, I clapped. But not really. What I actually did was to throw my half full coffee to the ground like a running back spiking the ball into the opposing teams end zone. I’m not Greek, it wasn’t a plate and this wasn’t a wedding. It was messy yet people did not stop from walking through it.

I left the boys to seek out paper towels and penance for my wreckage. Finally cleaned up, my body thought it would be hilarious if I went full spas and into a coughing fit I went. Coughing, retching and nearly vomiting all over myself, I clung to my 6 year olds Avengers sippy cup and sipped like all of our lives depended on it until it was safe to get the hell out of dodge. Why were we here again? Everyone was watching. Proud mama moment?

If owning a minivan and becoming a soccer mom has taught me one thing, it is that I am not emotionally stable for this. I can only imagine what will happen as my boys get older and more competitive in their choice of sports and their levels of embarrassment for their parents behavior become more acute. To this boys I can only offer a preemptive “I’m sorry.” For now I am praying I don’t literally break something during the playoff and championship games if we make it there. Just in case though I’ve got the ambulance on notice. Wish us luck!

About The Author



I am a food allergy mama of 4 boys, a former fashion designer, and a master of the five point palm exploding heart technique, keeping it Fantastico.

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