Soccer Mom-ing is indeed a skill

Turns out.  It takes more than being a mother and showing up at a soccer field to make you a soccer mom.

Last year in Winona Lake, we loved to uber-cheap camps that the Parks department had, and we discovered then that Tallie loves soccer.

This year, I wanted to keep her love for the game up.  The Allen county Parks and Rec also has camps.  They aren't as cheap as we had last year, but they are WAY cheaper than the gymnastics classes that our daycare holds.  So, we figured we would get the girls excited about this soccer camp, to keep them from being too bummed that they aren't in gymnastics with the other daycare kids.

Day 1 of soccer camp was yesterday.  I'd like to preface this story with saying, it is totally acceptable to laugh at me.  I knew w/in seconds of arriving that I was going to end up using that afternoon as a story I retell :)

Our schedule on camp days is nuts.  The night before I pack the girls' cold dinners, and put soccer shoes (i.e. their oldest tennies) and clothes in the van.  I leave work one hour early (4pm) and pick them up at daycare.  We drive to the church where camp is, they change in the van.

As they are changing it dawns on me that I have coats and hats for them, but nothing for me.  I am in a short tulip skirt and a thin 3/4 sleeve cami.  It is barely 50 degrees, crazy windy, and spitting rain.  I call the Parks department, praying it has been cancelled last minute.  I plan to feign annoyance.

It isn't.  Soon I see a couple people walk out onto the field, and fight the wind to set up mini goals, and chase soccer balls that escape their bags.  All the while they keep pulling their coats tighter.  I silently curse their bravery and grit.

I bundle the girls up, and we walk towards the field for Kaia's half hour class.  Parent participation is required- it is safe to say I had no idea what that meant.  10 other parents show up with their two-year olds as well.  They and their children are almost, to a person, dressed in warm Northface and trendy jeans.  (Seriously?)  We all pretend that it was our kid's idea to attend soccer camp, and that we have no where else we'd rather be.

I spend a good portion of my time holding my short tulip skirt down between gusts of icy wind.  I am confident that many residents of the Fort Wayne area saw way more of Britni Eisenmann than they preferred to.  During 'warm up' (because 2 yr olds need structured warm up time before they head into an intense 20 minutes of ball handling), I was at times on my knees in the mud, at times bent over with my rear in the face of the poor dad behind me, and at times attempting to do jumping jacks while holding my skirt down.  All the while I am using this horrendous high-pitched voice, trying to keep Kaia interested.

Mercifully, the actual soccer practice didn't require any more acrobatics from old mumsy.  My toes go numb about 15 minutes before Kaia's class ends.  I am doing way more with this stupid ball than she is.  Towards the end of class, she keeps running away, towards a playground.  Probably 10 times I run after her (well, trot, whilst holding my skirt with one hand) and guide her back with a firm finger dug into her spine and an overly-cheery voice that is just loud enough for the coach to hear.  "Whoops honey, wrong direction!  Let's practice dribbling down the field!"

By the grace of God, Kaia's class ends.  Tallie, Kaia, and I pretty much run to the van.  I peel off their layers, crank the heat, and give them their packed dinners.

Way too soon, it is time for Tallie's class.  It was essentially the same, except that Tallie was totally interested the whole time.  Oh yeah, and Kaia was on my hip shivering and alternatly balling and yelling that she wanted to go home.  aye yi yi.  Those other parents are SO going to recognize me next time I come.  We decide to leave early.  The coaches give the 4yr old class a 'break', and I about lose my mind.  (Can't we just power through all of this freezing awfulness and call it a day?  Let's skip the mandated break, ok??)  Then, Tallie decides she has a desperate urge to pee.  I see my exit.  I take my exit.  We run to the van.  I back out and begin the drive home, the second that feeling returns to my lower digits.

People, I am not skilled at being a soccer mom.  I'm pretty sure that no matter how many soccer camps my kids attend, that this just ain't ever gonna be my game.  At least I set the lower bar for the other parents :D