I live with five male people who love…live…eat…drink…and sleep…soccer.
And I love it.
I’m just not very good at it myself.
I’ve tried. Because I think the idea of “family games of soccer” sound like such a fun thing to do. And because everyone else loves it so much.
Sometimes I get brave and go outside to play a game with the boys. They usually say things like, “Are you gonna play too, Mom?” What do you think that means exactly? That they are excited that I am actually putting down the bowls and the butter to join them for a game….or that they are sure that now that Mom is here the fun will be over??
As the game begins…I feel alive and exuberant and full of energy and with-it-ness. About thirty seconds in…I remember how old I am. By the time one minute has passed I start thinking about how sore I’ll be tomorrow. After a minute and a half…I start asking for a time-out, so that I can…you know…discuss the playing strategy with my teammates.
After two minutes, fear begins to creep in…telling me that there’s a good chance that my body will continue to move forward in an effort to reach the ball…but instead of making my feet stop appropriately, I will run smack into a tree.
It is then that I’m hit with the glaring realization that our health insurace plan is not even close to being good enough for me to continue to try to run after a rolling ball alongside four little boys, each with the ability to always get to the ball before I do.
So, instead of joining in the game anymore…I decide that surely I can kick a few goals to my sons so that they can improve their goalie skills. Yes, I think to myself. I’ll just stand there and kick balls to them. That I can handle.
Excited about this new idea…the boys and I move two stumps to form goal posts.
I watch the boys shoot goals at each other for a while. It looks pretty stinkin’ easy. Just kick the ball forward a few feet. Hey, I say, give me a turn now.
They smile at me with excitement as I walk confidently up to the ball. One boy readies himself in the “goal box”.
Wait a second, I say to the boys. Which part of my foot should I kick with for a shot like this…the top or the side? (Because at least I know enough that I shouldn’t toe bash it.)
The boys come over and proceed to give me a ten minute (not an exaggeration) tutorial on the proper way to kick a ball at the goal from this particular distance. Wow, I think. Matt is doing a really good job teaching them the finer points of soccer. And while they can hardly remember to put the seat down after they use the toilet…they sure can remember every piece of soccer admonition they have ever received from their daddy.
I patiently listen for the entire ten minutes…then I calmly ask again, “Okay, so which part of my foot should I kick with?”
Finally ready to give it a go…I back up a few paces from the ball. One boy puts himself back into goalie readiness. The other boys say nice things like, “Go Mommy” and back out of the way.
I pull in a deep breath, take a look at the goal, and feel totally confident that I can kick the ball straight into it. My only hope is that I don’t kick it so hard as to hurt the boy in the goal box.
I take a few bounds toward the ball, rear my foot back and kick.
The ball limps pitifully to the left for a few short feet and then spins slowly to a stop.
The boys glance at me with raised eyebrows and a look that seems to say, “Um…I’m not going to laugh…but I also don’t have any idea about what I should say to you right now.”
I rescue them by saying, “Well…that’s all for me today. I better go in and work on dinner.”
The boys shrug, grin and decide who’s turn it is to kick the ball next as they watch me go into the house to do what I’m oh so much better at doing.
I still don’t know which part of my foot I kicked that ball with. But I’ll probably know tomorrow when the soreness kicks in.
I’d love to know how it works for YOU when (if) you play sports with your kids!?
Oh, my gosh..you are hilarious. You should write your “mommy memoirs”. God bless you. You make me smile all the time.
By the way I was just wondering what brand grinder (for wheat) you have? and what brand coconut oil you get. I want to try my hand at making donuts, my husband is not too keen on the cost of coconut oil.
OH, the joys of playing sports when you just know you don’t have a SPORTS bone in your body!
I am getting better at throwing a football and kicking a soccer ball… but I would rather bikeride with them and fly kites…LOL! I try hard, but really, they just love to laugh at me!
THANKGOODNESS you have MATT!
Shanon L Fowler says
ROFLOL What a HOOT!!
My kids are grown now, but we did play basketball (okay, mostly H-O-R-S-E or whatever), Kick ball, base ball & had a lot of fun. I’m sure I’ll get out there with my grand daughters when they start wanting to do sports things! I can hear it now “Move in … WAAAYY In … Granny’s up” Then I slug out the neighbors window with a wiffle ball! he he he “I’ll show them Granny’s up” pththththt LOL
Laura, you are too funny! Yep, your story here just about sizes up my feable attempts at joining my kiddoes in any sports. I’m woefully uncoordinated and the mere mention of anything sports related brings me back to my school days when I was usually the last one picked for teams — sigh. My 11yo son plays ice hockey and has since he was 6. My 9yo son plays both baseball and basketball. My usual excuse is, “Mommy has asthma and can’t do these sorts of things.” Thank goodness I have a daughter. I get to take her to her frou-frou ballet classes and revel in the she-she-ness of it all. YAY!
Blossoming Skillet says
It’s ok. Last time I tried to kick a soccer ball, I ended up stepping on it as I ran towards it and fell on my back. You’d win a match between you and I.
Your story was priceless!
Thanks for this post. It made me chuckle and reminds me of how things are in our household.
I know the feeling well of not knowing much about soccer. My son,13 plays.
This year my son’s team didn’t have a coach, so my husband and another parent put their hand up.
It has been a great learning experience as either parent knew anything about soccer. Lots of research on the net and purchase of any good soccer books later and our team is sitting in third position in the competition. There are eight teams all together, so not a bad effort for beginners. Finals start next week.
My son now aspires to become like David Beckham.
I almost woke the little ones up laughing so hard. Normally daddy is more of the rough house playmate. That’ll probably continue as our children get older.