Today is Samuel’s first soccer practice. He’s been so excited about it, yesterday I almost couldn’t convince him to take off his cleats to go to bed.
Personally, I hate soccer. I don’t have any good experiences with the sport. We last tried soccer two years ago and my memories were of hauling 3 children + approximately 8000 tons of equipment across rocky terrain – uphill both ways of course – to a remote soccer field where I watched Matthew spend an hour getting tangled up in the net.
There were bloody skinned knees, lots of crying and much whining. And the kids weren’t happy either.
So here we are again, at 9am on a Saturday, and we’re off to another stellar start.
I think the highlight of my morning was when, after showing up 5 minutes late for practice, I stepped into a hole and fell flat on my face right in front of all the parents.
I made a crack about it being too early in the morning to be walking but later thought how funny it would have been if I had said I had had one too many margaritas for breakfast. Then at least I would set their expectations so low, nothing else I did would shock them.
And they might even “forget” to sign me up for snacks!
While I’m on the topic, I hate the whole thing about bringing snacks to every game. So much pressure to bring just the right thing. And as if the snack pressure wasn’t enough, the really annoying, way too energetic and fit coaches wife is talking about making shakers for the parents to use as noisemakers at the games, as well as banners for the kids to run through.
Because I have nothing better to do all week than multiple craft projects. For my 5 year old’s soccer team.
Also, Samuel decided after about 30 minutes that practice is hard and that he’s over soccer. And practice today is 2 hours long.
What a bad attitude! I wonder where he gets it?
