I suggested that we all bring our own snacks.
They all just looked at me. Silent. Like I was crazy for even saying such a thing.
Maybe they didn’t understand me, so I repeated it.
Why don’t we all just bring our own snacks for our own kids.
No. They understood. Ummm, yeah, we don’t do that. Nobody does that.
Well, who knew? Seemed like a good idea to me. After all, I have to bring snacks anyways for little sister.
But I came to find out that we have to have group snacks. Twice. One for half time, like a real live fruit. The second comes at the end of the game as a goodie bag filled with various nutritional items and juice boxes.
Everyone seemed on board so I didn’t want to scoff at the idea but, well, ummmm, I scoffed. To my husband. In the car on the way home.
Since when can’t children go one hour without having to eat twice.
(It’s worth noting that the night before the game that I was scheduled to bring snack my son got sick. So…I didn’t bring snack. I’m betting team bring your own snack got a few new members that morning.)
I have certain expectations.
I expect things.
From a 15 year old volunteer coach.
(pause for laughter)
I’m ridiculous. You don’t have to tell me. I already know.
But, never the less, apparently I have Joe Jackson like expectations for my son and his teammates.
I want them to be little Pele’s going for the gold or World Cup or whatever it is that championship five year old soccer players get.
I sit on my blanket eagerly awaiting the top notch training that my little soccer star will be getting. Half way through sharks and minnows, I start questioning these methods.
I don’t know the rules of soccer. Up until this point I didn’t even realize they played different positions. I thought there was the goal keeper and everybody else played the position of kick the ball into the goal.
The first practice lasted an hour. The second one lasted 45 minutes (I thought this happened by accident.) The third one lasted 35 minutes.
Ummm, I’m sorry, but we still have another 25 minutes.
Well, ummm, for this age group practices last between 35- 45 minutes.
I sit stunned, trying to mask my irritation. Am I the only one that cares? How is my 5 year old supposed to get a full ride to college when he’s only practicing 35 minutes a week? Note to self, buy cones for at home practice.
I am prepared. I have plenty of water and extra snacks in case someone forgets snacks.
I check out the other team. Their coach. Their parents.
The game starts.
I marvel at my ability to casually cheer for my child all the while inside I’m thinking GO GO GO, get in there, why are you not in THERE, kick the ball!!! Turn it around, TURN IT AROUND, get up, you’re not hurt, shake it off, GO GO GO.
I clap when the other team gets a goal. I’m modeling good sportsmanship.
I hope they don’t do that again. I want my son’s team to win this.
Half way through the game we are losing.
I fantasize that I’m a kid on my son’s soccer team and the epic goal I would make.
I fantasize that I’m the coach and the epic coaching I would administer.
My son starts doing somersaults. Next comes airplanes.
He ninja kicks the soccer ball.
He runs full force to where the ball is but when he gets there he just keeps on running.
My son doesn’t understand the point of this game.
My husband and I discuss possible options for motivating… wait a minute…
A child on the other team scores his third goal.
He yells out to his parents that’s three ice cream cones.
Well played parents.
My husband and I admire their strategy and make mental notes.