Soccer Mom, With Site Feed
Yes. Have upgraded the blog life. (Hey, Rachael! Update your Bloglines!)
The child went off to his first soccer game today, and we went with. There was supposed to be practice on Wednesday night, but that didn't happen, since there was all that pesky flooding, so instead there was 15 minutes of practice before the game. Some of us were a little concerned about how this was going to go. The child is a healthy little thing, but he's not especially focused on athletics. Sent outside to enjoy the backyard, he climbs a tree and reads a book.
But he was fine. He paid attention -- more or less -- and he did his job, and he got better as time went on, and he got a lot of exercise, and he experienced teamwork. So now we have a new stage of life, and I guess now I'm a soccer mom, which I'm pleased with, as it requires a whole new costume, AND I get to knit on the sidelines, without feeling guilty, even though I am not doing anything more productive, such as the laundry.
One of the first problems the coach is going to have to address with this gaggle of 8 year old suburbanites, however, is that they've apparently all been taught to be polite. So it's fine with them to kick the ball, and take it up and down the field, and even aim it -- more or less -- at the goal, but if someone on the other team is gearing up to kick the ball, they don't naturally run in and kick the damn thing away. No, they all hang back and wait. Politely.
Well, that will have to stop.
Nobody's very good on his team, but that's ok, cause nobody was very good on the other team, either. I take this back, now that I think of it. There was one player on the child's team who was noteworthy. She was a tiny little thing, with glasses and a blonde pony tail, and she was On The Ball. Every time she saw it. She was fearless. She was not polite (though she didn't actually whack anybody, which is Right Out in the Pleasant Hills games). She made a high percentage of the goals, like all of them. We looked on our team list, to try and figure out who she was. Ah. Coach's daughter.
Cool. Got us a ringer.
The child went off to his first soccer game today, and we went with. There was supposed to be practice on Wednesday night, but that didn't happen, since there was all that pesky flooding, so instead there was 15 minutes of practice before the game. Some of us were a little concerned about how this was going to go. The child is a healthy little thing, but he's not especially focused on athletics. Sent outside to enjoy the backyard, he climbs a tree and reads a book.
But he was fine. He paid attention -- more or less -- and he did his job, and he got better as time went on, and he got a lot of exercise, and he experienced teamwork. So now we have a new stage of life, and I guess now I'm a soccer mom, which I'm pleased with, as it requires a whole new costume, AND I get to knit on the sidelines, without feeling guilty, even though I am not doing anything more productive, such as the laundry.
One of the first problems the coach is going to have to address with this gaggle of 8 year old suburbanites, however, is that they've apparently all been taught to be polite. So it's fine with them to kick the ball, and take it up and down the field, and even aim it -- more or less -- at the goal, but if someone on the other team is gearing up to kick the ball, they don't naturally run in and kick the damn thing away. No, they all hang back and wait. Politely.
Well, that will have to stop.
Nobody's very good on his team, but that's ok, cause nobody was very good on the other team, either. I take this back, now that I think of it. There was one player on the child's team who was noteworthy. She was a tiny little thing, with glasses and a blonde pony tail, and she was On The Ball. Every time she saw it. She was fearless. She was not polite (though she didn't actually whack anybody, which is Right Out in the Pleasant Hills games). She made a high percentage of the goals, like all of them. We looked on our team list, to try and figure out who she was. Ah. Coach's daughter.
Cool. Got us a ringer.
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