After missing four seasons, we will load up in our van Saturday morning and head out to the park to register for the fall soccer season. That is right, the Parmer family will once again be immersed in the culture that is youth sports and ready to bring the odd back to the field. The funny part is, I’m pretty sure my form of “odd” is what was once considered sane and normal.
So what does an odd soccer mom look like you ask?
She dresses comfortably, with her hair pulled up, ready to kick a few balls around with the kids before practice and games. Chances are she has some chettos smudged on her shirt for her three year old and is pitying you when you realize you can’t sit down on the grass in your white dress pants as your heels begin to kill your feet.
She isn’t sitting on the sidelines working on her vocal skills. You won’t hear her cheering her kid on for every miniscule achievement, nor will she be shouting at the couch in between berating her kid. She chooses to reserve her praise for when it will mean the most and saves the coach bashing banters for when her and her hubs get to have some adult conversation later in the evening.
When it is her turn to bring the snacks, she is realistic. She realizes you can’t please everyone all the time, so the parents and the kids will have to deal with energy packed, semi-healthy goods that happened to have coupon that week.
It doesn’t that odd, but when you actually walk out onto those fields, start to look around and socialize, you realize that being a reasonable and calm person is about as odd as it gets.
I have to admit that I’m not entirely thrilled to jump into that arena again or toss my kids back into an arena where 5 year olds are cussing and 7 year olds behave like demon spawns. My kids love to play thought and whether I like the options available these days or not, my poor homeschooled kids really do need to socialize with other kids more often.
I’m just going to keep my fingers crossed that, just like last time we played, none of those bad words and even worse behaviors follow us home from the field. Even more than that, I’m going to hold my breath in hopes that a helicopter mom or a “dance mom” type doesn’t plop next to me trying to be my new bff.