Four different "soccer mama" shirts, emblazoned with my player's name on the back, so there can be no doubt. Four different buttons (two soccer, one dance, one basketball) weighing down my jacket. Parked at the midfield line - or "my spot", as it is always known. Proud.
I am that mama. You know her. The one who cannot sit still. The one coaching from the wrong side of the field. The one giving you a headache, two games away from yours. The one jumping for joy when her kid scores a goal. The one who never says two words outside of the soccer fields, but can't shut up about how incredible her kid and her kid's team is. The one who always looks angry, except...
I like sports sometimes. I never miss a Super Bowl, watched every single game Michael Jordan played from 1996 to when he retired the first time, catch every KU basketball game I can, and used to watch a lot of boxing. I'm telling you, I can sit and enjoy a good game of almost any kind. But I live for watching my kids play sports.
Every Saturday morning...and Wednesday night practice...and Thursday night practice...and Saturday afternoon camp. Every season. Indoor and outdoor. Soccer...tball...volleyball...basketball...cross country...tennis.
You know those crazy ladies who won't chit chat during the games... the ones who aren't there to socialize or make friends...the ones who abandon their chairs to stalk up and down the sidelines shouting encouragement (or directions in Spanish so the other players don't know what they're saying)... the ones who seem to live and die with every touch of the ball? Yes, we know we look a little crazy. We know you want us to sit down and shut up. We see you rolling your eyes and whispering to each other that it's just a game.
And, you're right..it is just a game. But it's a game that makes our kid feel like a superstar. It's a game that brought our struggling girl out of her cocoon and into the limelight of accomplishment. It's a game that we have shivered in the cold through, or bought new cleats for, or woke up extra early to get to, or practiced after school every day to prepare for, or wore the lucky socks to.
Or, maybe it is just a game. Maybe it's silly that her and I wore out the net in our driveway getting her touch so comfortable she doesn't have to think about it anymore. Maybe it is ridiculous that I run out onto the field like she won the World Cup when I've watched her play her heart out for an hour on a crisp, October morning. Maybe you're doing it right in your chair, on your phone, only half watching your child being a kid.
But, last Saturday, I missed the first game since Sofia was in kindergarten. And, my Eva scored the first goal I ever didn't stand up to cheer for. She called me at work to tell me all about it:
"I looked at your spot when you weren't yelling, mama. And then I remembered you weren't there. It was weird and I missed you."
So, next time you wonder why the crazy lady on the sideline won't treat this like another chore she is forced into by her child....the next time you have to move your chair further down the sidelines because she's cheering louder than you are...the next time you're tired and cranky and cold on a soccer sideline: remember that there's a kid on the field looking for her.
And then remember that she's cheering for your kid too. She'll race to the bench after the game to make sure she tells every kid on the team what a great job they did. And she will mean it. And, at the last practice of the season, when it's kids vs parents, she will whoop up on your kid. Just to prove she can...just to show there's a reason they should listen to her coaching from the wrong side of the field...just to earn her spot at the midfield line.
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