I can't say that I've ever dreamed of being a soccer mom, primarily because I grew up in the Land of Perpetual Drizzle. Soccer in the Seattle area generally amounts to little more than a group of children sliding around in mud, providing less-than-sufficient entertainment for the shivering spectators huddled together under super-sized umbrellas. Not that I was ever unfortunate enough to participate in either role. I do, however, have vivid memories of the pity I felt upon viewing such spectacles from the comfort of my family's heated Suburban on the way to real entertainment... like shopping. An athlete I am not.
However, I happened to marry a firm believer in the value of team sports. I've been reluctant to join in due to the demanding schedules of some leagues, but we were able to locate one in our area that has a rather gentle, family-oriented approach to that little black and white ball. So we decided to give it a try. Alyssa and Parker get to practice in the same place on the same day at the same time, and their games are back to back most Saturday mornings for just 8 weeks. Their coaches are pretty laid back, and I'm not sure Parker has even noticed that his team has lost every game.
Then this week he said: