I've never had dreams of being a soccer mom. It's a cold season. It's not a life sport. I have a hundred excuses as to why, but it has never been a priority on my top 100 things I want to be when I grow up. I knew on Jett's first birthday when he was gifted a soccer ball by his Aunt Faren it was my destiny. Jett opened that ball and as it hit the ground his newly walking legs walked right over and as if he had been schooled in the ways of soccer for months prior to his mobility, he approached the ball and kicked it- not just a small kick but like a legit, I know what I'm doing kick. The grandparents were in awe. Cullen was bursting with pride. I assessed all McCarty pottery in the room, and resigned myself to coming years spent on the soccer field.
Jett's team this year has a few church members on it, so it's more like a Sunday school reunion each week than a meet and greet of newbies.
There are a number of moments in the games when we just yell for someone to kick the ball, and at times it is excruciating watching the ball go down the field the wrong way, but so far Jett is enjoying it. His grandparents come each week to cheer him on.
He is learning teamwork skills, he is learning to work for something. I'm learning to tolerance, how to pack a car for all weather, and that if I have a purse full of candy even I can enjoy being a soccer mom.