Getting Our Game On

October Saturday mornings are a landscape of skinny jean-clad moms, strung Canon cameras and stainless steel coffee tumblers. Honda Odysseys and sundry SUVs frame a grassy field, reinforcing the yawning, parent perimeter. Lazy weekends are no more. Soccer season is upon us once again.

Every Saturday, I strive to not be that family. You know, the family where the mom is dispensing the "breakfast" poptart from the front seat, while dad does the '94 OJ chase-drive to the game, as one red-faced child chokes on his snotty sobs having lost his favorite socks. Inevitably, uniforms out-perform Houdini on soccer mornings. Someone always oversleeps. And I nearly lose my salvation as I mutter substitute expletives.  Yeah, we are almost always that family.

Goalside commiseration with other harried parents often assuages my earlier angst. However, before the caffeine can even do its holy work, every conversation is interrupted by a kid of mine lobbying from the field for attention. "Mom, hey mom, watch me!  Ma-Ommmm! Mom, did you see that?! Mom, look! Mom, look now! Did you see my pass? Did you see me kick? Did you see me score? Mommmmmmmmm!" I realize I have done something terribly wrong. My children are attention-starved, affirmation junkies. And I am their pusher.

Anyhow, performance reviews: Kincaid is still an aggressive, goal-scoring fiend. His assistant coach (read: his father) has to bench him to give other kids a fighting chance. Considering the weighty implications of this philosophy for our free market economy-which of course I have- I am not a fan of the "everybody gets a trophy" epidemic. Still. Apparently, Jason is a sucker for appeasing thrashing, hysterical four year-olds.  And after reading a biography about Pele, Kincaid is committed to being the next Bolivian World Cup Champion. Dream big my non-Bolivian baby. Dream Big.

Meanwhile, this is the inaugural soccer season for Eowyn- whose primary concern was securing pink cleats.  Her priorities are a testament to her -what I have termed- "social athleticism". Granted, she is good- meaning she has raw talent and is built like a gazelle but this anecdotal conversation best captures her "head" in the game:

Me: "Eowyn, that was so kind of Elliot to partner with you for that drill. He was so patient with you."

Eowyn: "Mommmmmmmmmmmmmm! Do not get any ideas about me marrying Elliot. It is not going to happen!"

Me: Sigh and gulps coffee from my stainless steel tumbler.

Child rearing. It's really more like parent-rearing.  Game on.