Soccer? Seriously?

I am not a fan of outside sports. Football, baseball, soccer – each is played outside and each is played regardless of weather. Basketball and volleyball are the two sports I encouraged my children to try because they’re played indoors.  So I wouldn’t get wet or hot or cold. Because, of course, it is all about me… Michael and Amy both played basketball and Amy has two seasons of volleyball under her belt. And I was happy. Because I watched from the comfort of a climate-controlled gymnasium.

I have this indoor-sport conviction because of the disastrous experience we had when Michael played soccer. It was spring soccer and Georgia, in the spring, is hot.  Really, really hot. And because I thought being a good mom meant going to all the games, I stood out there in the sweltering heat while a gaggle of second-grade boys ran around trying to kick the ball.  Well, all the boys on the team except Michael. The soccer field was adjacent to a giant parking lot and Michael spent the majority of the game looking at the cars in the parking lot. Every so often he would yell across the field, “Hey, Dad! Did you see that Jaguar?” or “Look at that Hummer, Dad!”

Michael enjoyed the soccer season about as much as I did. Turns out I'm not much of a soccer mom. And after that season I packed away the cleats for good. Or so I thought.

Fast-forward several years and the cleats are again in the shoe rack because Amy has decided to try her hand (foot?) at soccer. This does not thrill me. I want to be supportive. I want to be encouraging. And so far, I have been. But I am not happy. Because we now live in Michigan and spring soccer will be cold. And wet. And muddy.

Where did I go wrong? I thought I was very, very clear about the “indoor sport” portion of our parent/child contract.

Last month when she broached the subject of playing soccer I told her I was (going to be) fine with it, as long as she wasn’t the goalie. My heart cannot take that kind of pressure. And if I’m already cold and miserable I will have a dadgum heart attack if the ball gets near her. Guess what she came home and told me last night? Yep, she was practicing being the goalie. Ugh.  

She’s playing with a fabulous group of girls, and thankfully, I love many of the moms, so at least I’ll enjoy visiting on the sidelines.  But I fear Amy will actually like the sport and will want to continue.  Based on what she’s said after each practice so far, I’m pretty sure that’s going to be the case. I guess I need to invest in some mud gear and hand warmers.

Too bad the soccer field isn’t like a drive-in movie.  Wonder if I could make that happen…