Lessons from the soccer field....

Being a soccer mom is new ground for me. I am still finding my way in this, admittedly. But once upon a time, I was a soccer sister, a baseball sister, a football sister. I have supported my share of loved ones on the sport fields.

In 1991, I was working as a journalist and spending my spare time planning a wedding and watching my brothers in their various activities. One particular night was absolutely abhorrent to me as I watched a coach for 10-year-olds scream, yell and berate his players. I sat in the stands and observed parents screaming at the same coach, screaming at him about WHO to play and WHO could deliver a victory.

I was at once embarrassed for the coach; embarrassed for the parents; and broken-hearted for the young boys being shaped by the behavior of both! (And I understood exactly why my own Dad brought his own lawn chair and sat down the fence far away from all the others.)

My emotions fueled an opinion piece for my newspaper that received responses from former college players and current college coaches in my home state. All in absolute agreement: The purpose of youth sports is to teach the game, teach teamwork, build self-confidence and -- and this is big -- let the kids have FUN!

Twenty-plus years later, I have to admit, I assumed the culture had gotten better -- really assumed that MY generation of parents were more aware of the ramifications of the awful behavior I had witnessed in 1991.

Little Cate began playing soccer in the Fall 2011. At once, I fell in love with her team. She plays in a league that values sportsmanship, teamwork, and LOVE of the game. She plays for a coach that prays with the girls after each practice, after each game -- modeling for them the important things.

The parents on our team are encouraging of the girls. They cheer for each by name. They applaud their goals, their stops and even their losses.

Praying after a game in our regular season.

  

Oh don't get me wrong -- we enjoy the win. These parents work with their children for victory. They practice, work on techniques and help their daughters hone their skills. We are not just sitting calmly on the sidelines with folded hands. We are cheering, whooping and yelling like crazy.

That's my girl, #9!

But we do not criticize. We do not yell negatives. We do not tell our girls to hurt the other team.

Dear Anne with her sign for my girl! Cate LOVED it!

This weekend we were invited to play in a club level tournament. We knew the girls there practice a lot more than us. We knew they play a lot more often than our girls do. We knew we had to play on a larger field than normal and with some adjusted rules. We practiced to get it all right and then stormed the field for the first game Friday night.

Right away a parent of the opposing team began yelling harshly at our girls. We were all bothered -- OK, Dad was just plain mad.

But our littles hung in there until the end, playing with their hearts. And when weariness got the best of us, the other team scored one. But only ONE.

That's my girl!

 Saturday afternoon held more of the same. Except this game had some disturbing parents. Pre-game, I asked a man to not set up his chairs as close to me as he was because I needed room for Benjamin in his wheelchair. This other-team-parent grunted at me but did not move an inch. Not an inch. I knew that didn't bode well.

When the rest of my crew arrived, a sibling from the other team asked her mom what was wrong with my Benjamin. The mother completely freaked out, trying to distract the child. But little girl was persistent with her questions so mother screamed at her that my boy was blind.

Really? What an educating moment she lost with her child. Oh wait, she did educate her: little girl should be uncomfortable around anyone in a wheelchair and just assume they are blind. Sigh.

But back to soccer: once the game began, these parents were so obnoxious that the ref asked the coach to speak to them. One dad blatantly refused. Raising his voice at the coach in front of all of us. I was hurt for the coach, the wife of this awful man and his player, oh bless that young girl's heart.

So we learned a lot this weekend: clearly, my generation of parents have not ALL reached a level of awareness where they can behave in the best interest of children when at a sporting event. Clearly, good sportsmanship is not being modeled everywhere. And clearly, we have the best team and coach around!! (Win or lose)

Please pardon my rant, but remember that I see the world through a filter: I have a 7-year-old that can run, jump and kick a ball -- and enjoys every minute of it! I also have two boys that would LOVE to be able to do that (and a beautiful girl who prefers playing the piano and violin!). I get teary-eyed watching Cate play. I get emotional thanking God for her ability to run, jump and kick.

I don't understand the parents who can not celebrate the wonder of those little legs running up and down the field. The wonder of the little lives that that are not collegiate athletes yet -- but rather LITTLE girls who get excited about the gummy fruit being given out as after-game snacks almost as much as the trophies.

One of our team mates fell down during the second game. Cate stopped racing for the ball to ensure she was not hurt. My heart soared. 

Oh, I know we need to work on running faster, being more aggressive in getting to the ball and staying with it to the goal. I know.

But when Cate stopped to check on her friend, I realized she had the best skill of all:  a heart that knows that people trump victory every single time. And that realization makes me one blessed soccer mom!

Imagine me pounding my fists...

It is happening again. Another medical crisis forcing us to react, research and work to uncover what could possibly be going on with my boy. I have always said the boys were very healthy -- in spite of the Cerebral Palsy that affects their motor skills. Very rarely have they required doctor visits for non-bone-related issues. Very rarely that is until the last year.

I hope I was grateful for those serene years of worrying only about the muscles and bones. Oh, I hope I didn't take them for granted.

Because this is the pits. Really. I want answers. I want them now. But I also want the answers to be an easy fix. Something that can be cured and not bother Mason again. Oh, I want that but fear it is not the case.

And that coupled with Benjamin's upcoming hand surgery has me doing what I do periodically -- spiral into a full-on pity party. Full on meaning that I want to jump up and down, scream at the top of my lungs and hit something really really really hard.

And so the alternative to that is to type. Pour out my heart and as I do, pray that the exercise will purge the tantrum and help me once again, see the glass as half-full.

Little Red is playing soccer again. And in my current state, I look at these photos and think of how much I am doing wrong with that. Soccer Mom is a new role for me and I am not very good at it. I started her first season without chairs to watch the game in. I didn't know. Then I fix her a little water bottle. Little. I didn't know to get a big ole water jug. I don't have a cute Soccer Mom shirt. I don't have an umbrella for the sun. I don't bring the right snacks. I have no idea how to do this. How to be the sports mom.....and yet, I must learn. I am excited to travel this different road with her and absolutely LOVE watching her play but today, in my pity party state, I want to scream about how many kids on those fields are perfectly fine. Perfectly fine. Not spending half of every week at doctor appointments,  getting medical tests, and having physical and occupational therapies.

I want to scream.

So right now, I must choose. I MUST choose gratitude. I must thank God for this girl of mine -- this precious gift.

Pretty much that is the story of my life -- your's too, probably. We have a choice every day. We can wallow in our pity -- stomping, screaming, thinking completely horrid thoughts like I want to do today -- or we can choose by an act of our very WILL to embrace the good stuff -- like the fact that my Little Red loves soccer and doesn't mind that I do not have the soccer mom thing down yet. Like the fact that she was so grateful when I took her to pick out a big ole jug for her water. And like the fact that she  gets tickled when I put on her team colors for the game! What a gift she is.

And this guy -- mercy, his attitude alone sets the bar for how I respond. He gets up early for appointments without complaint, gets his schoolwork done in waiting rooms and car rides and between appointments....and really never moans or whines about the issues causing all the grief. He never ceases to amaze me.

How we really felt about being at the hospital that early...

And so I will follow his example. I will lay down my desire to pitch a fit to end all fits. I will lay it down. I will instead start counting my blessings -- and I'll start right here:

One. Two. Three. Four. Goodness, I am just getting started -- this could take a while!

Something new...

We are the parents standing awkwardly on the side lines...we didn't think to bring chairs.

We are the parents with the little water bottle...not a cooler of ice and water for our little player. That didn't occur to us.

We are the parents, who although this is our fourth kiddo, haven't had a lot of practice being soccer parents. 

We are the parents cheering with delight.

We are the ones with the big kids who will help us figure out what to do for our little soccer player. And who will be her biggest fans!

And we'll celebrate when she wins -- or loses -- and pray that she enjoys every minute of making friends, learning to be a good sport and kicking that ball to her heart's delight!

There is blessing in learning new things...for all of us!

My girl and her kickie ball...

Cate is all about the pink. She loves her dolls. And insists on dresses and bows. But this girl has always. Always. Loved her ball.

For the last year, she has talked about "kickie ball" and wanting to play. So when we saw a Soccer Camp was being held for preschoolers this week at our church (Christ's Church of the Valley) we signed her up!

Oh my, she had a blast -- CCV's staff, Coach Harry and Coach Nick, were amazing with these kids. For one hour each morning, they taught this group of 3 to 6 year olds how to kick, pass, and play kickie ball! (Well, they actually did call it Soccer...)


She grinned the entire way through! She loved every minute!

Learning to kick -- she was concentrating, and doing her absolute best...

And then they "played" a game...oh, there is obviously some competitive genes in there...she ran and ran and chased that ball and when she scored....well, she really liked the cheers so she ran even harder after that!

I love this shot of my little princess and her ball. She insisted each day that since I was FORCING her to wear shorts, she needed a bow or flower in her hair...

But the sweetest part of the camp for me...there was a prayer at the end of each morning. Heads bowed. Thanking God. Because after all, it IS about more than just a game!