So, Avery has decided she wants to play soccer this season. Oh my. Let me explain to you how her last soccer season went and you’ll understand why this perplexes me.
The season started with her first practice. Of course there was the initial “where the heck do I go” moment. She was 5 years old and the concept of kicking a little ball between two designated poles directly into a net was beyond her (and most of her team). If you’ve ever been to a peewee soccer game you are familiar with this. The coach kicks the ball out, the kids follow it around. All of them. Even the ones who are supposed to stay by the goal. They just can’t help themselves when there’s a loose soccer ball on the field.
But, Avery. She took a different approach to soccer. She was more of a “taking in her surroundings” kind of player. She was very Zen out there in the soccer field, finding tiny little flowers growing up out of the grass. It would have been really beautiful. If she wasn’t supposed to be playing soccer. Maybe there was someactual strategy in this approach but she was never physically out on the field long enough to fully realize it.
And then there was the crying. Oh, the crying. Because there are no snacks at practice. My sister and brother-in-law were the coaches and had to have a heart-to-heart with a tear-soaked Avery explaining that soccer practice was only an hour long and therefore did not necessitate gnoshing for nourishment. She didn’t care. She wanted her capri sun and orange segments.
Okay, so here is where I start feeling a little guilty. I noticed near the end of the season Avery started lagging during games. Well, as much as someone who doesn’t actually participate in the game could be lagging. And me, in true soccer mom fashion, yelled at her to “pick it up and get movin’!” She finished her game and as we were driving home she was crying in the backseat that her feet were hurting her. I told her we’d be home soon and she could take her cleats off. Okay, so here’s the bad part. We get home, peel off the cleats, and she has blood stains on her socks! Blood! On her socks! The little champ’s shoes were too small and had rubbed blisters on her toes. Needless to say, she did not want to play soccer ever again.
So here’s where it gets really bad. There were only two practices and one game left. I made her wear the shoes. Again. (Just so you know, I am actually hanging my head in shame as I write this.) I put her in thinner socks, wedged the cleats on her feet and sent her to practice. Horrible. She vowed to never play soccer again because she couldn’t understand why it was necessary to wear such small shoes! Ugh.
But, it’s a new season. And there’s new shoes. It’s already looking up.
Love to all, Mindy