Soccer Mom Blues

I hovered over my 9-year-old daughter as I tried to coax her out of the car, "Once you start playing, you'll feel better, and no one will be thinking about that fact that you were late," I reasoned.

"28 minutes late, Mom!!!" Phoebe came back, close to tears, seatbelt still on.

Her soccer-ready outfit pained me. "This is on me, sweetie. I'm so sorry you're late, but we're here now, and I promise, once you get on the field you're going to feel better."

"It's too late, mom, I just want to go home." The tears welled over her lids.

I took a deep breath. The guilt was growing inside me, I definitely did not leave enough time to get Pip and Phoebe to their soccer practices at 530pm at fields 15 minute apart. I should have left the dog vomit in the hall rather than cleaning it up before getting in the car. And I definitely should not have gotten a massage before that! If I hadn't had the massage, I would have had plenty of time to get everyone where they needed to be and cleaned up the dog throw up...and my sweet Phoebe Bird would not be so stinking sad right now! I'm a terrible mom!

Driving home with Phoebe and her soccer ball behind me, I decided it was plain and simple: I am not meant to be a soccer mom. I never played town sports when I was young so the after-school commitments are foreign to me, and I do not care for them. I like to settle into home at the end of the day, not gear up, and drive all over town. (Did I mention, this happened on a FRIDAY?! Why are there soccer practices on Fridays?!) Suddenly, I was mad at Roo. Yes, of course, this is his fault. He's the one who signed them up so he should be the one dealing with soccer practices. They definitely wouldn't be late if Roo were driving them. My internal dialogue was reeling.

As it turns out, we were lucky Phoebe didn't get out of the car that day, because if she had, we wouldn't have found her team or her coach. They were at Pingree Park not Pingree School, which we would discover the following Friday when Roo and I were away. The woman taking care of Pip and Phoebe that afternoon drove Phoebe, as carefully instructed by me, to Pingree School (before dropping Pip off to ensure Phoebe wasn't late again) only to find no Team Drift or Coach Mervyn anywhere in sight. They looked for so long that Pip missed his practice too. They went home and made apple pie instead. Plain and simple, folks, whether here or there: I'm not meant to be a soccer mom.

This past Friday, I found myself back in the same place: two 530pm drop offs at different places and one driver (me). At least Pingree Park is closer than Pingree School- this fact infused me with hope. Maybe, just maybe, I could do this without breaking any little hearts. Maybe I could be...a soccer mom.

After snack on Friday afternoon, I instructed Pip and Phoebe to gear up. "But we have an hour before soccer, Mom" Pip said.

"I know. But today we're not going to be late, so gear up now, and then you can relax a little, but everyone is getting in the car at 5pm!"

450pm: "Pip, Phoebe, time to put your shin guards and cleats on."

455pm: "Mom, I can't find my cleats."

458pm: I pull the cleats out of the hamper in Pip's room.

5pm: We get in the car with soccer balls, water bottles, shin guards, and bug spray. "We did it guys!"

515pm: We drop Pip off at his field. No one is there yet so I tell him I'll be back after I drop Phoebe off to make sure this is the right time and place. (You never know with me and I'm not taking any chances tonight.)

530pm: I drop Phoebe off at Pingree Park (not school). I make sure pick up is indeed at 7pm. Coach confirms. I head back to Pip's field to ensure his team and coach arrived.

545pm: I confirm Pip is in the right place.

550pm: I order and drive to pick up pizza for our post-soccer dad-is-away Friday movie-night.

650pm: Pip's field is on the way to Phoebe's field so I stop to see if I can pick him up early, and still make it to Pingree Park by 7pm. Pip's team is in a heated scrimmage with the girls' team. I realize I can't interrupt. Watching him briefly, I think, 'Wow, he's playing really well, out there.' Feeling proud of both of us, I make a game-time decision to get Phoebe and come back. According to Waze, I will be 3 minutes late to get Pip, but that doesn't really count as late...right?

7pm: Phoebe is in the car. We race back to get Pip. It's getting darker and darker.

705pm: I return to an empty parking lot, pitch black field, and no Pip! Panic sets in. "Pip" I yell, loudly. How is it possible that everyone left that quickly, I wonder. It's official: I'm the only shitty soccer mom in all of Hamilton-Wenham.

"Right here, Mom." Pip's neon cleats catch my eye as he steps out of a shadow. Relief floods through me. "I'm sorry I'm late, baby. I tried so hard to be on time."

"It's OK."

We get into the car and head towards home. "You looked really good out there, Pip," I say.

"Wait," Phoebe interjected, "you watched Pip's practice?" The tears welled up.

As always, thank you for reading,
Georgia