I haven't written much about spring soccer, probably because I repress the thought until 7am every Saturday. Truth is, the main reason I am glad my kids want to do play is so I can check off P.E. on my homeschooling reports. Fitness is good, and it helps with my kids' energy and mood levels. I can muster appreciation for the team mindset. But personally, organized sports aren't my thing.
You see, I am decidedly uncompetitive at everything except Scrabble. I feel no deep inner urge to stay in shape. I have no vested interest in watching kids run around for an hour, while adults I don't know chitchat about things I won't remember any longer than I remember names.
On top of that, neither Little Guy nor Snuggler are natural athletes. They do not take joy in hard physical work. They need a lot of encouragement; they require assistance in rebounding from disappointment. That means that (for me) soccer is closely associated with the grinding labor of yet another experience that will help my kids build coping skills.
Do I sign them up for the fall season? Yes, I do. And I relish every Saturday between now and then that's soccer-free.
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Groan. Saturday mornings at the soccer field. You have my sympathy. Being childless, I have driven by so many parks on Saturday morning, and felt for the parents out there so nobly, after their hard work week.
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