Kidz don't really love soccer

Well my kid anyway. The other moms are signing up their kids for soccer in the fall and my gut is telling me not to do it. My son is also telling me that. I asked him if he wants to play soccer again and he said nope. I'd say it's been a good experience for him and he's generally enjoyed it while he's doing it and he's enjoyed talking about it after he's done. But every Saturday morning he says he doesn't want to go. And some how I manage to convince him that he does. I'm good. Actually I usually tell him that he doesn't have to go and that makes him decide to go.

The thing is I think that one of the reasons he doesn't like it much is that he's not very good. And he's not very good because this was his first season! Some of the other kids have been doing this since they were three! This is not league soccer, mind you. It's just skills and running around and having fun. But they do a little mini scrimmage at the end and my son is all over the place. Or, more accurately, he's pretty much in the same place the whole time fiddling with his colored jersey with his head through the arm hole and ties flying around him. But the other kids are in there going for the ball. OK sometimes with their hands, but still. There's a desire there. Not with my son. He tells me after the game that he never got the ball and I explain that he has to go for it. Get in there. Trip someone.

But he's not even FIVE. I didn't start playing soccer until I was seven. And I was never much good, come to think of it. Although there was that one season when I was nine and I learned how to start going one direction with the ball and then switch to the other direction. I was faking out girls left and right the whole season and scored a zillion goals. Good times.

Where was I? Yes, my son. Even if it's not soccer, I would really like to find something that he does get excited about. Whatever it is (secretly I really hope it will be ballroom dancing so he can be on Dancing with the Stars). But don't you kind of have to stick with something long enough to where you're pretty good at it in order to like it? Not that I would know. I never stuck with anything. Because if you get good at something then there are expectations and you might fail. No thanks. Wait, who were we talking about...?

Kids sort of love soccer

I signed my son up for soccer. Did she not learn her lesson after the swimming? Don't remind me about the swim lessons. I signed up for more of those too. What can I say? I like torture. But I did. I signed him up. For a number of reasons. You see I'm pals with some moms of other kids in his class and they were signing their kids up (this would be their SECOND session) and I thought, well, if there are other kids in the class that he knows, maybe it won't be horrible. Maybe it will just be awful which is a big step up for us. Also, I've seen him pass a ball around with his uncle, CIF Champion 1987, and he's pretty coordinated. For a four year old. He's no Pele or Ronaldo but he's also not Brazilian, born with cleats for feet. Anyway, I figured we would try it. 

So I bought him soccer socks and shin guards and shorts but I skipped on the shoes which seemed to me like a bigger investment. The program is called Kidz Love Soccer and as a former copywriter I have to question the Z. Really? You want to make it plural with a Z? Suit yourself.

The week leading up to it I'm telling him that he's going to learn to play soccer like uncle Aaron and his friends from school are going to play too and won't that be great. And he's going along with it, probably for my benefit. The morning arrives and he wants out. Has no interest in soccer practice. He already knows how to play soccer. His uncle Aaron taught him and now he's even better than me. As if. 

Anyway, after much discussion I convince him to go except he won't wear any of the gear. Fine. Not a problem. And when we get there he starts to cry and begs me to stand with him so I stand behind him where the kids are all lined up. And his buddies are all trying to encourage him and invite him to stand next to them which he eventually does, as long as I'm behind him. Which I am. Holding my daughter. 

And so it goes for the half hour practice. At first he doesn't know what to do but by the end he is listening to the coaches and doing the drills and doesn't even notice that my daughter and I are not exactly behind him anymore. In fact we're passing a ball ourselves because my daughter is a KICKASS soccer player and has a huge future in the sport. 

After practice ended we went to Starbucks to reward ourselves with a latte/chocolate milk and a morning bun. And he asked if he could get soccer shoes. My mom then went and got him a soccer ball for graduation and everyday since that first practice he's asked to play soccer at the park across the street. And I bought him cleats. He wanted the ones with pink stripes but settled for the yellow stripes. Kidz love soccer cleats, to be sure. The jury is still out whether kidz love soccer.

Gray Morning

Yesterday morning I was in the shower and my son came in to tell me that he decided to wear grey socks today. GRAY SOCKS PEOPLE! GRAY FREAKING SOCKS! At first I thought I had misunderstood. How can this be? You don't wear gray socks. That's against everything you stand for. You stand for blue socks! Who are you? Where's my real son? He went on to say, all of my blue socks are dirty so I'll just wear the gray ones. His nonchalance was startling.

You won't believe me (you probably will) when I tell you that those gray socks have been rolled up for a YEAR in his socks box. I don't remember exactly when it happened but at some point he made it clear to me that under no circumstances would he ever wear anything but blue socks. And not just any blue socks. They had to be the kind from Old Navy with the letters and size on the bottom. I fought it for a while because at the time we only had two pair of those. And I thought I am not going to indulge this completely irrational behavior. But after the fifth morning in a row when I wanted to kill him I thought, this is not an important battle. I went to Old Navy and bought six more pairs. And in future weeks and months when he'd run out of blue socks, I'd just dig a pair of stinky ones out of the hamper because I don't give a rat's ass. They can smell like moldy cheese, in fact sometimes they do, but if he wants them, so be it. I've become very zen about the whole socks thing.

Which is why I was completely shocked, ALARMED, if you will, about his decision to go with the gray ones—gray ones that are identical to the blue ones, aside from the color. He's just growing up I guess. But just to be sure he wasn't growing up too quickly I asked him this morning when he came into our bed if he was too old for morning snuggles. He replied no, as if to say, mommy you have clearly lost your mind. As though I had suggested to his younger self that he wear gray socks.