Soccer Moms Unite!

With the birth of belle number three this past year, I was forced-kicking and screaming-into becoming the owner of a mini-van. (It still pains me to say that out loud.) As far as practicality goes, it really can't be beat. With gas prices creeping/speeding towards $4.00 a gallon, $50 to fill the tank sounds better than the $100+ a friend pays to fill their Escalade. The time the two older belles each had a friend over and we all went to the store, it was nice to load them all in the back and not even realize there were five children back there.

Adding to my chagrin, the eldest belle began playing soccer this year.

I am now a soccer mom. A mini-van driving soccer mom.

I drive her to practice and sit in the van with the two other belles, doing homework and having a snack as we wait. A stroller and those foldy chairs permanently reside in the back of the van.

On game days, I dutifully unload youngest belle's chariot, grab a few cheerios and stroll to the sidelines just in time to hear the opening whistle. Standing on the sidelines of a recreational soccer league game is an interesting study in personalities. On my left is the belle's dad. He is under the illusion that this is the junior olympics, and our eldest belle is in the fight of her life. He routinely offers hints and suggestions to her as she runs by: "Get the ball! The ball! The ball! Go left!left!left!back!Now go the other way!Behind you! Behind you! Behind you!!!" We have discussed this method of cheering and the level of irritation it causes me, to no avail. I now just stand several yards away where the encouragement isn't as loud.

On my right is the goalie's dad. He, also, is under the impression that talent scouts are in the audience for this Under 10 soccer league, and so wants to put forth the best effort his son can muster. His cheering takes on a personality of its own as the other team's score goes up, and our team's remains non-existent: "Stop the ball! Fast! Get it! Use your hands! Over...over..over....quick, get rid of it!!"

Scattered down the rest of the sidelines are various other cheerleaders disguised as parents. Some of them are indifferent..there's the mom who sits in her chair, book in hand, ipod on, and only looks up when her child is tapping her to leave. There's the dad who reads the paper, cover to cover during the game, and failed to notice that his child was lying in the middle of the field crying. There are the ones who cheer for anyone who gets the ball, as though it is a great joy to them to see that SOMEONE is playing soccer, no matter what team they are on.

Strangers, all of them. Frankly, I don't even know the names of the kids on belle's team, much less their parents. We smile, say hello, and go to our respective "spots" on the sidelines. When this season is over, I probably won't recognize them in the store. But for an hour each week, we unite to watch our children chase around a soccer ball and rejoice in their enthusiasm. Watching eldest belle run down the field is a thing of beauty. She is a study in contradictions at times: reserved but determined. Courteous but willful. Graceful and strong. Watching her reminds me of all that is good and wonderful in our lives...and how amazing the journey of raising these belles is.

So I'll stand on the sidelines and silently cheer as she steals the ball away from someone bigger and stronger than her. I'll smile as she laughs at herself for tripping over the ball. And every once in a while, I'll let out a loud "WHOO-HOO!!!" as she amazes herself at her speed and skill.

I'll never put a soccer ball sticker on the back of my van. (My ego does have standards.)

But I am ever so proud of being a soccer mom.