Soccer Mom

Last night was T's first soccer practice. He's been eagerly looking forward to this after seeing J play soccer.

But when we got to the field he decided he was "scared" and "didn't want to play."

I sort of panicked. I didn't want this to go badly for him.
"Listen," I said. "See those kids over on the field kicking the ball around? Go tell them your name and kick the ball with them."

"Okay." T said.

Then he went over, and with no introduction, he kicked the ball away from the biggest kid.
The kid shouted at him, "HEY! THAT'S MY BALL."
And here, I thought, "It's all over. No more soccer for us." I sighed.

Then T stepped toward the kid and shouted back (in a most friendly, but also slightly agitated manner), "WELL I JUST DON'T HAVE A BALL!"

and the bigger kid said, "Well, go get one. In the bag." He pointed.

So T went and got one for himself and one for M.

They both kicked the balls around until the coach called the kids over to get in the circle. Thus began the official start of practice.

At this time, M had to be escorted off the field. Thankfully, Grandma was there to help out. M's not old enough yet. Plus, she was improperly attired in a dress and shiny silver shoes.

I'm not gonna lie. M was ticked. She couldn't even be bribed into good behavior with a snack. It's got to be really, really hard for her to understand why she isn't playing too.

Next year, M. Next year.