Imagine this: Sophie Gene--her hair in braids. She's wearing shiny black Adidas soccer shorts (2 smacks at the kids clothes consignment store) that come down to her pudgy knees and poof out in the back because of her toddler ghetto booty. Shin pads that cover her leg from knee to ankle. Cleats. A pink Power Puff Girls t-shirt. Tucked under her right arm is a brand new 3 year old size but official non-the less-soccer ball. And she's grinning like I just told her she could drink a glass of maple syrup for breakfast.
Sophie had her first soccer practice yesterday, AND I DIDN'T BRING THE CAMERA!!
I could just kick myself in the ass about a million times.
She's not officially on the team yet. That will have to wait until she turns 4, but a fellow teacher (and very very sporty gal) coaches her son's 4-6 year old team, and said Soph could start coming to practices now, and start playing in games after her birthday in August.
Now--you may not have noticed, but I'm not much of a sportster. That is, I play exactly none sports, neither do I watch them on tv. So--Soph has very little background info on the world of "two teams travel with a ball in oposite directions and put it in a very specific place and therefore earn points." We play pretend. We cook. We read. We watch too many movies. I guess that's why upon arriving at her very first soccer practice, her first item of business was showing everyone (boys/girls/parents/coach) her cool new gear--asking each "Cute--huh?" Then, she tried to get the other kids to pretend the ball was a jewel, and she was a princess, and they were dragons. Eventually she caught on to the fact that she was supposed to be practicing kicking the ball, etc., and had an ok time.
Today's best thing about being a mom:
Helping her strap on her shin guards
Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Two of her friends had a play date today--and she wasn't invited, which is fine. But, she was very sad and shed many tears and my heart broke just a little.