My whole life, I always heard about the "soccer mom".
I imagined it as one would. A mom loading up her van with kids, herding them in sheer chaos. She would be trying to feed her kids whatever frozen or boxed food she could cook the fastest. The kids would be eating in the car, and she'd be praying they wouldn't stain their jerseys on the way to their game.
"Timmy, don't hit your sister." - imaginary soccer mom would say
"James, get your cleat out of your mouth."- as she looked into the rearview mirror at her 4-year-old.
"Sara, did you just spill your water all over yourself?"- she responded to a "woopsie!"
I could imagine this all happening, but now that I'm a mom myself, I can also feel her feelings. Heck, a white hair just sprouted thinking about all of this.
That's not all it is though.
At my son's first practice, yes, we were late, and, yes, we were running around, but it was so much more than that.
I had a moment where I watched my son kicking the ball to his teammates, and I was proud. I was proud of who he is becoming, and the kind of little boy that he is. I was proud of the kindness he showed his teammates, and I loved the funny comments he made in the car post-practice. It was a beautiful moment. To see my once tiny newborn infant, now a team player, laughing, joking, and cheering others on.
I wouldn't trade this life for anything. #SoccerMom
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