September 11, 2006

Forgive Me Bloggers, For I Have Sinned....

It has been over a week since my last post. In that time, I have run with scissors, sworn at little old ladies and made my boy puke on the soccer field. Fuck Me. Amen.

Ok, so only one of those is true. Can you guess??? Can ya?? Here's how I am clinching the Mother of the Year for '06....

We signed Lil Man and Miss Thing up for the Fall season of soccer. They had played in the spring - which, from what everyone says, is far less competitive than the Fall League. I was there, in my fold up chair, I didn't see less competitiveness - but perhaps, that's just my skewed perspective.

Because, to be clear, I am the MOST competitive person I know. SEE, THE MOST. Can't be the runner-up - no sir-ee Bob. And my husband, just as much. (Well, I DO have a slight edge - because I must WIN at all things - so yeah, he's nearby.) See, it's a sickness, a mind-frame, a way of life. And Miss Thing is a chip off both blocks. She has the fever to be the winner. She strives to beat out everyone. She pushes to the point of glory. She raises her hands after running up the stairs - (key the Rocky Music...dunna dun, dunna dunnnnnnn) And my Lil Man, *sigh*, not so much.

Actually, not at ALL. Watching his "It's ok - you take the ball and score against me and I'll clap you on th back" demeanor is a bit hard to take. OK. To be honest, it feels like I took a six pack of old-school coke BOTTLES, drank them, chewed up all the glass bottles, swallowed them and then followed that up with a rubbing alcohol chaser. I know, I KNOW. But, it does. It is painful to watch.

Now, don't get me wrong, I am NOT going out there to kick the kids ass that scored against my son. I am SO not mad at anyone. I want my kid to TRY - that's all - nothing more. So, when they came off the field for a water break - I pulled him aside and told him, in no uncertain terms, he was to TRY, to RUN, to GETCHA HEAD IN THE GAME (HS Muscial reference for anyone not of school kids age). I may or may not have said I was gonna jack him right there on the field if I didn't see some kind of attempt at playing soccer and less chit-chatting with the defender next to him. High-five - back in the game.

AND OH MY GOD - it worked.

He was running, he was defending - he had HIS HEAD IN THE GAME. Did I forget to mention, it was Saturday afternoon, sunny, around 85 degrees and only 6 kids on his team showed up - so there were NO SUBS, these kids played the whole game? Oh, I did? Huh. Well, anywho, Lil Man asked to be put in Goalie and the coach concedes, as this is the only position the kids don't have to run in and can take a break.

I am feeling pretty smug - pretty confident in my pep talk. I am more than a bit happy with myself. I am smiling, watching down field when my husband breaks my good mood with these next 5 words.

OH MY GOD, HE'S PUKING.

Yes.

Yes, my internet friends, my little angel, my baby, I had pushed SO HARD, that he actually THREW UP IN THE FUCKING GOAL.

And not a little. Oh Noooooooooooooo. Three huge gushers. Pea-soup Exorcist, spin your fucking head off gushers. He was pale, maybe even green. He couldn't even walk off the field. I had to help him. I get him back to the sidelines and the guilt is weighing on my back like I just parked a Cadillac Escalade between my shoulder blades.

My husband and I share a guilty look between us. That look spoke volumes. It said, "Holy FUCK, we suck as parents. We actually pushed our kid so hard that he puked in front everyone. SO MUCH so, they had to move the goals. How do they even let us keep these kids." After a quick glance around to see if the black and whites were coming, we slinked off the field, heads down, silent ride home. I was barely choking back tears when my son asked how he did. "Awesome buddy - you were great."

That night, after the kids had long gone to bed, DH and I sat down and had a talk. We made a pack to just watch the game, no judgment, just encouragement. If we had to, we would look away. Pinkie swear - draw blood - smear together, forever. Amen.

So, if anyone comes to the soccer field, I'm sure you'll be able to spot me. I'll be the one with the big straw hat on, dark sunglasses with a tube sock shoved in my mouth, covered with duct tape.

4 Comments:

At 11:20 AM, Anonymous Susan said...

Oh, poor little guy!

Funny thing---my daughter played a little goal on Saturday as well, but I was the one who almost puked!

 
At 3:50 PM, Blogger Wendy said...

When my oldest was on a Classic team, one of the dads had to sit at least 100 feet from the field, so none of us could hear him freak over every little thing.

 
At 10:09 PM, Anonymous Kristen said...

Next week- let's go for the swearing at old ladies. I bet that would make for a fun post! LOL.

 
At 10:52 AM, Blogger Carol said...

At least you won't get arrested -lol.

 

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