We have three kids playing spring soccer. Saturdays are crazy. I have dreams the night before that I can't find a shin guard or a jersey or a sock. It literally feels like the end of the world. You know those dreams. It's nice to wake up. Nice to know that I'll have time to find that missing jersey.
We took a break from activities during the winter. It was a good thing, until it wasn't. The kids got tired of each other. It happens. There is such a thing as too much time together. As much as I love them, even I need a break once in a while. It was time to get the kids involved in something again. I could feel it.
My kids needed to remember what it's like to commit to something and stick with it. Even if it's cold. Even if it's raining or snowing. Even if they're tired. Following through. That is a big life lesson, the difference--if learned--between mediocrity and greatness. Little moments along the way build on each other, proving to them that they are strong, capable.
Enough theory, let's get down to the nitty-gritty.
Watching kids play soccer is hilarious. Lincoln is an animal. He scores the goals. Sometimes, I question his form.
Other times, I'm not so worried. Attaboy.
Annie, sweet girl, is trying to figure out how not to run flat-footed. She Pounds. Down. The. Field. It's painful (painfully funny) for Ben and I to watch. Painful and so adorable. She'll catch on. It's her first time. She's always excited and a little unsure.
We teach and teach our kids to share, take turns, make room, and then we throw them on a field and expect them to jump in front and push their way to the goal. My boys never struggled with the transition. They're boys through and through. Annie, well, she's working through all that.
I love the smell of spring, it smells like soccer. I love watching my children and their beautiful, strong bodies, running, laughing, collapsing from exhaustion. It's a good thing, exhaustion, because then they go to sleep at night without any trouble, right?