I am THAT mom

I signed Natalie up for an indoor soccer league that’s supposed to help teach kids better footwork and quick decision making. I went to her game on Sunday. Just me. No other little ones to distract me from actually watching the game.

I’m not sure it was a good decision.

Henry warned me the week before that we were in a little over our heads. The other kids seem to already have footwork down. That and quick decision making. And all the other stuff that comes with more exposure and practice than a few laid-back seasonal leagues. Our daughter has no clue, for which I’m thankful.

I sat and watched about 30 seconds before I opened my mouth. I had a flashback to the yeller parent from high school and looked around to see if I might get thrown out. Are parents of 9 year olds allowed to yell at a game? I simultaneously related with my father who used to pace during our games, leave and enter the gym multiple times, and chew off every last one of his fingernails until the final buzzer (I played basketball, not soccer).

I was mostly yelling encouraging things… “Go pink!” (yes, their t-shirts are hot pink) and “Good hustle!”  But sometimes my encouragement to “shoot” or “get on the ball” might come off as a little intense.

I apologized to the mom sitting next to me who was laughing the entire time and telling me the girls needed a little fire under their rear ends. Especially since their (high school?) coaches were standing and watching them play, deadpan and silent. Since when does a coach act like a bystander?

The type-A personality in me wanted to jump out of the cheering section and into the coaches box to teach these girls a thing or two about a shortened field and being aggressive against boys.

Oh, I didn’t mention the other team was all boys? Yeah. It was. Which wouldn’t have been a problem if our all-girl team would’ve stuck it to them. We only lost 6-4 and most of it was probably because we were hesitating to take the ball from the boys. “Oh, you have it? Great. I’ll just stand here and look at you while you decide where to pass it next.”

Why is it that little girls can be so mean on the playground, yet so polite on the soccer field? Is it because their parents are watching? 

Natalie didn’t seem at all affected by my encouraging yelling from the sidelines. She gave me the thumbs up several times (which I reciprocated) and smiled. She bounced up to me after the game to get her coat.

Me? I was sweating like I had played the last 45 minutes of soccer and said, “Hey, honey, great game! Can I have a drink of your water? My throat’s a little dry.”