Oh crap, I’m a soccer mom!

The notion just hit me like a thunderbolt: I’m a soccer mom!

I’m not sure how it happened. Wasn’t I just secretly making fun of those women? Mocking them… as they drove around in their minivans and ponytails. And, the transformation, the metamorphosis, occurred. Unbeknownst to me. I became what I feared most: a soccer mom.

First, it was the children. You can’t be a soccer mom without the kids. But, I was safe for a while. I just had the one. And then, two. And then, like rabbits (well… you know what I mean) two became three. Three kids! (I’m imagining the Count saying it ” one, two, three. Three kids! Ah Ah Ah!” You can’t fit three kids, comfortably anyway, in a regular four door car. You have to do it. You have to switch to… a minivan. It doesn’t stop there. No. Your ride changes. Then, it’s your music. Moms- when was the last time you played a CD in your car that you actually want to listen to?! Do you even know what they’re playing on a regular Top 40 radio station these days? Didn’t think so. Nope. You’re listening to the same damned 12 tracks of Barney Goes Fishing or Sunday School Sock Hop or whatever CD your child has shoved into your CD player…in the minivan.

As I was saying, I’m a soccer mom! My daughter signed up for soccer a few years ago, but I was still a full-time working-out-of-the-house mom so it didn’t really impact me. Then, earlier this winter my two oldest kids signed up for soccer. And my husband signed up to coach our five-year old’s team. It soon became routine- our daughter practiced on Thursday then played on Saturday. Her game was usually starting right as our son’s game was ending. So, we had a lot of driving around to do. It’s the driving that starts it all. Starts out all innocent and then, BAM, you’re ushering around kids to various soccer games and doling out snacks to little sweaty children who don’t even attempt to hide their disdain for you when they realize you’ve brought them homemade zucchini muffins instead of the Moon Pies and Jolt they’re used to having.

A soccer mom. Really? This is what it has become? And my stupid minivan isn’t even clean! The women – er- the soccer moms – in the TV commercials at least have clean minivans to heft their team around in. That’s it, then. I’m a soccer mom. A dirty soccer mom who doesn’t even bring good snacks.


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