So Sam has been taking indoor soccer lessons this summer. It has been, um, interesting. Today a new coach, one who had obviously never spoken to a 2 year old before, announced we would scrimmage at the end of practice. Say what?! What is this man thinking? I knew this once was not going to end well.
Bless his little heart, my darling son is NOT going to be an athlete (for those of you not from the south, you can say anything about someone as long as you preface it with "bless his/her heart"). He is a bright friendly boy and I love him with all my being but, Lord have mercy, he is not going to get a $280 million contract to play for the LA Galaxy. He is a little uncoordinated, has trouble listening and following directions, and is basically on his own planet. He would not listen to ANYTHING the coach or I said at soccer practice. During the scrimmage (I use this term loosely), he spent his time with his head on the turf and his behind up in the air. He flopped on the floor like a fish out of water and tried to run off the field repeatedly to steal a giant soccer ball in the equipment closet. He got himself tangled up in the net behind the goal (more than once). It made Ben, who used to practice his taekwondo moves during games while playing goalie, look like Pele. Need I go on?
To top it off, I did not wear the best soccer attire today. I had on a scoopneck knit dress (laundry piled up to my elbows at home- no other clean clothes) which was a bit revealing when I bent over. So now I am not known as the mom with the spacey kid, I am known as the mom with the spacey kid who shows her boobs. Great. At least now maybe some dads will want to come back next time.
Next we go to swim lessons. I am sure there will be more good stories from that. Hopefully none of them will include the word "resuscitation". Until then....