It’s that time again, soccer season. For many children and parents, it’s time to buy new cleats, find your knee pads and get ready to devote your Saturdays, as well as one to two evenings during the week, to soccer.
It is a bright and sunny Saturday morning. We have a game at 9:00 and another at 11:30. The clock barely reads 8:30 when we pull into the soccer complex. I stayed up later than I should have last night watching some movie that I have seen a million times playing on TBS and can’t stop the continuous yawning.
Once parked, we unload the wagon, the cooler with food and drinks, the folding chairs, the kids and the remaining necessities. As we begin our walk to the farthest field from the parking lot, I find myself wondering why they always seem to put the younger kids on the fields farthest from the bathrooms. Bathrooms! Thankfully, I remembered the bathrooms before we started our walk to the field because the children that didn’t have to go 15 minutes ago when we left the house, now really need to go. Once the bathroom stop has been made, we continue the walk down the gravel path to the grassy field.
As I attempt to pull the wagon and carry numerous bags, my coffee in the travel mug splashes the hot liquid onto my dry knuckles. A voice like Marge Simpson growls in my throat. Also, in my haste to leave the house this morning, I have forgotten to wear shoes with socks and tiny pieces of gravel are getting wedged between the bottom of my feet and my flip flops. We are now bordering on being late so I will have to wait to shake out my shoes and imagine the circular indentations that are forming on my delicate skin.