Tiny Kickers and tiny kickers

I don't do rain. I don't do soggy fields. I don't do mud.

Not if I can help it, at least.

At 9:30 one Saturday morning this past May, I was delightedly watching the rain come down. "Looks like it isn't going to let up," I remarked (rather hopefully) to the big guy. "They might cancel soccer today."

"Only if there's thunder and lightening," came the reply.

I returned to the window and listened with all my heart for thunder. None came. Gavie joined me at the window.

"Raining, mom. Maybe they'll cancel soccer." He sounded as hopeful as I felt. Soccer was a great idea before he found out that there were rules involved and -- worse -- that you had to follow them.

No such luck for either of us. We were at the field, and he was sopping wet just 30 minutes later.

(Gavie doesn't do rain any more than his mother, just for the record.)


The final Saturday was worse -- yet heartening. 'Twas as soggy as could be and there we were: all three of us on a field with eight thousand other parents and Tiny Kickers, all ready to play in the mini-tournament.

Poor Gav. He's cursed with my genes when it comes to soccer. Three twenty-minutes games are very, very long. Especially when he's on a team with a bunch of really motivated teammates. Gav would rather find worms than practice. He just wasn't into the game of "clean your room," which was a euphemism for "keep the ball away from the goal." Practicing control by playing "sharks" wasn't much more interesting. Though he did like playing "kick the coach."

(No, it wasn't personal. I just like the irony of the name and Gav's lack of interest in the overall game. This practice was a free-for-all where the kids could kick the ball towards the coaches. Not at. Just towards.)

The heartening part of the last Saturday was seeing that my kid wasn't the only non-soccer fiend in the organization. While Gavie did get into the game for three nano-seconds and chased the ball in the right direction, he preferred the idea of gathering tadpoles in the giant puddles created by the park's watershed. Guess what? My kid wasn't the only Tiny Kicker distracted by the tadpoles. A good dozen or so from the teams immediately next to the puddles found these other tiny kickers much more interesting than a silly soccer ball.

At least I can take heart that he didn't abandon his goalie position for the sake of baby froggies.

As for me, the non-Soccer Mom, well.... I'm just a total let-down to this stereotype (yeah, like most of you didn't see that one coming). For starters, I don't own a minivan. Peg me a loser and give me the raspberries on this one, gang. I have to side with Gavie in this one: tadpoles are way cooler than soccer.

We'r going to try basketball this fall.