“We’re two weeks into soccer season, and my 4-year-old and 11-year-old are playing. Here are a few thoughts, observations, and exaggerations I’ve had on the subject:
Before the opening jamboree I literally participated in a knife fight to win a parking spot.
My 11-year-old was in charge of getting his own water, a charge he failed at, tried to blame me for, and will probably bring up on a daytime talk show someday when explaining why he joined a cult.
I screamed ‘Do you need to pee?’ at my 4-year-old during her game. She said, ‘No’ and then peed her pants. Couldn’t help but respect her dedication to the game.
We forgot snacks on a doubleheader and my children acted as though they were wandering the desert with Moses.
My 11-year-old put soccer socks inside out and full of grass in the laundry basket. They became a grass bomb and I had to clean the washing machine. Crap like this is why I sometimes imagine driving my van into the ocean.
Got up before God created the earth so my son could attend a photo shoot and glare at the camera, stone faced, hair mashed on one side, reminding me of Nick Nolte’s mugshot.
Practice is on Tuesday afternoons, so we can have dinner at 3pm or 10pm.
Asking my children to watch one of their siblings play a game is a hate crime apparently.
Getting my 4-year-old to not use her hands while playing is about as easy as getting her to do… well… anything.
Cashed out my retirement to buy snow cones from the only source of nourishment that didn’t require me to lose my parking spot. I didn’t want to have to cut someone again. Overpriced snow cone was below average.
My 4-year-old listens to her soccer coach better than she’s ever listened to me in the history of her life, and I’m trying really hard not to be bitter about that.
Grudgingly bought more snow cones during a three game Saturday.
Developed a growing suspicion that snow cones contain nicotine.
11-year-old scored two goals during practice and I literally checked my inbox to see if his division one scholarship information had arrived.
Missing one child’s game to watch another child’s game because they are at the same time is also a hate crime, apparently.
‘Regret’, thy name is the soccer field port ‘a potty.
If your dog poops in a soccer field and you don’t clean it up, you did, in fact, commit a hate crime.
Nothing is cuter than 4-year-old girls chasing a soccer ball. Nothing.
My 4-year-old ’s teammate fell to the grass and screamed, ‘I’m tired! I’m hungry!’ Then she cried. I’d never felt a stronger connection with anyone, ever.
Goodbye to all Saturday activities for the foreseeable future.
God bless America.”
This story was written by Clint Edwards from No Idea What I’m Doing: A Daddy Blog and author of I’m Sorry…Love, Your Husband. His new book can be found here. Follow Clint on Instagram here. Submit your story here, and subscribe to our best love stories here.
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