I hate soccer night

I know it isn't very PC of me to say, but its true. I dread Wednesdays with the fiery passion of a thousand suns. (to put it lightly).

I was complaining about soccer night to Chad this morning, and he said, "I don't know what you are complaining about. It's not that bad." In the interest of marital harmony, I just made a small, non-commital noise and headed off to work. Instead I will vent here. (And, might I just say, I probably wouldn't hate soccer night either if all I had to do was walk in 10 minutes before it was time to leave, eat a hot meal someone else planned for and prepared and then stand by the door bellowing that we were going to be late. Ok, in his defense, he really has shouldered a large portion of the burden of soccer night. He's taken the kids when I was home nursing my cantankerous little boy and fighting the booby flu. He stood in the line in the freezing January snow to sign them up and has sat in the blazing heat for every single practice for both Grace & Sam this entire season. He has done more than his share and he doesn't hate it. I still do).

What soccer night entails for me is a tedious search for not one, not two, but three sets of uniforms, socks, shin guards, soccer balls and shoes (do the math--the probability of all those things not turning up in bizarre places like downstairs on the treadmill or in the backyard treehouse are practically non-existent). It involves at least 10 pleading reminders to fill water bottles and two wrestling matches over sitting still for ponytails. It also includes a desperate attempt to feed 5 little ducks (one of which requires 10 minutes alone with my pump), and at least put away the perishables before we leave. It means packing the diaper bag for all weather conditions (it is invariably 10 degrees different at the soccer complex--sometimes hotter directly under the summer sun, oftentimes colder and more windy) and many hours of outdoor exposure with only limited accessibility of either running water or flushing toilets (great fun with my just trained 2 year old). It also requires blankets and chairs for sitting on and diversions for the littlest ducks. All of this must be packed in such a manner as to allow for transportability as we hike (I swear) mile after mile to and among fields for the 3 games we need to watch. That doesn't even cover treat night. Of which, of course, I get 3 turns at.

So, let's talk for a minute about treats. The games last 1 hour, and each team has enough players for 2 full teams, meaning the kids all play half the game. The treat mom (it's always the mom) provides snacks for BOTH halftime AND the end of the game. Its usually fruit at halftime and some sort of prepackaged treat or candy and a juice box afterwards. Now, I played sports for the vast majority of my childhood and even all through college. I don't ever remember getting any sort of refreshment EVER beyond cold water. (I take that back--I think once in awhile in COLLEGE we got gatorade--just the plain lemon/lime kind mind you. Not mountain berry blast plus vitamins or any such nonsense). So, my kids play 1/2 of 1/2 of a game and they require nourishment. Then they play another 1/2 of 1/2 of a game and they get another snack and a drink. What? When I was in college i had friends who played soccer. Their WARM UP usually entailed a 5 mile run. The royal treatment required by these little "athletes" is light years away from that kind of stamina and effort. And don't even get me started on the impact these treats have on the younger siblings.

Now, imagine for a moment my delight at providing said snacks for a pack of 5 (Claire), 7 (Sam) or 9 (Grace) year old children. Picture me with a cooler, a blanket, and 2 adult lawn chairs and 1 child's chair dangling from the stroller, my diaper bag slung across my shoulder and a bag of treats in my other hand, the baby in the front pack, the queen clinging to my legs as I trudge across three full size soccer fields to reach my child's team. I could load up and walk beside a full size camel and look less conspicuous.

All three kids play on the same night, which is probably a blessing as I'm not sure I could survive 2 soccer nights in a week. But it does mean that my little caravan has to up and move at least once and often twice during the course of the evening. The soccer complex is roughly the size of your average small town, so the trek can be quite extensive. Don't even get me started on the parking at this place. Suffice it to say, driving from field to field is not a viable option. Of course Chad is with me and of course he helps, though we often do have to divide and conquer in order to watch our kids play. We generally give the little ones and whoever isn't playing at the time the option of where they want to go. Guess which parent they usually choose to accompany?

I have honestly considered filling a water bottle with beer or some sort of cocktail in order to take the edge off this despised night. But I usually have to drive (either because it is all I can handle to get the first child out the door with her dad while I follow with the little ones, and the later gamers, or because Chad often takes pity on me and lets me leave once the last game has begun).

Once I finally collapse in my lawn chair at the first game, I could care less about soccer. To be honest, I don't know that much about the game, so I could care less about soccer if they played these games in my backyard. My kids are not destined for greatness on the soccer field, if these early attempts are any indication. Between the 3 over the course of a season that began in May, I believe a Lueken has been responsible for the scoring of 1 goal. (Update: Claire scored a goal tonight--2 goals scored by Luekens this season).

I am usually so grumpy by the end of soccer night that I could spit. But 3/4 of the town is crawling all over the complex on soccer night, so I am invariably required to play nice and make small talk with acquaintance after acquaintance. I try to smile. I try not to curse. I try not to give away that I can't remember anyone's name (in spite of the fact that I am always completely sober). I am usually so sweaty and disheveled by this point I'm sure these former classmates and co-workers walk away shaking their heads and thinking how much I have let myself go since this last baby.

Tonight, a former lunch lady from good old St. Joes recognized me from church and insisted on walking me to my car. I think she really feared I would lose one of the ducks in the crush of (other) crazed soccer moms and mini vans.

See why I hate soccer night. But, just look at them. Aren't they cute?