Soccer Season...

I'm so excited. As a teenager, I loved soccer. I wasn't always very good, but I loved it. I even worked as a referee, logging enough games to pay for junior prom, and later to furnish my freshman dorm room. It was great. Saturdays were spent out in the sunshine, watching laughing children and collecting a paycheck. The one thing we all dreaded, was being assigned a muppet game. The muppet's were the 3-5 year old division. Most of these kids were wriggled into a uniform and tossed onto the field with no idea of what was going on. A whistle was blown and they were told to 'get the ball', usually by a very vocal parent on the sidelines. Like a swarm of bumble bees these kids would fight for the ball, ignoring sideline, whistles, bleachers, parents, siblings, coolers, benches and even the goal. We used small plastic, field hockey type goals, and the kids would barrel through them and onto the next field. Much of my time was spent reaching into the mass of kids to grab the ball and return them to the field. Parents yelled, coaches cursed, kids cried. As referees we did our best to maintain order until the snack was brought out and the kids no longer cared. I swore then and there that I would never, even do this to my children.

Fast forward 13 years, and I've just spent the summer chasing my 3 year old and wondering what I could possibly do to satisfy her endless need for action. Chatting with another mom at the playground one day, she was raving about a soccer program in a neighboring town, and how different it was. So, I decided to check it out.

Last weekend was our first practice. R was so excited, she was dressed hours before it was time to go. When we got to the field she jumped out of the car. After signing in, we got a shirt and a ball, and joined the other kids. The coach stood before 2 dozen kids, each flanked with a parent (which is required) and explained the program. No yelling, have fun, run with the kids, teach them to love the game, get involved, understand the game yourself. The 'practices' are basically skills camps, games will be 3 on 3 and limited to a few minutes. No winners, no losers. He spoke to the kids. 'Walk like a penguin, that's how you dribble the ball.' He made the parents look silly, we sat on the ball and clucked like chickens, the kids laughed. This is the soccer that I knew, that I loved. R was beaming. She dribbled, kicked and ran to her hearts content. I'm so excited. I can share something that I loved with my child. 

Even if she decided to play something else (which I'm OK with really), I firmly believe that starting out like this will teach her to love sports. And that's all I can ask for. 

We Moved!

We moved. In early August we got a phone call from a couple looking to rent our townhome. We were so excited, but we tried not to get our hopes up. They came by and looked around, and they decided to take it. Hooray. We did all the necessary paper work; background checks and credit checks, security deposits, and reference calls; we took photos of all the rooms, conducted a walk through and signed a lease. We're happy to be leaving, but apprehensive about the responsibility of being landlords. It's not a path we would have chosen. We packed quickly, found a nice rental home near DH's office and called family and friends for help. The last saturday in August I sent the girls to my moms house, drove back and loaded the truck. It took only two trips to empty five years of memories. My amazing children took the move rather well. The 'new house' was exciting and new, and by the time it wears off they will most likely not remember their old home any more. Isn't moving bittersweet? The townhome was our first home as a married couple, and we welcomed two beautiful babies into our lives there. It was time to move on, but that day my heart ached a bit.

Our new home is an old 1960's ranch in a sleepy tree lined neighborhood. Many of the residents have been here for 40 years, and others, like us, are new, just starting out with small children and avoiding the suburbs to save on gas, and have daddy home at 5:30. It's small, but with no stairs the girls feel like they have an entire to house to run in. We have a yard, and a cat next door. But most importantly, it feels like home.