The Confessions of a Soccer Mom

I hate soccer. In fact, I pretty much hate sports in general. But I have read the research on how much kids can learn from playing on a team, and I know how good the exercise and fresh air is for them, so I don't let my children know my real feelings. Instead, I cheer from the stands. I make individual baggies with healthy stuff and a special treat on my snack day. I stand in the cold and watch practice, swapping notes with the coach on what my son needs to work on at home. I drag my couch potato child out into the yard to scrimmage and to practice his power kicks while I play goalie. It's what I have to do as a parent - right up there with making him get his shots and do his homework. I try to make it fun, bending it like Beckham and getting a little workout of my own in the process.

But honestly, I spent the first six years of my older son's life trying to get him to share and play nicely. Yet his first day on a soccer field another player immediately stole the ball from him. He cried because it wasn't fair. Well, according to the rules of the game it is "fair" - but it still doesn't seem very nice.

My son cries if his team loses. He cries if they win - because he didn't score a goal. I try to remind him that he helped his teammate score that goal. He gives me that, "Yeah, right, mom" look. But at least he looks forward to his after-game snack. And he has improved a lot since he started, so I trudge to practice, I report to games and I remain a proud Soccer Mom.