Soccer Mom

I've been driving a minivan for nearly four years, but only yesterday did I become a real soccer mom. 

Yes, I signed the boys up for soccer. I'm trying to do my part to help them overcome their genetic predisposition for unathleticism. 

As with all group activities, I knew it would be a gamble. They played T-ball last summer and although they had fun, they also seemed to take turns having meltdowns at every game. Still, Aidan has been talking about wanting to play soccer for some time and I figured that it would be preferable to one of the more dangerous (and expensive) sports, like hockey or football. 

So we suited them up in their little YMCA jerseys and told them to listen and have fun, and off they went. The first half was just drills and they both did fine, although it took Owen an eternity to dribble the ball around the perimeter of the field, as he muttered "I need to focus!" to himself. 

Then it was time for the match. You know, because 30 minutes of practice seems like ample preparation for a group of 6 and 7 year olds who may or may not have ever played the game before. Aidan got his coveted position as goalie. Owen was a forward. 

And that is where the boys' experiences diverged. Aidan ate up the extra attention as goalie and didn't even seem to take it personally when the ball got past him. 

Owen, on the other hand, lost track of the ball and began to get agitated. Attempts to encourage him to go after the ball only made it worse, as he perceived us to be scolding him for not going after the ball, when he was still busy trying to make sense of the kids running past him in all directions. It was just too much.

To their credit, his coaches were patient, encouraging and even asked us if there was something they could do to make him feel better. I didn't play the autism card - it felt unnecessary. His coaches looked bewildered enough. Plus, the fact that he has autism doesn't make a fit in the middle of a soccer game less distracting for all of the other players. 

At one point, the coach came over to suggest that maybe chess would be a good game for him. She was kidding, but she's probably right. 

I felt bad for Owen because he was so frustrated with himself - we could see that he was struggling between absolutely hating the game and wishing he could play it. But I also felt bad for Aidan because while we were busy comforting Owen, he was still out there making some nice moves, and he needed our attention too. 

In the end, we left with one extremely happy and proud boy (Aidan ended up scoring a goal!) and one sad and frustrated boy who vowed to never play soccer again.

It would be really easy for me to say that I'm just not going to subject Owen to organized sports anymore. I could make that decision for him out of my intense desire to protect him from feeling scared or getting hurt. But I don't think that would be fair. It feels too much like letting the autism dictate what he can and can't do. If he decides he doesn't like sports, well, hey, he'll be in great company, but it's not my place to decide for him...even if it means I have to hurt right along side of him when things don't go well. 

So, next week we'll go back to soccer and maybe he'll play or maybe he won't. Either way, maybe he'll at least pick up enough knowledge of the sport to help him survive gym class. Here's hoping.

To a T

Do you have weeks where things get so busy in such a random and unstructured way that it actually takes you several minutes to figure out what day it is? And then when you do realize what day it is, you aren't sure where the last 4 days have gone? 

This is all to say that it's been kinda busy. My husband is producing the Twin Cities Improv Festival (it runs through tomorrow, so if you're here in the Twin Cities, you can still buy tickets!), which means I have been in single-parent mode for a few days. I think it's actually worse to have him gone-but-in-town than just out of town. On the bright side, I did get to see him perform last night, which was fun. However, that is the extent of my involvement with the festival, unless you want to consider me the Official Caretaker of the Producer's Children and Other Non-Improv-Related Affairs. Unfortunately, this is not a paying position. 

Adding to the chaos is my unplanned decision to seek treatment for my back, which has an array of issues related to my scoliosis, a car accident several years ago, having been pregnant with twins, and poor ergonomic habits at the laptop. However, I will save the details of that adventure for another blog entry...let's just say I think I might have unwittingly joined a cult of some sort. 

Luckily, I was able to discern that today is Saturday, as this was the first day of T-ball for the boys. They are on a team of 10 four- and five-year-olds, which includes three sets of twins! You'd think this could provide a competitive advantage of some sort if, you know, there was actual playing going on...so far it's mostly like watching a pack of puppies chasing a ball, which is fine with me, as I'm not really into competition anyway. 

Highlights of the first day included Owen asking his coach midway through their "game" if they could take a timeout to go play on the playground. Then there was my realization that Aidan is that kid...the one who always wants to go first, catch every ball, and generally just have the whole thing be about him. As if that weren't charming enough, he threw a tantrum in the outfield when he didn't end up catching any balls...tears and all. I felt bad for him because he was genuinely upset, but seriously, how did I produce a child who is that into sports? Nature has a sense of humor. 

So now here I am...the chaos of the week is dying down and I am left with the rest of the weekend sprawled out before me. Maybe it's time to teach my boys how to play "Mom's spa day." They could learn to do pedicures, right?

Batter Up!

I recently joined a softball team - this runs counter to my entire non-athletic persona. Maybe stranger than me actually joining is that someone asked me to join...perhaps they were being nice and thought I'd say no...anyway, I joined the Brave New Workshop Skirt Turtles. (as you can tell by the name, we are total bad asses)

To be honest, I did it entirely for my boys. They think baseball (and softball, by extension) is one of the greatest things of all time. They are Sid Hartmans in the making - only right now they provide the play-by-play in question form: Who is batting? Why did she miss? Did she get a strike? Is she out?

Yesterday was my first game as a Skirt Turtle. My last softball experience was in 8th grade and I only remember being hit in the face while trying to catch a ball in the outfield. Good times. But I played. I even hit the ball twice, although I hit them both right into the other team's mitts, so I never made it to a base, but oh well. 

If all goes well, I should be able to continue to hide the feelings of fear and inadequacy that seem to be triggered when a ball is coming at my face...or at least not breakdown in tears. 

It's all worth it to hear my little cheerleaders on the side line. If only they could sub in for me.