It's no surprise to those of you who know, my son is a complete sports fanatic. Seriously, he'll be 7 yrs old in a week and his choice of reading material is not The Cat and The Dog, it's Kids Sports Illustrated. I have yet to figure out how this classifies as reading at his level,or better yet how to ask his teacher if it counts towards his credits of "at home reading" for school. But these are the cards that God has dealt me, a son who eats, sleeps, and breathes sports. From here on out, I will refer to my son by the name of, Sporty McGee.
This fall Sporty decided he wanted to play football. Woo Hoo...My favorite sport...GRRRRR....Shoulder pads, helmets, pushing, shoving, growling, all over a leathery odd shapped ball, while you sit in the stands screaming like a mad person yelling RUUUUUNNNN or GET HIM GET HIM GET HIM!!! How can you not like the sport? Besides, his level would be 1st and 2nd graders so how intense can it get right? Riiiiiight!!!
Season started out with 5 days a week practice for 2 weeks - First week of nothing but conditioning, running 2 miles through each practice. Second week - begin learning to hit. Oh yeah, did I forget to mention that it is tackle?? Next, they go down to 3 days a week practice and one game on the weekend. Any day that football is not scheduled is the day we try to squeeze in the norm of life. Which, so far, we are very unsuccessful.
I have never, in my 7 years of motherhood, felt so unorganized and behind on life. Hello - Me - Calendar - Plan - Everything!! I feel as though I no longer control our lives, football does! I don't know how this happened, I don't know how I allowed one simple sport to take control. The sad thing is, I feel that by allowing Sporty to participate in a sport he's wanted to play since he was 4, I've ruined him from it for life. He's torn. He loves playing, loves the sport, but the inner battle of a grown sports loving male and a 7 year old boy are taking place inside him. He misses his life, he misses his playtime, his freedom that a kid his age should have. In the same breath, he doesn't want to quit playing. How do you find a happy medium?
I may sound like a typical crazed, protective, mommy here, but am I wrong that it SHOULDN'T be this difficult at his age? That as a parent I should be allowed to yell and scream at some of these coaches they way they are these 1st and 2nd graders? Believe me, I've played this scenario in my head and I have to admit, it's quite entertaining. "Give me a lap...Give me 10 push ups...what's that? You can't pull your overgrown beer belly up off the ground? OOOOH, Ok superstar!." (completely rolling my eyes right now).
I'm at my wits end with the whole thing. The best thing about it all?? Besides getting to see Sporty tackle some butt to the ground?? The great Mom's I've got to know as well as their kids. There's always good to come out of anything bad, irritating, or stressful. In the meantime, Sporty and I are doing a countdown until freedom is ours again....at least until Basketball starts (sigh)
