Tuesday Truths

Soccer Mom  life isn't  all snack bags and hair bows

Soccer Mom life isn’t all snack bags and hair bows


I did not inherit the cleaning gene

My Mom keeps a wonderfully clean house as does her mother.  My Dad’s Mom also kept a wonderfully clean house.  I do NOT keep a beautifully clean home.  I just don’t.  My house is not so bad as to warrant calls to CPS but it is not a shining example of the skills my mother attempted to pass on.  My house is smack dab in the middle of being able to pass a white glove test and there needing to be an intervention. Okay, this is Tuesday Truths- if I’m honest it’s closer to intervention than white glove.  I work full time.  My husband works full time.  The kids are more than a full time job between homework and activities. Then I need to be sure we all have clean underwear on a regular basis and I have got to have some “ME” time to reset.  When you factor all that in you can see why there is little time for cleaning our baseboards on a regular basis.  More accurately- I do not put a high priority on cleaning baseboards on a regular basis.  If you walk in unannounced on a good day you may be greeted by 8 pairs of shoes and a massive apology.  On a bad day you will still get to see our footwear collection and there may also be the better part of a whole serving of cheerios (some crushed, some not) under the table because my school aged daughter can’t seem to keep her food off the floor and three days of mail and school paperwork on the table.  I wish I’d gotten the clean gene. You know, the one who is willing, driven even, to forgo sleep in the name of inhaling bleach and Pine Sol as she scrubs the house. I don’t have it. Period. Being a Soccer Mom just gives me more of an excuse.  We are never home which is good because I like a clean house, I just can’t be spurred into action regularly, so being at the field means I don’t have to see it.  The only time the house gets a thorough scrubbing is when company is expected.  Seems to me we need to put a party on the calendar soon as the clutter is beginning to bother me and that is saying something.  Sad thing for The Boss is it appears it skips two generations….. we are hoping she will develop the cleaning gene soon or else we may be forced to submit her room to the producers of Hoarders.

I really dislike the phrase “That’s okay, *insert goal keeper’s name here*”

My son is a goalie and I hear the above phrase far too often. I hear it thrown in my son’s direction as well as at other keepers. It bothers me for a number of reasons.  First, let’s say my son is nutmegged (ball through his legs) and gives up a goal.  If so, the little nugget “It’s okay, LJ” does not help.  1) He knows he made an error and is likely beating himself up   2) it is not okay.  If he got “megged” he clearly disregarded the fundamentals and paid the price by giving up a goal.  Second scenario- field player gets lazy and gives up a foul on the end of the box.  Free kick winds up in the back of the net via the top corner, nothing the 9 year old keeper can do about it.  “That’s okay, LJ”.  While in this case I understand they are trying to say “it’s not your fault, kiddo” but it just doesn’t help.  Why is it that the keeper is getting the attention rather than the boy who gave up the foul? Relatedly- defense breaks down and they fail to clear it, keeper lays out but it still goes in “That’s okay, keeper”.  Really? I guess it all boils down to the fact that comments such as this are unevenly applied.  I am pretty sure it would be frowned upon if I yelled “That’s okay, striker” when he sends a very makeable shot  one v. one with the keeper, wide of the net.  In that scenario  it would appear as if I was calling the kid out.  Fact of the matter is striker’s errors don’t go on the score sheet.  Defensive errors and brain farts by the keeper do- for the other team.  Guess it’s a good thing my boy has  very short memory  and doesn’t beat himself up.  He is quick to realize the goals that happened because of errors of others and is happy to try and minimize the effects of those errors by being good in his position.  Next time you are tempted to holler “That’s okay, keeper” refrain.  Rather, focus on the team- “Let’s go, boys (girls)… let’s get it back!”.

Wilson Phillips came on in the car yesterday and I sang every last word of “Release Me”

I know you are sitting there judging me, I’m pretty sure the guy in the 90’s sentra next to me yesterday morning was.   I am very much a 90’s girl.  I downloaded their album a while back just because I thought it was funny.  Usually a couple of bars of one of their songs will play, I will smile and laugh then quickly skip it to find what the shuffle gods throw my way next.  That was not the case yesterday….. There on the 91 East I belted out:

How many times have I tried to turn this love around?
I don’t want to give up
But baby it’s time I had two feet on the ground
Can you release me
Can you release me
Now that you’re gone I can’t help myself from wondering
Oh, if you’d have come down from your high
Would we’ve been all right?
Release me
Can you release me

Take a moments… sing it. Really! Top to bottom I belted out that song, smiling the entire time.  It was rather therapeutic.  Took me back to an easier time -I can say that now that 20 years have passed and I not longer have emotional responses to the stress that was High School.  The traffic around me did not bother me.  I was in the zone, singing along with the harmony and having a great time. I mean, how can one stress out about traffic or the impending doom that is Monday in the office when you are signing:

Come on baby, come on baby
You knew it was time to just let go
‘Cause we want to be free
But somehow it’s just not that easy
Come on Darlin’, hear me Darlin’
‘Cause you’re a waste of time for me
I’m trying to make you see
That baby you’ve just got to release me
Release me
Release me

No, really. Sing it! Good times.  I love how music has such an impact. Even songs from a different time in our lives can stop us in our tracks. What song from times gone by has caught your attention lately?


Tuesday Truths

Soccer Mom  life isn't  all snack bags and hair bows

Soccer Mom life isn’t all snack bags and hair bows


Cost of Club is worth it to be rid of snack bags and hair bows

Club Soccer is expensive.  There is no other way to put it.  Beyond the fees there’s time, gas, miles driven.  All that factored in I believe I prefer it over rec soccer and its hair bows, snack bags and elaborately decorated cans we are asked to shovel change into when the kids score.  I’m aware this is another reason for my Soccer Mom card to be pulled.  Don’t get me wrong I absolutely love watching my little Abby Wambach run up and down the field in the beehive that is U7 recreational soccer.  I also enjoy the days she prefers to dance around all on her own channeling Julie Andrews in the Sound of Music. Truth is- I love the laid back feeling of rec soccer but also love the more streamlined “get in and get out” feeling of club soccer.  All that disclosed I fully recognize that my girl loves this stuff and that the days in this phase of her life are numbered so I will embraced it- hair bows and all.  Anyone know where I can find cool blue jaguar stickers to perfectly adorn the snack bags I will have to put together later this season.

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Tuesday Truths: Confessions of a Soccer Mom

Soccer Mom  life isn't  all snack bags and hair bows

Soccer Mom life isn’t all snack bags and hair bows

A repetitive series on my blog will give a glimpse into the real life of a soccer mom. Some may be funny, some may have you reaching for the phone to call CPS, all will be true.


To start the series off I’ll stay pretty tame-

I do not drive a Mini Van or SUV-

I understand that admitting this in such a public forum may cause the  Soccer Mom authorities to hunt me down and strip me of all Soccer Mom privileges.  They may even exert their power and pull this very blog from my control. Even with the threat of all that I proudly type- I drive a Infiniti G35 and it is fun! It is not the most practical for summer tournaments as the trunk space is limited and the black leather seats get hot enough to bake one’s buns but damn my car is fun to drive. Bonus confession- my darling Infiniti is bumper sticker and cutsie license plate frame free. Please talk me down from the ledge as I have been researching options to slap some Soccer Mom identifier on my ride but have resisted to this point.  Yes, must be strong. Must not give all of my life to the Soccer Mom role.  The car is MY domain. That is if you disregard the ever present chair and umbrella in the cramped quarters of the trunk and large quantity of grass clippings and occasional mud balls on the floor in the back seat. Oh and should you ever get in my car and be hit by a foul odor- that likely identifies the presence of some goalie gloves and shin guards.

I can not French Braid-

My poor daughter.  While her teammates have perfectly executed French braids my girl, if she is lucky, must settle for a couple pig tails that may or may not be evenly distributed on her head.  If it is a bad day Big Daddy throws in a single pony tail and she grabs a head band. Bonus confession- said headband is not likely to match her uniform.  I am a terrible Soccer Mom to my girl.  Personally I keep my hair in a sassy short cut.  Read that as: I can’t style my own hair for shit once it passes my shoulders and I’ve been given this little female human being whose hair I’m suppose to style? God has a sense of humor, clearly.  That said I am trying! When the Boss has enough sit in her I have been practicing.  I will tell you my French braiding skills HAVE improved.  When done they no longer look to have been completed by a blind woman with only 3 fingers.  Yes, progress is being made. Best I can tell I will master this particular skill  when The Boss is going U16 and the last thing she will want is for me to come near here hair.

I once neglected to bring snacks on our assigned day-

This is another one that may result in my Soccer Mom card being pulled.  There was a bit of a miscommunication between Big Daddy and I.  Note- Big Daddy was coaching and I was Team Mom all while Big Daddy was also league president and I helped as treasurer of the boys team. Clearly stated- we had a ton going on.  It was the beginning of the season and we flat out blew it.  I fully realize that snacks may be the only reason some little cherubs pay soccer and I get parents having an upset girl on their hands when there wasn’t a bag stuffed full of sugar pushed there way after their massive 30 minute athletic performance.  What I was not prepared for was the venom from the parents themselves. HOLY SHIT. Yes, I blew it and didn’t have a Capri Sun, twinkie and fishy crackers in a perfectly  decorated baggie for your girl but damn no need to pull our soccer parent credentials right there on the field.  The way I look at it I created an opportunity for you to talk to your daughter about how one does not need to eat a snack after such a short cardio session (bonus confession: I still need to take that to heart myself) or if you wish to go a different route- stop for ice cream on your home.  Seriously, it is a snack bag. Get over it.


There you have it.  The first installment of Tuesday Truths.  So- what confessions do you have?