Mason is playing soccer again this fall. Last season, his team was the Bulldogs. This time around . . . the Catfish! Uniforms were handed out arbitrarily, and Mason got #2. Of course, Hannah Kate squeeled in delight because that's her favorite number. But let's just say Mason was less than excited about his number, and he even asked me if I could change it.
Although he did really well at practice last year and showed a lot of enthusiasm for the game, that didn't exactly translate to the game itself. He quickly decided he didn't like the "blue ones." The first opponent of the season wore blue jerseys so henseforth the opposing teams were always referred to as the blue ones. We tried to explain to him that that was just part of the game and that a game involves playing another team. I was fairly certain our soccer days were over, but earlier in the summer, Mason started asking when he could play soccer again. So I signed him up.
The season started off really well. We were so proud of Mason for scoring his team's very first goal at their very first game of the season. He'd moved up to the next age bracket so the teams were a little more organized and a little more competitive. They still don't keep score though. Every Saturday we make our way to the soccer field, and Mason had done a great job! I wouldn't say he's been in the middle of the action, but he's definitely been on the outskirts of it instead of on the opposite side of the field away from it!
And then two Saturdays ago it happened . . . a kid on the opposing team kicked the ball up in the air instead of keeping it on the ground. It sailed through time and space and landed smack dab on Mason's face. I didn't immediately jump out of my seat. I willed myself to stay put, not wanting to be one of THOSE moms . . . you know, the ones who run onto the field every time little Johnny trips over his shoe laces. Besides, my husband was sitting right beside me, and I could feel him boring a hole into me without even looking at him. He was thinking the same thing, and I'm certain he was surprised that I wasn't already on the field. But I waited to see what Mason was going to do. He was obviously stunned but then he started running after the ball. It went out of bounds so the whistle blew. In the meantime, one of the coaches, Mrs. Pam, was making her way over to Mason to check on him. I mean, SOMEONE needed to . . . right?!?
And then I couldn't stand it anymore. Was his nose broken? Did he lose any teeth? I couldn't see any blood, but I couldn't be sure either because he wasn't facing me at that point. He turned briefly, and that's when I saw it. No, not blood. Tears. That did it. I became one of THOSE moms. By the time I got to him, Mrs. Pam was already asking him if he was okay, but he wasn't answering. He was trying his hardest not to cry. I got down on my knees in front of him, made sure there indeed wasn't any blood and then gave him the best pep talk I could muster. It didn't work, and I already knew it wouldn't. He wanted out of the game.
So he came and sat with me, and I gave him his water bottle. At this point, my husband is glaring and that hole in my head is growing bigger and bigger despite the fact he's even wearing his sunglasses. I kept my mouth shut and my eyes on that field. A few minutes later, the coach asked Mason to go back into the game, and he did. As soon as he was out of ear shot, my husband could no longer contain himself.
Seth: You shouldn't have done that. He was fine until you got out there.
Me: No he wasn't. He was crying.
Seth: He was fine. He wasn't crying until you got there.
Me: No he wasn't! He was already crying before I walked out there. Besides, what if he would've been crying because he had a broken nose or something?
Seth: You just need to leave him alone, and let him shake it off. He would've been fine and stayed in the game if it hadn't been for you.
Me: No, I am not going to "leave it alone." I am not THAT mother, and I never will be!
At that point, our conversation was over. And for the remainder of the game, Mason didn't go near the ball.
We had another game this past Saturday. It got worse . . . not only would he not go near the ball, but every time someone kicked the ball even remotely to his general area on the field, he flinched, and his hands came up in front of his face. Just keeping it real, it was pretty sad to watch. I mean, it really made my heart hurt. We screamed and hollered and cheered for him, but nothing worked. During half time, I asked him if he was scared, and he said yes. So I tried to encourage him and remind him that he didn't need to be scared because Jesus was with him, just like He was with David when he faced Goliath. And then Mason said, "I just wanna play baseball."
Well, maybe Mason just isn't going to be too interested in playing sports. Maybe he'd just rather play the piano instead! Don't worry . . . I didn't dare mention this to my husband! I just politely commented that perhaps Mason would be more interested in an individual sport. I didn't mention tennis either.
That afternoon, we were at Abbie's house for her birthday party / LSU game party. Abbie and her little girl friends were taking a ride on the ranger. Mason and Braylon (Abbie's other boy cousin) were the only boys at this party so they were a bit outnumbered. They really wanted to ride the ranger, too, and they were having some trouble waiting their turn. So they started chasing the ranger and actually caught up with it. Later one of Abbie's friends came up to me and said (and I kid you not!), "Mason can run really fast! All that soccer is paying off."
And then it hit me . . . TRACK! He can run track!
Although he did really well at practice last year and showed a lot of enthusiasm for the game, that didn't exactly translate to the game itself. He quickly decided he didn't like the "blue ones." The first opponent of the season wore blue jerseys so henseforth the opposing teams were always referred to as the blue ones. We tried to explain to him that that was just part of the game and that a game involves playing another team. I was fairly certain our soccer days were over, but earlier in the summer, Mason started asking when he could play soccer again. So I signed him up.The season started off really well. We were so proud of Mason for scoring his team's very first goal at their very first game of the season. He'd moved up to the next age bracket so the teams were a little more organized and a little more competitive. They still don't keep score though. Every Saturday we make our way to the soccer field, and Mason had done a great job! I wouldn't say he's been in the middle of the action, but he's definitely been on the outskirts of it instead of on the opposite side of the field away from it!
And then two Saturdays ago it happened . . . a kid on the opposing team kicked the ball up in the air instead of keeping it on the ground. It sailed through time and space and landed smack dab on Mason's face. I didn't immediately jump out of my seat. I willed myself to stay put, not wanting to be one of THOSE moms . . . you know, the ones who run onto the field every time little Johnny trips over his shoe laces. Besides, my husband was sitting right beside me, and I could feel him boring a hole into me without even looking at him. He was thinking the same thing, and I'm certain he was surprised that I wasn't already on the field. But I waited to see what Mason was going to do. He was obviously stunned but then he started running after the ball. It went out of bounds so the whistle blew. In the meantime, one of the coaches, Mrs. Pam, was making her way over to Mason to check on him. I mean, SOMEONE needed to . . . right?!?And then I couldn't stand it anymore. Was his nose broken? Did he lose any teeth? I couldn't see any blood, but I couldn't be sure either because he wasn't facing me at that point. He turned briefly, and that's when I saw it. No, not blood. Tears. That did it. I became one of THOSE moms. By the time I got to him, Mrs. Pam was already asking him if he was okay, but he wasn't answering. He was trying his hardest not to cry. I got down on my knees in front of him, made sure there indeed wasn't any blood and then gave him the best pep talk I could muster. It didn't work, and I already knew it wouldn't. He wanted out of the game.
So he came and sat with me, and I gave him his water bottle. At this point, my husband is glaring and that hole in my head is growing bigger and bigger despite the fact he's even wearing his sunglasses. I kept my mouth shut and my eyes on that field. A few minutes later, the coach asked Mason to go back into the game, and he did. As soon as he was out of ear shot, my husband could no longer contain himself.
Seth: You shouldn't have done that. He was fine until you got out there.
Me: No he wasn't. He was crying.
Seth: He was fine. He wasn't crying until you got there.
Me: No he wasn't! He was already crying before I walked out there. Besides, what if he would've been crying because he had a broken nose or something?
Seth: You just need to leave him alone, and let him shake it off. He would've been fine and stayed in the game if it hadn't been for you.
Me: No, I am not going to "leave it alone." I am not THAT mother, and I never will be!
At that point, our conversation was over. And for the remainder of the game, Mason didn't go near the ball.
We had another game this past Saturday. It got worse . . . not only would he not go near the ball, but every time someone kicked the ball even remotely to his general area on the field, he flinched, and his hands came up in front of his face. Just keeping it real, it was pretty sad to watch. I mean, it really made my heart hurt. We screamed and hollered and cheered for him, but nothing worked. During half time, I asked him if he was scared, and he said yes. So I tried to encourage him and remind him that he didn't need to be scared because Jesus was with him, just like He was with David when he faced Goliath. And then Mason said, "I just wanna play baseball."
Well, maybe Mason just isn't going to be too interested in playing sports. Maybe he'd just rather play the piano instead! Don't worry . . . I didn't dare mention this to my husband! I just politely commented that perhaps Mason would be more interested in an individual sport. I didn't mention tennis either.
That afternoon, we were at Abbie's house for her birthday party / LSU game party. Abbie and her little girl friends were taking a ride on the ranger. Mason and Braylon (Abbie's other boy cousin) were the only boys at this party so they were a bit outnumbered. They really wanted to ride the ranger, too, and they were having some trouble waiting their turn. So they started chasing the ranger and actually caught up with it. Later one of Abbie's friends came up to me and said (and I kid you not!), "Mason can run really fast! All that soccer is paying off."
And then it hit me . . . TRACK! He can run track!