Toby's First Soccer Game

I feel I must give you an update on Toby’s first soccer game. 

With all of the "Harold lessons" I could deliver, after weeks of counting down the sleeps, Saturday eventually came and my parental lessons in sportsmanship were put to a test.

The first step of ANYTHING when it comes to Toby is getting over his shyness- factor.  When it comes to any new situation (no matter HOW exciting or prepared he is for it) there is always the very REAL possibility that he will revert to
“shy Toby”, hide behind my legs and absolutely refuse to participate. 

Luckily, the prospect of choosing his very own NUMBERED purple soccer shirt quickly negated this possibility.

The next potential hurdle is a possibility with ANY four year old ANYWHERE in the world.  Sometimes, no matter HOW excited they are, they may just change their mind, start hating (insert said activity), cross their arms, sit down in the middle of wherever they are, and refuse to have anything more to do with whatever fun activity they had been counting down the minutes to engage in.

This, too, we averted by the arrival of his friends Meredith and Sam who ALSO got to choose purple shirts with REAL numbers on them.

The practice went smoothly with every 4 year old taking their turn kicking, shooting, running and crying in alternating succession.  Finally it was time to put Toby’s lifetime of practice to the test; it was time for his very first (ten minute long) soccer game.

This is where motherhood once again stepped in to remind me that I am no longer in control of who I formerly was. 

I got nervous.

It was 4 on 4.  Ten minutes.  No referees and no scorekeepers.  Why on EARTH was my heart racing at a million miles a minute?

The game itself was somewhat like herding cats that had been given copious amounts of female hormones and then shown the final scene of Love Actually while drinking red wine.  Tears, temper tantrum and erratic movements that made absolutely no sense to anyone who was watching ensued while the parents helplessly watched from the sidelines.

Somewhere, from the depths of my mommy-ness, came a fierce feeling I have hardly ever felt before.   It took every ounce of m strength to contain myself from not jumping up and down and screaming, “GO GET THAT BALL, TOBY, AND SHOOT!!!!”

Finally, after mustering up his courage, Toby got the ball and was off on a breakaway.   As I screamed with excitement from the sidelines he made it all the way down the field.  As he approached the net my heart was in my throat HOPING the he would make the shot and be able to live out his great dream of SCORING a GOAL in a REAL soccer game.

As he lifted up his foot to shoot he suddenly stopped (WHAT WAS HE DOING?!?!?), turned around (TOBY, THAT’S THE WRONG DIRECTION!!!!) and passed to his teammate.  (WTF?!?!?!)

(What a clever child-- it turned out to be the coach’s daughter to boot.)

I am happy to report (for my own sanity) that he DID get a few goals during the rest of the game, but his proudest moment came afterwards, when his coach praised him for being the “first four year old EVER to actually PASS the ball.”

So it seems Toby may have actually learned a lesson from our nightly reading of “Harold B Wigglebottom Learns about Sportsmanship”.  I wonder if they make a version for soccer moms, too?

(This is him enjoying a well deserved plate of strawberry waffles after the game...you can tell he worked up an appetite!!!)