That wasn't what it looked like... in my mind

Originally published on DC Metro Moms, 4/30/10:

 With an almost six year span between my first and second children, I often feel like I'm living in perpetual Round Two of my parenting career.  This happens to be a sort of double-play level, since there is only an eighteen month span between number two and number three.  (For the record, we are officially done counting.)  So while I'm just entering the uncomfortably-named world of "tweendom" with my oldest son, I'm still firmly planted in the toddler/preschooler circuit with my younger two.

As an almost-four year old, my daughter has begun to be eligible for some group activities offered by our city's recreation department.  Since she spends her every day with me and her younger brother, I was more than happy to sign her up for a Saturday morning activity that gave her the opportunity to experience what it's like to listen to a non-related adult in charge and wait her turn among ten other similarly aged children.  For years she has watched her older brother be part of a handful of group activities, so it's finally her time in the sun.  When I told her that there would a soccer "class" for three year olds this spring, she literally shrieked with intense joy, and we scrambled to find the shinguards that had protected her brother's scrawny legs before her.  That first Saturday morning, the sun was shining, her bright red hair was pulled back in a sporty ponytail, and I imagined cheering her on from the sidelines as she frolicked around the soccer field among a group of equally joyful children, a gigantic smile on her face and her silly giggle being broadcast over the spring wind.

Yeah.  Apparently predicting the near future isn't my strong suit.


Now, I've been down this road before, although my firstborn's foray into "organized" sports came at a bit of a later age than hers.  (Organized most definitely used loosely.)  And on top of that Round One experience, I should also have had a clearer and more realistic picture in my head that morning since I haven't spent more than a day away from my stereotypically-hot-headed ginger child in her entire life.  Instead of hanging on the sidelines, I spent the time with a child hanging on me, attaching herself to my leg in a way that makes it difficult for either of us to kick a small-sized soccer ball.  Instead of offering up my encouragement in a light and airy voice, I spoke my reassurances directly in her ear, which was right next to my face as she shoved her entire head into the side of my neck.  While it started out simple enough, with my little darling watching her young and super-enthusiastic coaches, clinging to my leg but still in the same general vicinity of the group, it soon turned all dark and twisty when I had the audacity to utter the words, "Oh sweets, remember, no hands!"  

Those five words brought forth a gush of emotion that couldn't be quelled with hugs, or with reassurances that it's okay to forget sometimes, or with a sip from the water bottle, or even with an extended sit on the bleachers, far removed from the action.  Nope, the soccer for the morning had been played and played out.  In my daughter's defense (and with a clear finger-pointing at her parents who should have known better), she did not get nearly enough sleep the night before because of a late evening spent with friends, but even more to the point, I should have known better.  I'm not sure that there's much I could have done differently in that very moment, but I certainly shouldn't have been surprised or put off by my daughter's reaction to the simple correction directed at her.

I don't know what it's like for other parents, but I'm the proud mama of three children whose emotions run as deeply and intensely as they do in my own soul.  I come from a mom who cries at Hallmark commercials, I sob uncontrollably at books that I read, and I parent three children who have a similarly tenuous hold on their emotional self-control as well.  In my previous years as a teacher, I've seen plenty of kids who can bounce back from reproofs or shrug their shoulders in response to disappointment, but this isn't something that I witness in my own home.  And you know what?  I can get all worked up about it, and trust me, I could totally get all worked up about it, but it is what it is.  So when my daughter's tears literally fly out of her eyes while we're in public and well-meaning folks question if she's okay, I've taken to simply responding, "Yes, she's fine, thanks.  We're just emotional people."

And soccer?  Well, let's just say that I haven't settled down on those sidelines just yet, but I also haven't had to be a human tissue again for more than a moment or two in the last few weeks.  So all in all, I'd say that's close enough to a goal for me.

This is an original DC Metro Moms post. 

Dawn blogs nonsense about her family at my thoughts exactly, and tries to sound intelligent when she reviews books at 5 Minutes for Books.