Happy Soccer Mom's Day

For just about the last ten years, I've spent Mother's day at the same place...the soccer fields! Not once have I been greeted with flowers or candy or a card or special seating. Nope, it seems that the soccer fields don't distinguish between Mother's Day and any other game day.

And, at my house, the Soccer Moms don't either. We still wash the uniforms, find the missing shin guard, pack up the water bottles, nag about applying sunscreen, and rush off to the game in the same spirit we do every fall and spring weekend. We still cheer from the sidelines. We still silently curse the ref's bad calls (unless you are Annoying Mom, then it's not so silently). We still console the losers and congratulate the victors.

This year, I've decided to make the Mother's Day Soccer Game extra special for myself. I've threatened to do this for a long, long time. This is the year. I'm finally going to follow through.

I'm going to buy one of the fancy lawn chairs. My cheap bargain store chair that I bought just last fall is already falling apart. It's time for a new one anyway. So I'm going all out and purchasing the Mother of all Lawn Chairs.

It's pink and white striped with fashionable scalloped edges. It comes complete with footrest and awning. There's a fold out table attached so I will have somewhere to put my fancy fruit kabobs I plan to snack on during half-time. And I'll bring a matching insulated mug from which I will sip my ice-cold lemonade. All that will be missing is a cabana boy to fan my face. Ahhhh.....

You think I'm joking. Well, I'm not. After ten years of Happy Soccer Mom Day, I looking forward to this one. After all, why should we be reduced to sitting on the itchy grass or the muddy blanket or the broken bargain store chair? Especially on our special day of honor. I can't wait. I can see it now...

I'll pull the lawn chair out of the van. It's twice the size of the bargain one. But that's okay. I can handle it. Oh, got to grab the cooler full of fruit kabobs and the lemonade. And the camera so we can document this special day. Then I reach up to pull down the back door of the van...and it all comes tumbling down. But that's okay. I laugh, shrug it off, shut the door, pick it all up and trudge cross country to where all the best sideline spots are taken because it took me so long to carry my load. So I set up on the end. And miss the first five minutes of the game because the set-up instruction manual that comes with the Mother of all Lawn Chairs blew away before I even had the damn thing out of the case so I didn't know what the hell I was doing and ended up cursing the chair rather than the ref. But I finally sit, and when half-time comes I reach into the cooler and poke a skewer underneath my fingernail which makes me wail in pain, and bleed on the fruit which now no one will eat including me because I don't do blood. Gross! So I close the lid and in doing so, inadvertently spill the rest of lemonade in my lap so I get to spend the rest of the game wet and sticky and hungry and bleeding. Giving up on trying to salvage any amount of dignity and honor, I look up to see how the second half is going, just in time to catch an aggressively kicked pass right in my face. My daughter runs to retrieve the out-of-bounds ball and says as she prepares to throw in,"Happy Soccer Mom's Day! I love you."

Perhaps there's a reason the soccer fields don't distinguish between Mother's Day and any other game day. And why once again, I won't either.

Happy Roaring Mom's Day, no matter where you celebrate it!