If you were thinking you were the worst football mom ever, let me tell you my story. I guarantee it will make you feel all better.
After S1’s knee injury last year, he didn’t want to play football this year. S2 announced he wasn’t playing either. S3 told us he was never playing football EVER again, but could he play soccer? And S4 just kept counting down the days, the hours, the minutes before he could sign up and become an official football player.
The boy practices football moves out my kitchen window all the time. He immediately felt practice was the best time ever, why couldn’t it be longer? He makes his brothers practice his calls with him. And he talks non stop…and I mean non stop…about football.
The Farmer’s Wife would eat this boy up except we won’t give him up. :)
First football practice ever. This his “I got this but I am kind of nervous” look. But totally prepared. Right down to his Lions hat to wear after practice.
The excitement for that first game was over the top.
We got our schedule with games and times two days before the first game. I immediately sent it out to all the grandparents, aunts and uncles. I came home and put the schedule up by the calendar, planning to add it to the calendar, my amazing planner and cozi later when I had more time.
Saturday’s game day began rainy but looked to be a promising day. I had the day all planned, late breakfast of pancakes before the big game, home for sloppy joes before we took off for S3’s game later that night. Yes, S4 loves football so much that he convinced his brother to play too…on a different team from him so double the running for this mama and daddy.
Daddy was taking two boys out to cut wood and I was keeping the oldest one home who was deep in homework and S4.
I was getting ready to bake cookies for the youth group when I decided to take a shower before the boys got home from wood cutting. S4 was laying on the couch, nearly asleep because him telling me his plays and what he needed to do was getting less constant.
As I headed for our bedroom to get dressed, I heard the phone vibrate from a message. I always am worried about the boys when they go cut wood so I checked the message. It was from Alicia, who I work with. “You guys okay? I am getting calls wondering why you aren’t at the game.”
The WHAT?
I ran to the calendar. The game was at 10 am, not 1pm as I had thought. I looked at the clock. 9:55 am.
I looked at my peacefully sleeping son. The one who has dreamed of this day for so long and worked tirelessly to be prepared.
And I had totally failed him.
“Honey,” I said, keeping my voice as calm as I could, “I need you to get up RIGHT NOW and get totally ready for your game. Fast.”
My calm voice scared him more than my panicked one, I think.
I threw on the clothes I had had on the night before that were laying by the bed. I grabbed my glasses, not bothering with contacts. I pulled my still very dripping hair up in a bun and ran for the suburban. S4 grabbed a gatorade and ran for the suburban, fully dressed, right down to the helmet.
“I am so sorry, honey, but your game starts right now. I misread the time. I am so sorry. But we are going to get you there.”
“Will I play?” he asked, worried.
“I am sure they will let you.”
I drove like the wind. I prefer the speed limit. A little under. I mean, I’ll speed. But I don’t prefer to. But I pushed my faithful suburban and she preformed like a champ. S4 was in the back seat silently crying. “I hope they aren’t mad at me.”
“Never,” I assured him, “This is mama’s fault, not mine.”
We arrived at the field at 10:10. I took my precious boy’s hand and we ran for the stadium. I was so thankful that this school he was playing was so close to home.
He ran onto the field and I fell into a bleacher around no one I knew and watched him warm up.
Meanwhile, S1 was home trying to get ahold of Jake who, when he got the message, hollered at the boys to get in the truck, hurried home with a half truck load of wood and then they all jumped into his beat up little buick and made it just before half time.
I sat there, my hair dripping down my back, my jeans wet from the wet bleachers, shivering in my big sweatshirt because it was that cold out and watched my littlest boy play his heart out. He ran the ball, he tackled the opposing team, he ran in the extra points.
They won. 20 to 13.
His grin was amazing.
His tough grin.
“I just thought, ‘this guy ate mama’s last chocolate chip cookie. He must be stopped!'” he explained to me later, “And then the game was fun because I got to knock that kid over for eating all your cookies!”
Yes, I made him chocolate white chocolate chip cookies that very afternoon.
But this means that now his coaches remind pointedly remind us when the next game is. And S4 checks, double checks and triple checks the times.
Well, at least his first game was memorable. :)
And you now can say, “Well, at least I didn’t totally mess up my kids’ first ever football game like Life With Four Boys Coffee Please did.” You are welcome.
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