Sunday, May 12, 2013

Mother's Day on the soccer field





 Trying to capture a picture of my soccer playing boys.
Cooper treasures his new soccer medal.

I know the calendar says it's May, but the temperature on the soccer field felt more like December.  The wind whipped across the unencumbered fields adding to the already frigid feel.  Despite wearing three layers and a pair of fleece gloves, I was freezing.  Most of the game I sat on the sidelines huddled under a tartan blanket, knees knocking and torso shaking.

Perhaps I would have had a better attitude about the weather if the soccer play was remotely warm.  Instead, our (sparse) team of four and five year olds seemed to have an array of issues that hindered any chance of stellar play.  One little guy was temperamental, prone to wild emotions that he felt very comfortable displaying in front of a crowd.  (I think he may have a future as a reality TV star!)  Another was timid, preferring to trifle his game time away on the sidelines clutching a water bottle.  And that's just the beginning.  Did I mention the child that took on the likeness of a narcoleptic and would simply collapse on the field in corpse pose?  Why?  Why not, I suppose?

As the game dragged along, I remembered that it was Mother's Day.  While many other mothers were lounging at spas or savoring delicious meals at yummy eateries, I was on the soccer field...coaching...with my own four kids in tow.  Where did I go wrong?  

This year, I spent Mother's Day solo with the kids.  My husband passed the day recovering from one ER shift and then working the next.  We saw each other briefly.  He made efforts to call.  He gave a thoughtful gift.  But, he wasn't there.  He couldn't help it.  That's his job.

While I was on the soccer field throwing myself a private pity party, I thought about my husband.  I imagined he was treating someone's mother right at that moment.  Wasn't someone else grateful that my husband was working today?  Wasn't someone else experiencing a much harder Mother's Day than me?  Those images tilted my emotions.  

Chris and I agreed that Mother's Day doesn't have an expiration date.  We plan to celebrate on an alternate date.  I cancelled my pity party.













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