It's not my favorite thing to do, and truth be told, the long practices during dinner time make me grumpy. But Mark loves it. So I suck it up, spend lots of money on equipment he outgrows after one season and drive him everywhere he needs to be.
This winter, he wanted to run track, so I didn't sign him up for any other sports. I signed him up for flag football in the spring instead, and of course, that's when I found out track is now a spring sport, too. For a few minutes, I actually hoped (for my sake) Mark WOULDN'T make the track team, but of course he did (and I was glad, for his sake). So now he's running track after school and playing flag football at the same time. (And somehow doing his homework in between all that.)
I was just thankful it couldn't get any busier--until Mark came home and told me, "Oh, school soccer team tryouts are next week."
That's when I almost started crying.
But I'm trying to take it a day at a time. Monday was the first night of football, and Mark was so excited. But he was excited in that middle-schooler boy way, where it comes off more as indifference than actual excitement.
"First day of practice!" I said, as we drove to the field. "This will be fun!"
"Uh...sure," Mark said, shrugging.
That was the last time he acknowledged me that night. As soon as we got on the field, he ran away. I watched the other kids appear, grab their belts and flags, and run off.
I signaled to Mark to come get his flags, but he just looked the other way. I waited patiently until he came to my side of the field, and pointed toward the bag with the belts in it, but he waved me off.
"Not now, Mom," he said, through gritted teeth.
So I shrugged and went back to my book. A few minutes later, the game stopped because Mark had to go get his flags.
Next up was running and catching. I watched Mark fumble a few balls, and reminded him to cradle the ball, like I show him when we practice together. He didn't even bother to answer, just stared straight ahead, no doubt wishing me to the cornfield.
I gave up and starting talking to one of the other moms. We laughed and joked during the whole practice.
"Mark's wishing I would just go away and stop talking to him," I told her.
She just laughed. "Yeah, because none of the other kids have moms here, either," she said sarcastically, nodding at all the nearby moms. "And those moms aren't telling them the same things."
I knew we were going to get along just fine.
She looked at her watch and wondered when Coach was going to end practice.
"Doesn't he notice we're the only ones left out here?" she said. She was right--I glanced around. All the other teams were gone.
We got our answer a few minutes later. At precisely 8 p.m., all the lights surrounding the field shut off. Apparently, practice was over.
"He can keep his flags," the other mom told me, nodding at Mark's belt. "Take them home and cut the belt down until it fits him. Then, burn the edges where you cut it, so it doesn't unravel."
"Thanks!" I answered. She'd given me all sorts of helpful advice already.
Mark ran over to the team bag and dumped his belt and flags in it.
"Bring them back," I told him. "They go home with you."
"No, they don't," he said. Before I could open my mouth again, he growled, "It's fine, Mom. I don't need them."
Ah, the joys of a mouthy tweener. I gave up, but the boy next to him didn't.
"Take 'em home, dude," he said. "Cut them down to size, then burn the edges. You keep 'em all season."
Mark stomped over to get his flags, grudgingly.
"Good practice," the coach told the boys. "Same time next week...We'll practice until--" he glanced around the dark field. "--until 7:50, I guess."
And so Mark finished his first football practice. He was tired and hungry, but happy. I was happy, too, but for a completely different reason--it was warm inside my car. I reminded myself to bring gloves to the next practice, and to spend less time trying to talk to my ungrateful young son.
It may be a loooooong season...
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