As parents of young kids, my husband and I are learning interesting life lessons, but recently we had our first head-shaking-is-that-really-my-kid experience with our daughter Emma. We have had mild ones in the past that were easy to laugh off, like funny boundary-testing behavior; tantrums over something completely crazy; brutal honesty; and even some cuss words. None of that prepared us for the weeks-long, excruciating experience of preschool girl soccer.
My little Emma Margaret turned five in October. She is energetic and affectionate. Her grandmother likes to say that Emma has never walked anywhere; it’s true, she runs everywhere. Emma is also smart (I know, I know, every parent thinks their kid is smart), she is very articulate for her age, extremely creative (definitely a budding artist), imaginative, and opinionated. All very positive attributes for her in the long run, but a little challenging in a five-year-old.
Emma was a shy baby and young toddler, preferring to sit with me and observe rather than interact in our Baby and Me music classes. Then, just as we thought we really knew her, something changed. She was about two and a half, and I don’t know if she was fed up with the pandemic isolation or what, but she became very extroverted. Kinda terrifying for her more introverted parents. She began talking to anyone and everyone, which meant that we had to talk to anyone and everyone.
She said” hi” to everyone when we went on walks. She would sit on our front porch and say “hi” to everyone passing by. On Halloween, she could have cared less about getting candy herself; she wanted to stay home and yell “Happy Ha-O-Weeeen” to all the trick-or-treaters. She started to ask to pet every dog she saw and would have real conversations with their owners. One day on her little pink scooter she chased down a pair of teenage girls as they were jogging by, trying to ask them what their names were, trying to get them to stop and talk with her — as I comically ran after her, scolding her for taking off down the street without me.
Since coming to terms with raising an extrovert, we have watched Emma enjoy music classes, swimming and ice-skating lessons, and lots of social activities, usually at a park or somewhere she can play and be active with other kids. So naturally, my husband and I thought Emma would enjoy trying a team sport. We had both loved team sports growing up, and we were looking forward to cheering her on. We signed her up for soccer and we were both confident that she would love it and would emerge a natural leader on the soccer field.
David and I have an inside joke, or maybe it’s more of a mantra that we tell ourselves when one of our kids does something semi-ridiculous in public: “At least he/she is not licking the ice”. Its origin was when Emma was taking ice skating lessons last year. On the first day there was this little boy who spent the duration of the 30-minute lesson licking the ice. Not just a taste here and there; he was on his hands and knees scooting around with his bum in the air licking the ice — like a caterpillar inching along with its tongue pressed to the most delicious thing it had ever tasted. Nothing could tempt or persuade him to participate in the actual lesson. Anyway, as funny as it was, after two or three lessons with continued ice licking, his parents understandably decided he wasn’t ready for ice skating. I was quietly grateful that my kid would never do such a thing. Haha. I should have known my secret judgment would set me up perfectly to be served a nice slice of humble pie.
Emma pretty much hated everything about soccer. She refused to pay attention, learn about the game or the skills involved. She spent practices and games talking and playing with the other girls and generally being disruptive — in a happy way — but still very disruptive. David and I were genuinely surprised by her behavior because it was so different from the other activities she had participated in, and she did not behave like this at school. I was puzzled, but I still thought it would be best to keep going and encourage her to play and support her teammates.
During one game, she sat down in the middle of the field and watched everyone running around her. During another game, she decided to lie down and make a snow angel even though there was no snow. She told the coach and referee that she was bored. In other games, no dandelion went unpicked, nor any other anomaly in the grass unstudied.
The antic that tops them all, however, was during one of the last games of the season. It was a cold, frosty morning so the girls were dressed in coats, hats, and mittens. The grass was covered in frost, but the game was on. Emma had been “playing” for maybe five minutes when she decided to make things more interesting and pulled her hat down over her eyes. Emma was now running around the soccer field in the middle of the game with her hat over her eyes, not caring at all where the ball was or what her teammates were trying to accomplish! I tried desperately, and as discreetly as I could, to yell at her to get the hat off her eyes. I could see the panic and embarrassment on David’s face as the hat shenanigans continued. I reminded him (and myself) that Emma was only five and that this was only preschool soccer.
Then something even more ridiculous happened. The other girls from both Emma’s team and the opposing team followed Emma’s lead pulling their hats down over their eyes, running around the field, blind to the ball and to each other. At this point, I quietly hung my head in defeat as the other parents started to yell and use body gestures to convince their girls to remove their hats from their eyes. After a couple of minutes and collisions later, the game had to be stopped, and the teams were sent to their respective sides of the field so the coaches and parents could end the hat shenanigans.
Emma was subbed out and came over to sit with us on the sideline, completely oblivious to the chaos she had just instigated. She sat down, asked if the game was over yet and if she could have a snack. David just shook his head and looked at me. I said, “Well, she’s definitely a leader”. He rolled his eyes, and with a smirk said, “Uh huh”. What we both said to ourselves was our mantra: “At least she isn’t licking the ice”.
Copyright © 2024 by Elizabeth Forwood
Elizabeth, I just love reading and re-reading this. It is so true to life, warm and full of the wonder of little girls. So creative! She will go far and at least she isn’t licking the ice. What fun!
I loved that story – I remember listening to it the first time – and laughed so hard ! Hope you are doing well ! ❤️