Soccer moming is a feminist act

Guess what I did yesterday.


Need another hint?


I know I’m a priss, but it really, really nearly did kill me to wear those shorts out of the house.  The shirt, eh, whatever; I’m not above a loud shirt.  I am kinda liking the socks.  It may happen sometime in my life that I wear them with boots and a short skirt.  But, those shorts?  They are of. the. devil. and I defy anyone to wear them and not look like a total doofus.  Just ask my bloggy friend who I ran into at the field.   It was funny, because my eyesight isn’t 20/20 and before I quite realized who she was I saw her Superhero necklace and thought, Hey! I bet that is someone I know.  Sure enough.

I wasn’t planning to actually ref a game on the first day.  I was just going to watch the pros and see if they called things the way that I would have.  Kind of test my instincts.  But, a few people who’d signed up to be assistant refs didn’t show and so I stepped up and stepped in and walked up and down the sidelines hoping that no one would be offside.  (At ref school I learned it is offside, not offsideS.)  The guy who taught ref school was hanging out to watch me, because I told him I was completely nervous, and I also had some help, nice help, from parents in the bleachers.  Near the end of the game, there was an attempt on the goal that didn’t quite make it, and while the center ref wasn’t in a spot to see who last touched the ball before it went out, I was right there and called a goal kick.  I even made the right signal with my red flag.  And several dads behind me were all, Good call, Ref! 

Last night I went to the referee picnic with Willow, and I got to hang around at the park, swatting the yellow jackets away from my plate while listening to the refs tell funny stories.  One of them, I think he’s the main guy in charge of ref stuff, was telling me how happy it makes him when women sign up, because he wants the kids to see that women can be coaches and refs and anything else.  He’s right, and so I will add Kids’ Soccer Referee to my feminist resume, and seriously consider becoming a center ref later in the season when I’m more comfortable with it all.

While I was out getting sunburned at the soccer field, the big kids’ dad was getting married.  I’m so happy for him and his wife.  Yes, really.  She has been so gracious and amazing from the beginning (which was when Sophie was a baby) and she’s awesome with the kids.  She even comes to parent teacher conferences when she can get away from work.  She invites me in for a glass of wine when I drop the kids off, and I really, really like her. 

The kids came home late last night after the wedding reception, happy and exhausted, Sophie in a gorgeous blue dress with her hair all beautiful, the boys in tuxes and fresh haircuts.   They went right to bed, but I had to help Sophie stop into the bathroom to pee and get the bobbypin out of her hair.  Mom, she said, tomorrow when we brush my hair, we have to be careful, because I’ve got a ton of product in there.  There’s shampoo, conditioner, and gel from when you washed my hair this morning, and then the stylist put in hairspray like six times.  That’s A LOT of product!  A lot.

This morning I got up before anyone else, and came into the living room.  I hung up Sophie’s dress last night, but the boys left their tuxedo parts strewn all over the floor and couch.  I’m really emotional these days (oh, the shit that doesn’t make the blog) and there was something about seeing their clothes there in the sunrise light.  Just a reminder of how much I love them.  How fast they are growing up.



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