I love sports. The hubs loves sports. So our Littles must love sports too, right?! Something we are both passionate about has got to be passed along genetically to our progeny, don’t ya think? It’s science!
Yeah, not so much…in the little years, at least. Don’t get me wrong, our kiddos have always had fun running around and playing with balls (especially when it means Mommy has to chase said balls down the street as they roll into oncoming traffic…lemme tell you, it’s just HI-LAR-I-OUS). But until recently, despite all of our encouragement, they haven’t shown much interest in actually competing.
Trying to ignite their excitement last year, I jumped the gun and signed the Little Miss and the Little Mister up for soccer. And, well, that idea didn’t really fly. Frankly, both of their seasons were pretty disastrous. One quit after just the first game and the other spent the whole season intimidated and uninterested.
Mama FAIL.
Drained from the experience, the Hubs and I decided to forget about signing up the Littles for any organized sports for a while and wait “patiently” for them to show more interest (i.e., he was patient and I just pretended to be).
And then, low and behold, guess who woke up one morning and decided (all on her own and with her own brand of bubbly excitement) that she wanted to play soccer again?!
Not wanting her to relive another panic-stricken meltdown on the field I asked her repeatedly if she was “really, absolutely sure” because she “didn’t have to” and there were definitely going to be cootie-breeding BOYS on the field with her like last time. You know, I took the low pressure route…I’m totally chill and zen like that.
She promised me she was.
And guess what? She was right.
(type in “wright” to watch the videos)
We were lucky that the Little Miss was placed on a team that was full of girl buddies to giggle (and do dance moves) with, and that was led by some very sweet, encouraging coaches.
And together they had FUN.
She still wasn’t very aggressive on the field, but she no longer seemed to mind if others were (or if those “others” happened to be icky BOYS!!!).
The Little Miss played in her own whimsical way (pirouettes and cartwheels included), learned a bit about the game, and – most importantly – had a BALL.
Ball. Get it?
Here’s my girl after her last game. She was all smiles, and so proud to receive her very own (“solid gold!”) trophy.
And you know what? She earned it.
I’m so proud of my courageous Little Miss.
To the victor goes the spoils.
Next up (so she tells me) – volleyball. No wait, tennis. Or maybe football.
Go big, girl. Go big.