Last year, Evan regarded soccer much like you might regard a bee hive.  Tip toe.  Don't upset.  What, I'm too close to the ball?  Here you go.  You have it.  No problem.  Glad I could help. 

I thought maybe it was his age.  His friend,Ethan, (also 4 years old at the time,) thought the purpose of the game was to bump into other kids.  Evan got out of the way, Ethan got in the way... they both picked at the grass and stared at the clouds. They were too young.    

I was surprised this past summer when Evan asked why we don't go to soccer anymore.  (It was off-season.)  I asked if he missed it and he said he did.  So another year of picking grass it would be, gosh darnit!

No. I knew it would be interesting to observe the difference a year made.  SURELY, a year would make a difference?  Some difference?

Tonight he had his second soccer practice.  Just after he drew two permanent pink lines on his forehead because he thought he was born without eyebrows.  (Look, when you're as pale and tow-headed as he is, it's enough to cause quite a panic, you can imagine.)

Anyway, after tonight, I can proudly announce that the boy can dribble!  So that's progress.  (He often looks at me to see if I'm watching, and is then chasing his ball off course, as result- but that's too sweet to blame.)  He can run and stay with the ball, too... take it to the goal during practice... but- he's too sweet to steal it.  He was born without that thing, that characteristic... what's it called?  Aggression. 

(He is NOT my child.) 

He's coordinated enough for the game.  He's old enough, now, too. The problem is that he's just too nice for soccer. 

He needs a sport where he only competes with himself.  Where he can work out some of those perfectionist tendencies, work that self-torment in a... "healthy" way?  Something like surfing or golf or- let's be honest- Chess.

No, no, I'm going too far.  He might surprise us yet.  I don't want to label him at age 5, for Pete's sake.  He has a lot of toughening growing up to do, and that might make all the difference.  (Or perhaps when kids actually start playing their positions and stop following the ball in a swarm, it will make the difference for him.)  I totally respect him for that!  I could see him getting comfortable with the strategy of the game, and holding his position, I could. 

But for now, he prefers to wander onto the practice field next to us, watch the older team play, and work up some mental algebraic configurations for the trends he notices in their formations and strategies.

MADALYN, on the other (and very far away) hand, is counting down the days till she turns four so that she can play soccer, too.  She gets into trouble at practice constantly for trying to warm up with the team, sneak into their lines, run onto a field in the middle of another game somewhere to join in. 

She steals the ball from ME. Like for real.  Dribbles, kicks, throws, catches- from far too far away for a 3 year old.  It actually has taken me by surprise.  She's always been coordinated, but she'll catch something so high or far, and I almost do a double-take. 

Aggressive would be a mild adjective to describe her mannerisms on an athletic field.  Tonight, for example, she bossed around an 8 year old, completely unaware of that whole- you know- seniority thing.  (Insert eye roll.)

So, these are the extreme phrases I am hearing out of the mouths of my children at the same time:

Madalyn, from behind me, with older girl: "Okay, girl!  Now run this way.  RUN!  The ball is winning- the BALL IS WIN-NING!  DON'T LET IT BEAT YOU, YOU LOSER!!!  LOOOOO-SSS-EEEERRRRRR!" 

Evan, coming off of the field in front of me for water break, and VERY loudly: "I scored two goals, did you see, mommy?  Am I GOOD at this?"

(Like we make him do 100 push-ups every night and beat him with his shin guards!)

I wanted to say, "Evan, you don't have to be good at everything," but that wasn't right.  Then I wanted to say, "Evan, even if you weren't good at this, I still think you're the best kid ever," but that wasn't the right answer, either, so I just said, "Yes.  Yes, you are!"

Another child then asked his parent equally as loudly, "am I good at this, too?"

And then ALL parents glare at me like 'quit beating your kid with his shin guards, it's just a game, already!' and I wait for every five year old within a mile radius to start crying like on a movie.

Then there's Jack... 

Jack should enter the world of athletics on a dandy note.  He, apparently, has a lot of aggressions to take out on the field.  Tonight, for example, he put a gun to my head on the way to the field until I pulled over the car and got the soccer ball off the floor for him to hold.  (Don't even THINK about judging me for that until you've heard his lungs- it was a safety precaution!)  I ran the length of MANY soccer fields tonight trying to keep tabs.  At one point (and this is a prime example of why the third born has so many issues, as they say,) I decided I would just let him go.  He wasn't headed for the parking lot and had three field lengths to run if he had to get it out, but Evan wanted me watching, Madalyn was trying to go to the bathroom by herself, and he would just have to roam.  I thought, 'maybe if I take away the thrill of the chase, he'll come back to me' and then I started singing a Toni Braxton song.

Do you know what that little booger did?  Hold onto your seat-  HE.  CAME.  BACK.  Sure, it took a few spills on the concrete and a stranger asking him where his mommy was, but the prodigal returned. 

And he said hi to every person on his way back like he was being paid very good money to greet parents.

Can you tell Shaun couldn't make practice tonight?  I'm taking it out on the blog.  And you.  And the children...  Dandy.

Well, I might as well tell you how it ended, which was with a car-ride of arguing.  Madalyn said she played with a girl named Ree-tada.  I said that was probably incorrect, (as I figured no one would name their kid something that close to what sounds like "retarded.")  Evan wanted to know if she asked the girl her name (good question)... and so on the conversation went until it got ugly between them, which was when Jack started to pull it under wraps with an authoritative, "Guys!  GUYS!"

(Thanks, Jack, I really needed that break.  It's so nice when you fill in for me.  I love you more each day, Wild One, so don't be too offended if I purchase a leash for you sometime before next practice.)