Brandon the Soccer Coach

I realize that in the previous blogs, I have not mentioned son number 3, Brandon, very much. It's not because he doesn't do anything cute or profound. He has his moments just like the other three. The challenge is Brandon always seems to be having a moment, good or bad, and it is somewhat exhausting living through those moments, let alone having the energy to retell the tales.

Case in point; tonight at Jon's soccer game. Through a confluence (thank being married to a Pittsburgher and Al Micheals for use of that word) of circumstances, coincidentally named: "Rich-is-out-of-town-and-God-likes-to-see-how-much-Amie-can-handle-before-she-snaps", I had to take all four children to the soccer game tonight. And as you know, I am the coach. Which created some stress. Especially when Brandon wouldn't stay by the parent who very generously offered to watch my children so I could coach.

So, here is the scene. The temperature is 93 degrees Fahrenheit. My team already wants to quit and go home because they are sweaty and the game hasn't even started. The game finally starts. I am containing my inner Mike Ditka and trying to coach the team (see previous blog for how well that is going). Noah is sitting on the sidelines, looking up from his DS Lite, and repeating every order I give at the top of his lungs. Lauren is on the sidelines, pretending to be Rex puppy (see very first blog) every time I come over for a water break. Every time I go back onto the field after getting a drink, she starts whimpering, yes, whimpering, and crawling around, in circles, on all fours.

And Brandon, sweet Brandon, is standing right next to me on the field. At one point, I was carrying him on my hip and giving commands. At another, he was pulling on my shirt, saying, "What can I yell next?" The final horn blows, five minute early, thank goodness, because even God knew I had about all I could possibly take for the night. Mercifully, the other coach agreed the game was over. Brandon "helped" coach, so I made him stand in line for the handshaking at the end of the game. As we are standing in line, waiting our turn, this child, born of his father and I, but mostly like his father in personality and temperament, says to me: "Mom, don't ever make me coach again! It's way too much running!"

I started laughing; I didn't know what else to say or do. After I regained some control, I said, "Well, remember that next time you want to be on the field with me." How do parents stay sane through these moments? How do I stay sane at all? Especially since, in a case like Brandon, these are not uncommon moments. Given some time and tequila, and some more time, I know I will come to cherish, or at the very least, provide cheap entertainment at parties with these stories, but until then, I think I will keep scheduling those "Girls Night Outs." with the other soccer moms.

Lesson learned: "Only coach soccer if you like to run." or "If you coach soccer, you will run." or "Do not coach soccer if you want to keep your sanity." Oh, wait, that last one should read: "Do not let your four year old be your assistant coach if you want to stay sane."