After surveying the situation; the arrangements for the weekend; the logistics; a review of the calendar, the weather, the finances, and a map, it was decided that I would be the one to take Allie and her teammate to the soccer tournament in Cincinnati this weekend while Scott stayed home with all of the boys. While it was tempting (for about 1.3 minutes) to get two hotel rooms and have the whole family come, one flashing thought of my two youngest sons sitting running around the soccer field, in the cold and rain, then resting quietly at the hotel terrorizing the hotel, we thought it best for our family, and the rest of the Tri-State area, to divide and conquer.

Now, one thing you need to know, is that being a soccer parent is equivalent to at least a part time job, so in our house, one parent takes command of the schedule; ensuring practices aren’t missed, tournaments are signed up for; the soccer ball isn’t flat; the cleats still fit; the jersey is clean. And guess who that is in our house. Not. Me. Hospital call responsibilities make me an unreliable parent to follow through with the day-to-day soccer routine, so instead of rolling the dice with a good hand-off, we have long since had Scott be the boss of the soccer situation. I would surely screw it up. Now, don’t worry, I attend all the games that I can, and I am a fairly good über driver to practice, but beyond that…I leave it to the expert. Thus, I am not a soccer mom.

The hotel was nice enough…once we found it. Our room was clean and cozy. Us girls settled into our jammies, cuddled up, and crashed so we could be ready to dominate on the field in the morning! Up early for the breakfast buffet and we were off! As I was driving to the field, the windshield wipers squeaking intermittently, I knew this was going to be a painful day. Literally, painful. 49 degrees and rainy, the worst Raynaud’s Disease trigger. Hat, gloves, long sleeve shirt/hoodie sweatshirt/base-layer jacket/rain coat, gloves with hand warmers tucked inside, and my Wellies; a fold up chair, the all-weather blanket and an umbrella. The parents started filling the side-line. Setting up chairs and wrapping up in their own blankets. And we quickly got lost in the game. And there was hardly a word about the crummy weather. The other moms cheered for Allie, calling her by name. The other dads asked where Scott was. Turns out, several families did the “divide and conquer”, so there were a few moms with only one or two kids in tow and a dad or two with just his soccer player and maybe a sibling, while mom stayed behind to work/parent remaining children. We lost…and headed back to the hotel to rest. We filled our tummies and took a nap…and headed back out for the second game…which we tied. We came back and showered to wash the chill away and meet up with the team for dinner.

The girls ate pasta and salad and then trickled away, some to head to the pool, some to get homework done (yes, homework; these kids are amazing!); some to hide behind the glow of their screens to chat/tweet/video talk with friends back home. And that left the parents in the party room. And we talked. And laughed. And opened a bottle of wine. And played cards. And belly laughed. And high-fived and made silly dares and occasionally checked on our daughters. And this is the moment when I realized I am a soccer mom. But not the soccer mom I had in my head; not the mini-van driving, cupcake toting, side line screaming, helicopter parenting, over bearing soccer mom. But a mom of a soccer player. And the good people of this world, who are the parents of soccer players, and who were teaching another mom of a soccer player how to play euchre, and who are laughing and joking and enjoying life together….are soccer moms and soccer dads. And what we really are, are teachers and sales professionals; engineers, physicians, financial analysts, and consultants; nurses, pilots, and accountants. And moms. And dads. Of soccer players. Our daughters have a common goal…therefore, so do we. Our daughters are a team, therefore, so are we. We look out for “the girls”, therefore each other.

I’m definitely not one for labels, and I still don’t like the label of soccer mom, but I gained a little insight into what it means to be a soccer mom. Or a football mom. Or a t-ball mom. It means, “Your kid loves the same thing my kid loves, therefore we will work for and defend and love and enjoy all of the same things, in the same moment, for the sake of our kids…and the team. The team that teaches that we will work together, we will sacrifice for, and we will love…both on the field and off.” So, thank you, soccer moms and dads. Thanks for reminding me that it’s all about our kids building friendships and teamwork…and teaching us soccer parents to do the same.

Disclaimer: My viewpoints are not necessarily reflective of my employer, or any local, regional or national organization that I belong to. As a matter of fact, I pretty much just speak for myself. Please keep that in mind.