Coach to Mom

Its something isn't it? When we look at our kids one day and realize we only have limited time with them left. It might be when they are doing something silly with their siblings. My son LOVED shaving cream and glitter! His Santa beard was the best I ever saw! That Saturday when I handed him his very first ball and white soccer ball, oh his face lit up like a firework!! You would have thought it was Christmas in the Mattei house because he was so excited that he finally had his own soccer ball! I didn't know it then, but I know it now. He was going to love this sport!

I mean I had no clue how much he was going to love soccer, or mac n' cheese or how much he would hate peanut butter and jelly! I had not a clue about the little boy he would turn into be and then continue to change into this young man who stands 6 inches over me at the age of twelve.

I always loved being involved in everything that he did. I wanted to be there to root him on and be his biggest fan! When he turned three years old I decided to give coaching soccer a go and I signed up as a volunteer parent coach for the "Little Kickers" team. Three years old was the age he first was when he stepped out onto that field. Three years old was the age I started yelling at him on the field as a coach and not a Mom. Three years old is where I wish I could go back to, nine years later.

Hearing the parents and families cheering on the little ones from the stands was music to my ears, when I could hear anything past my own bench! Coaching an entire 40 minute soccer game with nothing but three and four year old's who just learned how to say the word "soccer" was not something I would play for the church crowd. My boy was ready. On the bench he sat looking at me before running over to the oddball huddle we had going on to dismiss the assigned players to their positions! He was my defensive guy. He needed to stay on his own side of the field that day. Then he wanted to change to goalie around his second year playing the game. Then he was the goalie. My goalie.

What I failed to realize until today is that he was not just my goalie. He was my son. I never watched him play the game through the eyes of his Mom. I watched him play through the eyes of his coach. Today I sit watching his fifth game of his second year on modified. I sit and I watch him play. I do not coach (even though I get pretty loud from my seat). I do not assign players to help him out. I do not care what the score board says. I am not his coach. This year I am his Mom. I am watching his every move, both the good and the needs improvement. I am wondering if he is thirsty or if his mask is comfortable. When the ball goes down past the half line barreling towards him standing in that goal line and his heart is beating out of his chest. Mine is beating faster and louder. This year and every year after... I am his Mom.