The Stupid Family Goes To Soccer

Time for another installment of The Stupid Family!

David started playing soccer when he was four.  He loved the game from the start and he's continued to play every fall since then.  My favorite thing about watching him play is the huge grin that he simply can't contain.  His "game face" is one of complete joy.  Up until now, he's played soccer in the fall and either baseball or lacrosse in the spring.  This year, however, he made the decision to really zero in on soccer and play year round.  Next year he'll be in fifth grade and that's when the competitive league starts.  So this winter he decided to enroll in a program that works on skill building.  Right now his team is playing futsal which is a version of soccer which focuses on ball control.  The good thing about futsal is that it is played indoors.  The bad thing about it is that all of his games are first thing in the morning on weekends.  Between futsal and Sunday School we rarely have a weekend morning to lounge around.  In some ways it's good because we are getting a lot more accomplished by being up and out of the house on Saturday morning.  Sometimes we accomplish eating piles of pancakes at a post-game visit to a diner.  But generally, it's a matter of hustling people out the door.

Yesterday David's game was at 9:25.  We were taking two cars because Ritu wanted to go to his gym after the game.  The futsal place is downtown and requires about 20 minutes of highway driving to get there.  Here's the thing.  I am the worst driver you know.  As a result, I really don't like to drive.  I mean, I can do it, but it causes me great anxiety.  I am fine within the little bubble of my suburb, but I tend to avoid the highway when I can.  I'm the kind of driver who will pass up perfectly good parking spaces until I find one with enough room to guarantee that I won't hit other cars.  I'm the kind of driver who will learn one way to get someplace and never, ever vary it. 

It was pouring rain when Ritu left  with David.   David needs 4 things for futsal: his jersey, his shinguards, his water bottle, and his special shoes.  They don't allow regular soccer cleats on the futsal court.  Now, Ritu is a physician with 25 years of formal education (that is not an exaggeration) and David is a clever child who tested into the Gifted program at his school.  Needless to say, four items were too many for the two of them to accurately remember.  Juliana and I were almost to the futsal place when my cell phone rang.  It was Ritu calling to say that David had brought the wrong cleats and they wouldn't let them play.  I pulled over so that I wouldn't crash while I talked on my cell phone.  Ritu asked if by any chance there were a pair of his regular tennis shoes in the van, since he could play in those.  I took a quick look over my shoulder and confirmed that there weren't.  We decided I would go back home, get the right shoes, and bring them with the hopes that he could at least play part of the second half. 

I hung up the phone and started to hyperventilate over how to get home.  I only know one way to go and I'd aborted my route.  It was raining like crazy and I was now wandering around an unfamiliar area.  But God smiled and it took me only a few minutes to find a freeway entrance.  Traffic moved maddeningly slow in the rain, but I went as fast as I could back home.  I flew through our neighborhood, whipped into the driveway and just barely cleared the still-opening garage door.  I slammed the van into park and flung open the door to the laundry room.  I scanned the shoe rack.  No futsal shoes.  A tiny light went on in my brain.  I returned to the van, opened the back door and found David's futsal shoes in the back row where HE'D LEFT THEM AFTER LAST WEEK'S GAME.

I know it's hard to believe, but I do try to watch my language around my children.  (Once, when Juliana was about three, I was muttering something to Ritu about not believing somebody could be so fucking stupid when Juliana ran up to me and said, "I heard you say a bad word!  You said "stupid"!)  But not this time.  As I realized that I had actually taken David's shoes on a tour of I-5, effectively leading them AWAY from their destination, I let loose with a torrent of foul language.   I was so mad that the things I was saying didn't even go together.  It was like swearing translated into Japanese and then back again.  I may have actually been foaming at the mouth.  I know for sure that I need to add  $20 to Juliana's therapy jar. 

Back on the road I went.  I retraced my way back down the highway, through the blinding rain.  Ritu called to tell me that the game had reached halftime.  I told him we were all too stupid to live.  Fueled by adrenaline and vitriol, I made it to futsal before halftime ended.  David got his shoes on and the coach put him in.  I gritted my teeth and willed my blood pressure to drop.  David got his "game face" on.  Grinning, he scored three goals in the second half.  His team still lost, but it was a heck of a performance.  It was so fun to watch that I abandoned my plan to superglue the futsal shoes to his feet.  If this happens again next week, though, we are abandoning the game all together and heading straight for the pancakes.