Yesterday in the early evening, I took my 9-year-old daughter to her soccer practice.
It was the Friday of Memorial Day weekend, and while some folks had already kicked off the holiday weekend with happy hours and backyard get-togethers, Anna and her soccer-enthusiast teammates showed up at the expansive, freshly mowed fields off of a rural road to practice their corner kicks and scrimmage.
Anna didn't just show up on her own, of course. I drove her, along with my older daughter, and on the way, we stopped to pick up one of Anna's teammates.
Once we arrived, Anna and her teammate ran over to join the team, Anna's aqua-colored Igloo water jug bouncing from her hand until it became smaller and smaller, a speck of bright color blending in with the green, green grass.
I sighed. We'd made it in time.
I grabbed my floral-printed folding camp chair out of my car. (During the spring, this chair lives in my car—I use it all the time, for Anna's soccer games and practices as well as all of Grace's lacrosse ones.)
Grace and I walked over to the side of the field where Anna was practicing.
I offered Grace my chair, but she declined. "It's embarrassing," she told me. "Also, Mom...no one else is sitting out here."
I glanced behind us. Grace was right: Most of the other parents were still in their cars, with the windows rolled down and their AirPods popped in. One mom was kicking a soccer ball with her younger child.
Not this mom, though. I flopped into my chair. It was a beautiful day: sunny, warm. No way was I staying cooped up in the car.
I got even more comfortable: stretched out my legs, kicked off my slip-on sneakers.
Grace groaned. "Mom. You are so embarrassing."
I laugh-cried. "I'm sorry, honey." I closed my eyes. "So how was school today?"
"Mom...I didn't have school today."
My eyes popped open; I looked at Grace. She looked at me. We both started laughing.
"Agh," I said. "I knew that, obviously."
The girls have a four-day weekend from school, before going back the Tuesday after Memorial Day for the last few weeks of the school year. That morning, I had gone to work as usual, and returned home a little after 1 p.m. to hear about the girls' time together (Netflix, snacks, only a few minutes playing outside because the backyard was buggy, more Netflix, more snacks). And soon after: soccer.
"This is how I know you're tired," Grace said. She knew I knew that, about school.
It is true that I've been a bit tired lately. Just all the usual stuff, plus figuring out the last few details of our summer (I just Venmo-d my last summer-camp payment—volleyball, one week in August, both girls) and taking care of some end-of-the-school-year events.
One of these events was "Parents Night Out" at a local restaurant/pub, hosted by Anna's elementary school PTA. I'm the secretary of the PTA, as you all may remember, so...yes, I was there, friends. I was there.
What I personally believe in, as secretary of the PTA, is connection and community building. I know it's important to, say, record the meeting minutes and mass-email a friendly reminder about the candy fundraiser...but what I love is making people feel welcome, and part of the school community.
So at Parents Night Out, I just had to say hello to everybody, do my best to make everyone feel welcome.
"That's not your job," a friend kindly told me. And she was right. But...it was important to me to build up that community.
After all my community building, though, I headed home for a good night's sleep. I was, after all, one of the oldest moms at Parents Night Out that evening. There were a lot of kindergarten and first-grade moms...and then there was me.
😉
What I personally believe in...is connection and community building.
The other day after work, but before I needed to pick up Anna from school, I went to the backyard. Sat in one of the wrought-iron chairs that had been my mom and dad's, but which they had thoughtfully passed along to Stanton, the girls and me for our own home.
Once again, it was a warm, sunny, picture-perfect spring afternoon. I sat down, kicked off my flip-flops. For a moment, I felt...peace.
I called my mom. We chatted, caught up. Then I called Stanton's mom, and we chatted too.
Even though I don't get to see my mom or mother-in-law all the time, I really appreciate our regular phone calls. I count on them, in fact. I know that whenever I call my mom, or Stanton's, they'll pick up. And if they can't, then they'll call me back when they can.
As they grow up and get older, I hope my own daughters will feel that way about me too. I hope they consider me someone they can call, can count on.
Even though I've demonstrated that I can be embarrassing (floral-printed folding camp chair and all).
And proven to have a terrible short-term memory when tired.
I hope all the missteps will be forgivable, and all the little things will connect, and count.
Photo credit: Pixabay
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