Rage Post- You Don’t Watch My Soccer Practices

Rage Post

This post is exactly what the title says, a rage post. Its 9:20 in the morning and this is what I’m looking at, 40 minutes before my son’s soccer game starts.

Rage post

It all started when my husband and I disagreed this morning about if it’s okay to leave a nine-year-old home alone. He thinks it’s completely okay and I think it’s completely not. The temperature right now is about 34 degrees and where this game is, its super windy so his concern was that the nine-year-old would be extremely cold and/or bored. My concern was that any crazy psycho could come to our house and kidnap our son.

Right before we were ready to leave my oldest said to me, “you can just stay home if you want.”

Then under his breath he added, “you don’t come inside for any of my practices anyway.”

“Excuse me? What did you just say?” I asked. I knew what he said, I was just allowing time to process the anger.

“You don’t come inside and watch me practice.”

“Dude, none of the parents come inside. In fact, they just drop your teammates off. I at least sit in the parking lot.”

“That’s not true.”

This is when he was clearly lying and it was pissing me off. I would say out of about 15 team members, maybe 3 dads go in and even then, they are bullshitting with each other. Aside from the parent(s) that eat, sleep and breathe soccer (obviously, not me), everyone just drops their kid off or stays in their car. There isn’t even a track around the gym where parents could get steps in. Your only option is to just sit there.

His declaration made me fume inside. I wanted to scream at him, “Sorry if I don’t want to go inside and for an hour and a half, sit on a bench, the width of a popsicle stick, not to mention the padding of one. Sorry if I don’t want to dodge the 3-4 balls that will inevitably come at my face. Sorry if after an 8 hour workday and a 1.5 hour commute, I prefer to sit in the solitude of a warm, quiet car and blog, allowing a little me time, even if it is in a parking lot. Sorry if driving you 30 miles each way, right after Taco Tuesday from our home, isn’t enough for you. SORRY! SORRY! SORRY!!!!”


My absolution came in the form of a brief discussion just 30 minutes after I had taken that picture above, for you guys. I was sitting on the bleachers as the soccer game was about to begin. I looked like I was wearing a red burka as the only thing you could see were my eyes. It was fuckin’ cold and had hand warmers in my gloves, bra and shoes. In addition to my t-shirt, sweatshirt, down coat, denim and boots, I also wore 2 blankets. As long as I didn’t make any drastic moves, I was pretty warm.

“You know, I haven’t even met the new coach,” the mom leaned over and disclosed. “The nanny drops G off at practice so I totally don’t have any idea of what’s going on.”

“Ohhhh rrrreeeaaaallllyyyyyy?” I asked conspiratorially. “Tell me, does G ever say how many parents are in there, watchin’ the practice?”

“Oh…” She trailed off for a moment. “He said only like 2 or 3.”

“Is that so?” I said, grinning under my blanket that I realized smelled like ass and had no business that close to my face. “Thank you. I’ll let P know G said that. According to P, every couple is in attendance, eagerly watching their child practice.”

“Yeah right,” the mom said rolling her eyes.

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