I have things. He has things. We all have the things.

I have things to share. Thoughts; words; stories.

So, I thought Thursday night would be a good time to share them with you; mostly because I thought tonight was the night Scandal came back on, but I was wrong, so now I have time to write. I miss that Scandal show. It’s edgy and has a lot of law breaking citizens. I don’t know why those type of things bring me joy, but sometimes they just do.

Anywho – my things. I have things to talk about.

I signed Kaleb up for soccer today. ::stops typing for a moment of silence for myself::

Before I proceed on the soccer thing, you should know there’ll be adult language. Mostly because it feels appropriate and also because I recently read an article that talked about how people who used the 4 letter words often – they are smart and well balanced because they get that shit off their chest instead of pretending to be pleasant and hunky dory.

So. I signed Kaleb up for soccer today. It was against my will. My son held a gun to my leg, because little people problems, and said, “sign me up for a sport, woman.”

Not really. Close, but not really. I could actually see him saying something like that one day, though. That crazy kid of mine.

Kaleb needs things in his life. He needs something to be proud of, something to belong to. Like he said, “he needs a team.” The problem is, I don’t need any other things. I don’t need a mother-loving team. I don’t need to belong to shit. I already have things; things like mom squads, wine, Netflix and creative outlets. I’m set. Hell, I’m even proud.

But I realize it’s not all about me. It’s also about my kid. Even though my heels were dug into the ground about sports at a young age, even though my lazy Saturday’s were insanely perfect, I decided to give that up for 8 long weeks of my 2017 spring.

In true form of me though, I couldn’t figure out how to sign him up online. Because technology. And disbelief that we were actually doing this. I literally tried 3 different times to log on and add the damn thing to my “account” and it wouldn’t fucking work.

{something else about me, I hate forcing stuff, anything really. If something doesn’t work right the first couple times, I truly believe it’s not meant to be. If it is meant to be, it will fall into place}

So, by the 3rd time it didn’t work, I was like, “it’s a sign, this is a clear cut sign that organized youth sports are not for us and they NEVER will be!!!” It was a dramatic moment at the computer where I was throwing up my 1 arm and pretending to slam my lap top shut. Except I didn’t want to break it, so I gently closed it and walked away to go drink some detox water. I’m such a rebel like that. I’m almost as cool as Huck and Quinn. (Scandal reference)

{As a breakaway from the soccer story for a bit, this detox water I’ve been drinking has really been working well for me!! Have you guys tried it?! With all the infused fruit and cucumbers? I have really noticed a difference in water weight and such. I mean, granted you have to drink a ridiculous amount a day, (half your body weight in ounces!!) but still, it’s been pretty great if you’re looking for an easy way to drop a couple pounds.}

I told you I had lots of things!

Even though I had already tried to sign him up THREE times at home, and even though it goes against my very strong beliefs about letting things happen naturally, I decided, (since I always put my child’s needs first,) that an in-person visit to the recreation center might not hurt and I could possibly sign him up there. In my head though, I just knew there would be an issue, because clearly the universe agrees, Kaleb and I are NOT ready to give up our lazy Saturday mornings for socializing and team spirit. I told myself walking in, if there was just 1 issue, if there was even the slightest discrepancy regarding this soccer mom craziness, we were going to walk out and never look back.

You must note, Kaleb was with me, so you know my ass wasn’t gonna get out of hand. I just like to feel dramatic in my head.

We went in and found a very nice lady at the front desk. We’ll call front-desk lady, Pam. I didn’t catch her actual name, but she certainly looked like a Pam. Pam’s are always efficient as fuck, but in such a nice way. Not in a fake way. They always truly want to help those who have issues like mine. Technological issues. And also denial issues.

I told Pam my problem. But only partly. I didn’t think she needed to know about how I already have my things and about how adding soccer to my things would only disturb my life. And I also didn’t tell her I already lack team spirit, especially when it’s expected before the noon hour. I let her believe my only problem was that of the not-so-user-friendly website.

Pam was a good listener. She even gave me the warm and fuzzies for a minute. Pam told me she could get Kaleb registered for youth spring soccer with just a few clicks! Pam’s universe and mine collided; fell right into place, all so Kaleb could have things. Like I have things.

It turns out; I only needed to fill out 1 small form for Pam and we’d be on our way. Bless you, Pam.

While Pam was entering Kaleb’s information, she asked me a question which let me know Pam really didn’t know a damn thing about me.

With a genuine and heartfelt smile she said, “Would you like to sign up as a volunteer coach?”

::laughs in an almost hysterical manner but with real tears in my eyes::

“Oooohhhhh Pam, thank you so much for asking, but I don’t think I can commit to that this year.”

“Alrighty then, if you change your mind, we are always needing volunteers!!”

Isn’t that Pam a neat lady? She really thought I could coach. People like Pam, who are always choosing to see the very best in people, we need more people like that. And apparently we need soccer coaches.

My time with Pam was coming to a close. It was bittersweet. Bitter and sweet that I was making dreams come true for my child by signing him up for something I’ve dreaded my entire life. Bitter and sweet because it had gone so quickly and smoothly when I was sure it would be horrible and complicated. Bitter and sweet because Pam was still a mystery to me and I’d probably never get to the bottom of why she thought I might be a good volunteer coach. I mean, Pam, we need to have coffee one day, girl! Tell me what you see in me, that I don’t!

Pam asked me how I’d be paying my fee of $60. “Will that be a debit card ma’am?” As I was digging for my card, she said, “Oh! I almost forgot, would you like to order a team shirt for yourself? Your son will automatically get one, but you can get yourself a matching one if you’d like for $10!”

“I don’t think so, Pam.”

“Are you suuure? It will be identical to his, just in an adult size!”

“Oh no, that’s OK, thanks though Pam”.

“Oh really?” {insert Pam’s sad face here}

{insert my awkward smiling but rejecting face here}

“Well, almost all the parents order themselves one……”

“...........Order me the fucking shirt, Pam. Complete the task of making me a full blown soccer mom.” {Of course this was in my head; I would have never talked to Pam that way)

“Great!!! You’ll be so happy to be matching your son and the team! You’ll need an XLarge, right?”

What did I say about Pam earlier? She is efficient as fuck. She sold me that shirt like nobody’s business AND clearly noted I was one of those plus size girls. Good work, Pam. Good work.

We left that place with things and titles.

Kaleb left with a smile and the very proud title of being a “soccer player”. I left with an odd feeling of satisfaction and regret, and also a water aerobics schedule that Pam gave me.

Spring Youth Soccer – officially added to my list of things. Get me a lawn chair and some granola, I’m a soccer mom!

In all honesty, I know this is a good thing for him. I know he needs to have the involvement and exposure to different things. I just dread the timing. I quit my job so that I COULD do stuff like this with him, but I’m also trying to build and manage a business that is its busiest on the weekends. Being a single, working mom to a toddler is one kind of beast that I don’t wish on anyone, but being a single, working mom to a school age child who wants to be involved (and rightfully so) in all the things, is a whole ‘nother beast that I just need to learn more about.

Disclaimer - This post was a lot of me whining, but of course meant to be funny and not taken too seriously. Pam was an actual rockstar in case she gets her efficient little hands on this post. Also, I'm sorry if your name actually is Pam, it was not meant to offend.