Oh no! I’m the bitchy mom!

Eli playing soccer
Originally uploaded by neila222.

Today was Day One of “First Kicks.” That’s what they call the 3- and 4-year-old class at British Soccer Camp. That seems an appropriate follow-up to the First Waves swimming class Eli had last week.

Soccer camp started at 9:00 a.m. this morning, but I was worried we weren’t going to make it. Eli woke up about midnight last night (right as I dosed off) screaming that his ear hurt. After a dose of Motrin, he finally drifted off to sleep, but I was fully expecting to rush him to the walk-in clinic at 8:00 this morning. Luckily when he woke up, he felt fine, and we were good to go for soccer.

However, the first thing I heard when I woke up this morning was ominous thunder, so I wasn’t sure if soccer would be happening or not. I was unable to reach anyone at the number provided on the confirmation e-mail, so I packed up the kids, and we drove out to the soccer field.

I figured they were still going to proceed when I saw a mob of parents and kids standing in the rain surrounding two guys in soccer jerseys. There was really nothing resembling a line, so we joined the cluster of people only to find out that they didn’t have enough soccer balls pumped up, but they would have one to us by the end of the day. Okay, fine. This didn’t bother me until I saw that Eli and one other boy were the only ones without soccer balls. I was annoyed because when you pay $65, you expect your kid to get a soccer ball.

I was proud of Eli’s participation. He ran over to a large circle of kids and joined in a game of Simon says, so he seemed to be having a good time. After about 30 minutes of checking people in, the British guy debated among the parents whether they were going to “call the day” for bad weather. None of the parents looked happy at this idea at all. The 21-year-old soccer coach obviously does not have kids, and has no idea what is involved in getting them up and ready. All the parents who were there with their kids were in for the long haul. No one was going to melt, and unless I saw lightning strike the ground, my son better be kicking a soccer ball!

Then it was time to divide the kids into their respective groups. It was hard enough to get Eli to stay seated with the other kids, as he was busy picking dandelions and bringing them over to Sissy (aka Georgia). I was giving him the stage whisper to sit down and pay attention, while poking Georgia full of Cheerios and milk to keep her content.

When they started calling the children’s names, I knew we were in trouble. “Elly!” I heard them shout. Oh, you have got to be f*#@ing kidding me!! Eli, of course, was completely oblivious since that is not his name. Once again, how in the hell can someone mispronounce Eli. I get so sick of this happening all the time! I am seriously about ready to punch someone!!

I went over to Eli and pointed to the group he was supposed to be in and told him to scoot. He joined the other kids, sans soccer ball (Grrrr!) and they headed off across the field. When they reached the other side, I could still hear the teacher (a 19-year-old American, btw). There were not nearly enough British guys there to make this worthwhile for me. The teacher was calling role, and I heard him say, “Elly! Is Elly here?”

That about did it for me! All the other parents were off to the side, but I traipsed my ass across that field and told the kid, “Look, his name is Eli! ELI! Not Elly! You’re saying it wrong!” He just looked at me like I was a crazy person and said, “Oh. Sorry.”

*deep breath, deep breath* Off I went back to the other side of the field in search of the British guy. I was determined to get Eli his $65 soccer ball. I found the guy, and told him my son needed a ball. He just said, “Oh, we’ll get him one. No problem!” Uh-huh

I went back over to watch the kids and, apparently, they got Eli a substitute soccer ball and they started playing a game. They set up some little orange cones, and the kids had to kick them over with the soccer ball. Eli was quite good at this. If he missed with the ball, he just kicked the cone over with his foot. Way to go, sweetie! Or if he spotted a cone that wasn’t knocked over, he grabbed the soccer ball, carried it over and placed it right in front of the cone, and then kicked it down. Apparently, the shouts of “Don’t use your hands,” meant nothing to him.

I was taking pictures while standing next to a couple of dads who were busy shouting directions at their kids. I immediately felt sorry for these kids. They are four! And the two dads were shouting at them sternly about how to kick the ball and not to use their hands. I wanted to go kick these men in the knees!

After practice was over, I went up to Derek, the “teacher,” and (I think kindly) explained that we weren’t leaving the field until Eli got his soccer ball. He went over and consulted with the British guy and finally we got the soccer ball.

When we walked to the car, I noticed how dirty we all were. It was still raining lightly, and during the soccer lesson, a guy was mowing the grass. Eli was pretty much covered in grass, as was I from the ankle down. I tried to wipe him off with baby wipes the best I could, but it didn’t help much as my car and the foyer in the living room are now covered in grass.

Tomorrow, I’m bringing a towel. Hopefully the guys will be more organized on Day 2. And I certainly hope it’s not still raining!