Like an obliging mother, I allowed Z to join in the local playground’s soccer league.  The first night we had a “meeting”, the kids ended up having a little practice and I got out there (despite my heels and purse) and kept the kids in some semblance of order.  Since then, I have been the only adult to work with them every time we go out.  But, come game time, there is another adult actually telling them who belongs on and off of the field.  The first night, I didn’t realize why this was so.  Wednesday night, I discovered the truth!  While I’m working wth the kids, some person who works with the league apparently approaches the adults and asks a dad to be “coach” for the night.  Now, I don’t know where the tattoo which says “I can’t be a coach” seems to be located on my body (probably in the breast region, is my guess), so I’m going to stand up for all the little soccer playing girls in the nation and scream “I CAN BE A SOCCER COACH!”

So, during lunch today, I drove to the nearby Sports Authority and purchased a brand new soccer ball, small sports duffle bag and a “Coach Kit” complete with 6 field markers, dry erase board with a soccer field drawn on it, ball pump and… here’s the best part… a whistle.  Now, I can truly rule the soccer world!

Thanks, Jeff, for the advice for practice.  I’ll let you know how it goes.