I get a kick out of telling people that Chicky plays soccer. Soccer? For three year olds? Surely we must be those parents who are pushing their babies into activities well before they should. We're probably stunting her growth but how else will she be ready for the 2024 summer Olympic women's soccer team?
Well it's not so much playing soccer as it is spinning in circles in the sunshine and picking grass. Also, kicking playground balls into the woods. It's a good time. I leave every "game" in tears. Happy, joyful, laughing-my-ass-off kinds of tears.
Most of the other kids in this "league" (Don't you love the "finger quotes"? Aren't they "awesome"?) are four and five years old so being one of the youngest she gets cut a lot of slack. When the others are trying to follow the coach's instructions she's kicking a ball from one end of the grassy area to the other. I've never enjoyed watching my kid blatantly ignoring authority more.
It can also be used as a mask to hide from the paparazzi. Mary Kate already order five of these.
That's my girl, staying close to the coach. I sincerely hope she was just trying to get the hair out of her face and wasn't practicing using her femine wiles.
That's it, Chicky. Don't rely on pretty, impress him with your mad goalie skills instead. Look at that form! I dare some kid to try to get something by her.
Some might look at this picture and see a girl learning how to trap a ball. I see the "Crane Pose".
We'll wait until Chicky-san's in the third grade before we teach her to sweep the leg. At least. When it comes to sport we're ruthless in this family. Strike first, strike hard, no mercy.
(Okay, not really. We're total pacifists. Or is it pansies? I forget.)