Our three year old despises soccer. Live and learn.
We signed her up this season, her first attempt with very low expectations. They were met….and then some.
We skipped about four games in a row for various reasons; slept in, Tim Hortons couldn’t possibly have enough Tim-bits on hand for the bribes we would need to get Chloe into the car, her shoes are two sizes too small (my bad), we ran out of pony-tail holders, boys are scary, brain eating amoebas. The list goes on.
Then yesterday, I asked Chloe, “Would you like to go to soccer today? It’s your last day. They are handing out medals.”
Why didn’t I play the medal card earlier in the season?
She hopped into the car without even asking for a treat. We wrestled on her shin pads, her very tight shoes, her “knee high” socks that were actually more like hip waders on her very small, three year old frame.
Something amazing happened. Diego scored his 1000th goal, Maradona tattooed “Tim-Bits Forever” on the small of his back and my three year old daughter, afraid of all-things-soccer-that-are-not-in-some-way-linked-to-getting-a-donut, kicked the ball for the first time.
And not by accident.
Now that deserves a medal.