I never thought four year olds playing soccer would bring me so much joy.

The XS sized shorts loosely dragging on the ground as one of them appears to have wrapped them around their waist twice, another tied together with some sort of bungee cord.

The kid with the baseball cap pulled completely over his face, bill hitting his chest. Can he even see?

The Russian couple who are Mr. And Mrs. Gru from Despicable Me, just as animated as in the movie. “Keek the bole Kavia! Keek the bole! Kip it going! Kip it going and keek it hoard!”

The parents who excuse their child’s missed attempts at a goal with, “I think she’s just waking up.” “Is she thirsty?” “She really looks thirsty.” “Sara! Have you had anything to drink?” “Are you thirsty Sara?” “Mommy loves you.” Then Sara’s Mom runs onto the field chasing her with her water bottle while Sara’s Dad fishes a banana from their “Sara’s-Emergency-Soccer-Kit-If-She-Doesn’t-Perform-well” bag.

The girl who unbelievably in an acrobatic twist, manages to get her braid caught on the mesh netting while goal tending. Twice.

Then there’s my daughter. She would run over for a hug. She would follow the play (not physically, with her mind) and sometimes she would race to the ball, make contact and then run in the opposite direction like it would explode if she touched it a second time.

Ah Saturday mornings.

Stay hydrated Sara.