Soccer Class: Third Time's a Charm???

This past Saturday was Gavin's third of six soccer classes.  We were coming off of a one-week-soccer-class-break due to the holiday weekend, and I'm not gonna lie, I needed the break.  If you read about the first soccer class, then you know it would have been silly (crazy? stupid? choose your adjective) for me to have high hopes about the second class.  Oh, but you should have figured out by now I'm hopelessly optimistic (some might call this "out of touch with reality," but whatever).  Needless to say, my hopes were sky high!  It was going to be GREAT!  The first class was a fluke.  He was tired, he just needed to get all the "first-day jitters" out of his system, his dad would be there to cheer him on this time, and on and on.  (I promise on I'm not on drugs, but I'm pretty sure I have some chemical imbalance that makes me believe things that are so contrary to reality)  Oh, foolish self, do you ever learn?

The second class was as painful as the first.  We all went out on the field ahead of time, ran around, kicked the ball in the goal, and it was fun . . . until class started.  Commence tears, whining, pitiful excuses about being tired, laying on the ground, clinging to legs, etc.  So, the decision was made that instead of letting him sit out on the field and cry, he would come sit in the bleachers and watch.  Well, watch we did.  For the entire class, we watched.  Of course, Gavin tried to be squirmy and get up from the bleachers, but we just put him right back on his whiny little butt and made him watch.  Unfortunately, this didn't bore him to tears enough that he wanted to go participate and have fun.  I gladly would have done something other than sit there.

To be honest, I was dreading class three.  While I still hoped he would relax, participate, and have a good time, I also envisioned sitting on the bench again for 45 minutes watching every kid but mine play.  It was one of those things where you'd rather poke yourself in the eye with a hot piece of metal, but you still go anyway.  (I liken it to sitting through a college graduation in a cramped auditorium with no air conditioning on the hottest day of the year.  You don't wanna, but you're gonna.)

We were early getting to class, so we stopped into Tim Horton's for some much needed caffeine.  (It takes a lot of caffeine to stay awake while you're pretending to enjoy watching other people's kids play soccer.)  I would, for a moment, like to applaud myself for my perpetual "getting there thirty minutes ahead of schedule" problem, because this allowed us to discuss our strategy.  Yup, we had a game plan.  Rather than going out onto the field with Gavin ahead of time, we were just going to stay on the bleachers.  This way, when class began, he wouldn't start crying when we left the field and he had to stay.  (Do you like how I'm making it sound like this was my idea or even a joint idea?  It wasn't.  I confess.  I had little to do with the plan-of-attack other than to nod my head in agreement and say, "Oh, that's a really good idea.  I didn't think of that.")

Upon arrival, we sent Gavin off onto the field by himself to "score goals" for us.  (I kind of convinced him to do this by using his Buzz Light action figure and pretending like Buzz was the one asking him.  Pretty sure I should start setting up his shrink appointments now.)  And, surprisingly, he did.  He ran around for a few minutes before class scoring goals for each of us (Buzz included) and then running over to give us each a high-five or a "pound it."  Once class started, he wanted to keep kicking goals.  He wasn't really interested in listening, following directions, or interacting with others, but he wasn't crying and he wasn't begging us to let him off of the field.  (I also confess there was bribery involved.  I'm not above bribes, and I have no problem admitting it.)  But I thought to myself, "I'll take it!  I'll take him just sitting there, on the field, staring at everyone else.  He's not crying or clinging to my leg, so I'll take it!"

Getting ready to shoot!

After a few minutes, the class took a water break (they take a lot of those), and the "coach" came over to say hello to Gavin.  She asked Gavin if he wanted to shoot some goals with the rest of the class, and he said he did.  He wanted to!  And you know what, he did!  He participated!  He listened (sort of)!  He followed directions (for the most part)!  And he had FUN!  Okay, so there was a lot of rolling around on the ground and weird interpretive dance moves, but he played along with the rest of the class and did a pretty darn good job!

Little girl helping him.  Aww.

I cannot begin to describe the sense of relief that I felt.  My whole goal from the start was just to get him involved in something where he could interact with other kids, have fun, and burn some of his infinite energy.  It was disheartening that he seemed to dread, even hate, soccer class.  But this time, he had a blast - which is all I wanted.  He ran and kicked (and rolled and frolicked and danced) his little butt off.  He played so hard that he was literally dripping with sweat by the time class was done.  (I had no idea little kids could sweat so much.  Disgusting and endearing all at the same time.  Weird)  I was able to sit back, relax, and just enjoying watching my kid have a really good time - and that alone totally made my day.