Where I promise not to let youth sports take over my life

“That’s not a bumper sticker I would’ve guessed you’d ever have.” One of my besties was pointing out the new soccer club cling, stuck right next to my Great Lakes sticker, right next to the parking brake on the van.

Busted.

Soccer? Youth sports? Wasn’t I the one who contributed to a chapter about time, someone who talks and talks about sabbaths and being the boss of our own schedules? How did we let this happen, this endless slide into kids’ sports? And … did I mention that Dave’s coaching this team of our daughter’s? Suddenly there are games and practices on my otherwise heavily guarded weeknights and weekend afternoons.

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We’re in so deep

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She stood stoically by the brick wall, a gaggle of giggly girls to her left. “Look at my new puppy backpack!” one girl shouted over and over to last year’s classmates as they walked by. Alice didn’t move much from the line Ms. W’s class was making outside the second-grade wing before their first day this morning.

She looked at her shiny new shoes, her yellow lunchbox with bicycles on it hanging by her knees. She sniffed. Her three-year-old sister sat at my feet.

 

Around the building stood Dave with Violet, outside the kindergarten wing.

We made it; we landed outside the school building today, sputtering and wiping the water from our brows.

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