Saturday morning, my husband pulled a wagon packed with lawn chairs, tents, misting fans and a packed cooler across the parking lot of Vicksburg’s Key City Park. In the blazing heat, we set up our tent and chairs and then walked across the field to prepare a second tent for the team. The sidelines slowly filled with the teammates of my youngest son’s soccer team. It was their first game of the season and the first time this team would play together due to changes to the league’s age matrix.
We’d had a few weeks of reprieve after finishing my middle son’s travel-basketball season in mid-July. He ended that season with a state championship and added another gold ring to his custom award hanger on the bedroom wall. But both sons started practice the previous week, one football and one soccer, and we’d spent our evenings running from one field to another purchasing forgotten cleats, sizing new shoulder pads and attending parent meetings.
We were tired, and it was hot, but I realized something as I sat in my favorite lawn chair, clutching a cold brew with two extra shots of espresso: There is no place I’d rather be than on my boys’ sidelines.
I’m a mom. A boy mom. Better than that, a sports mom. My role is equal parts logistics manager, cheerleader, Uber driver and emotional support person. My planner looks like project-management plans from a Fortune 500 company. It is color-coded by practice times, game locations and uniform colors. There are stickers noting PTO meetings, back-to-school nights, birthday parties and orthodontist appointments. I’ve even learned how to sync the school-assignment calendar to my Google calendar so that we don’t forget to study for a test or complete a project.
Most of my weekends are dictated by tournament schedules and the constant search for an available outlet to charge my phone. Most Saturday mornings start with the ever-growing mental checklist and a silent prayer that the cleats are actually in the bag. (You have no idea how many times they have not been.) We’ve learned to quiz spelling words from the front seat while navigating highway traffic and finish math worksheets on bleacher benches before Tuesday night football games.
The trunk of my SUV is a permanent staging area of tents, lawn chairs, emergency first-aid kits, and extra water bottles. We have a Zip-Loc bag with an extra change of clothes, water wipes and spare socks inside a cooler bag that also houses spray deodorant, shoe powder, hand sanitizer, Lysol and extra snacks. I often joke that we could be stuck on the highway for hours and be OK because mama has everything we need.
During this time of year, my backseat becomes a mobile study hall. There is a pencil pouch with extra pencils, highlighters and markers. One child has a clipboard, and the other has a lap desk to do homework on. Last season, I even talked my husband into investing in a mobile hotspot for the times that a laptop is needed to complete an assignment.
It’s easy to focus on exhaustion. My weeks are filled with late-night drive-thru dinners and endless miles logged between games and practices. There is constant double-checking that schoolwork isn’t slipping through the cracks. Toss in work travel, and my daily Red Bull-loaded tea becomes understandable.
I’ll be honest. Balancing a career, family and the relentless pace of competitive youth sports is akin to an Olympic sport. But beyond the frantic schedules and the concession stand snacks, something remarkably sweet is happening in the stands.
There is a unique kind of community forged on the sidelines. The parents sitting next to me have become family. I wouldn’t take anything for the friendships of my TGPro moms and the overlapping tents of our soccer families. We’ve learned each other’s moods, shared stadium chairs, held seats and celebrated each other’s kids with the same fierce pride we hold for our own. When my child makes a defensive stop, scores a goal or simply bounces back after a tough call, there are an entire row of people who cheer along with me.
More than anything, being in the stands offers me a front-row seat to my children’s growth. I get to watch my boys learn lessons that aren’t easily taught in a classroom. I see them learn to handle losses with grace, to pick up a teammate who is down and to manage time when every minute counts. They learn determination, grit and perseverance. The teammates on their left and right could become lifelong friends. These are memories that I will cherish forever even if I sweat my hair out to make them.
This season of my life is loud, messy, expensive and utterly exhausting. But it is also fleeting. Before we know it, the trunks will be empty. The bookbag and the sports bag that currently reside by the back door will soon be gone and there will be no more uniforms to wash and no more entry fees to pay.
So for now, I’ll take the chaos. I’ll keep packing the cooler and adjusting the lawn chair. I’ll be team manager, mom and coach if I need to be—because watching my sons and supporting them doing what they love is worth every single minute.
This MFP Voices opinion essay reflects the personal opinion of its author(s). The column does not necessarily represent the views of the Mississippi Free Press, its staff or board members. To submit an opinion for the MFP Voices section, send up to 1,200 words and sources fact-checking the included information to voices@mississippifreepress.org. We welcome a wide variety of viewpoints.
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