Soccer field jitters

Robbie had his first soccer practice of the season this week. He had to go straight from after care at school to practice because both Mike and I got hung up at work, which meant he didn't have a soccer ball or cleats with him, neither of which seemed to bother him.

We arrived at the field and I walked him over to the team. The coach knew him from last season when Robbie and his son had been on the same team. I turned to walk away from the field and was kind of surprised to feel my stomach sinking a little bit to leave him there. It's not like I was going far away -- just to the parking lot, only for 60 minutes. But I found myself feeling a little anxious for him and oddly as though I'd left a little piece of my heart out there on the soccer field.

"Please have fun," I thought. "Please make a friend. Please come running to the sideline after practice sweaty-headed and dirty and smiling." And then I began to think about what I would say in case he didn't have fun or make a friend or come off the field smiling. "It's only the first practice. Next time you'll know someone." 

I watched practice from my car and realized that the uneasiness -- all 2 minutes of it -- was all on me. Robbie didn't have one bit of hesitation. He kicked and ran and participated in the drills. I was happy that he was wearing his favorite neon green hoodie, so I could easily pick him out from the crowd of boys.  

How did this happen to me, this anxiety over leaving my 11-year-old at a soccer field while I sat 100 yards away? I never had those fears for Charlie. Maybe that's because when it comes to sports, Charlie has never known a stranger. If there is a ball involved, he is your friend and is game for whatever game you've got. I don't think I've felt that way about Annie. She can be shy when she first meets someone, but she is such a confident spirit that any shyness melts away easily. So why do I fuss about Robbie?

He is my baby. I swore I would never treat my third child any different than I treated the other two. But I do. Not only is he my baby, but he's my spectrum kid. My pervasive-development-disorder-not-otherwise-specified boy. So that means in some instances, he needs kid gloves. But as I sat there watching his neon green hood bobbing up and down the field, I realized this kid has changed. Right under my nervous and watchful eye. He has grown and matured. While I was sitting there praying he would make a friend, he was out there praying he would make a goal.

I guess its time I start letting go a little. Loosening the reins and watching where he will go. And I realize (and my older two will be oh so happy to hear it) that he's also grown up enough to be held to a higher standard. To be expected to pull his weight more than we've required of him in the past. 

I can't promise not to get nervous or overprotective again where Robbie is concerned. But at least maybe not on the soccer field.

Fun is in the eye of the beholder

Robbie's class is walking in the St. Patrick's Day parade today. It's a school tradition -- every year the entire 2nd grade wears matching green t-shirts and heads downtown to be part of the parade.

I had planned to walk with them. This is one of those field trips where lots of parents are encouraged to join in. A short 1 mile-ish walk. A chance to scan the spectators and see people I know. Sunshine and smiley, laughing 2nd graders. Sounds like a recipe for fun in my book.

Apparently, Robbie has been reading a different book.

In his mind, walking in the parade means people staring at him (and "staring is NOT nice, Mom"). The parade means scary clowns and loud noises.

I tried to reason with him that people were looking at him when he was in the talent show (that's a topic for another post) and he didn't mind. He didn't get the connection. I tried to tell him that he'd be with his class and his friends and there would be lots of laughs and such fun. No dice. There wasn't much I could argue about the noise -- they are scheduled to be lined up just behind a high school marching band.

So, after lots of worry on his part and failed persuasion on mine, we told him he doesn't have to walk in the parade. I sent him to school in his green t-shirt in case maybe he gets caught up in the excitement of his classmates, but I'm pretty sure he won't.

Now I'm second-guessing myself a little. Maybe we should have made him do it. Forced him to toughen up and face his fears. But, I know my kid. He would be nervous and teary all morning. I'm not afraid to fight the battles, but this one just didn't seem worth it.

So, when his class boards the bus for their great green adventure, I'll be there to pick up Robbie and take him to the Lego exhibit at the Children's Museum. Something that definitely reads "fun" in his book.