Yeah, I’m a soccer mom. So what? There is nothing to be ashamed about by that moniker. My kids participate in both the fall and spring travel soccer leagues. JV’s team plays three times a week: 1) coach’s practice, 2) trainer practice and 3) game day. Gus plays once a week – not on the same day as JV - so we are at some soccer field at least four days out of the week. I wash and fold uniforms. I clap together mud encrusted cleats. I buy protective cups. I buy shin guards. I fill up water bottles. I apply eye black to their faces. During the last FIFA World Cup, we added a gorgeous English bulldog to our family and I allowed my boys to name her after a UK soccer stadium…Wembley. We’ve been affixed to the TV since FIFA World Cup in South Africa started last week. We followed the USA-England match over the weekend that was the most watched FIFA first match of the tournament to be watched since 1994. We’ve been following how the USA team bus got delayed on their way to the stadium, having been caught behind a family of tree eating elephants on the way to Royal Bafokeng Stadium. Why do I do this you might ask? Are you kidding me? Have you seen Annie Leibovitz’s Vanity Fair spread on all the World Cup soccer studs in their knickers? OMG! I cultivate this soccer mania in my family because I want to raise little soccer Casanovas with six pack abs who rip their shirts off every time they score a GOOOOAAAALLLLLL! Soccer is the ballet of the masses. Go FUTBOL!
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