I'm Lindsay Ferrier, a Nashville writer with a passion for family travel, exploring Tennessee, and raising kids without losing my mind in the process. This is where I share my discoveries, along with occasional deep thoughts, pop culture tangents and a sprinkling of snark. Want to get in touch? Use the CONTACT form at the top of the page.
August 24, 2008
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Last night marked my stepdaughters’ first soccer game of the season. It was great seeing them out on the field together. At the same time, it’s hard to believe that this will be one of the last times I see my eldest play. I can’t imagine her not playing soccer, but senior year in high school is pretty much the end of the road for my 17-year-old unless she can find an intramural women’s team in college.
For her part, my younger stepdaughter hasn’t let her small size hold her back on the soccer field- Instead, she’s spent the years learning the ball handling skills she needed to become a great player. She was even one of the captains of her soccer team in Junior High. She’s a joy to watch and she has a knack for kicking the ball to the exact player it needs to go to, regardless of where she is on the field.
The only problem I’ll have this season will be actually watching the girls play for more than 30 seconds at a time. Bruiser must continually be pushed in his stroller or all hell will break loose; meanwhile, Punky scours the stands for little people and, once finding one, joins the poor kid and her/his family so that she can “make friends.” Yesterday, her target was an unsuspecting three-year-old.
“My sisters are number 2 and number 7,” she told the girl’s mother. “They’re out there,” she pointed at the field. “Go, number two, you can do it!” she called confidently in her tiny voice.
“And that’s my mommy and that’s my mommy’s bag,” she said, pointing at me, where I was totally eavesdropping on her conversation a few rows down. “And that woman has my brother. His name’s Bruiser.”
On the stairs, one of the player’s mothers held Bruiser in her arms.
“And that’s my daddy down there. He has to stand up because he gets nervous.” The girl’s mom laughed, looking at Hubs where he was standing at the fence.
“Go number seven!” Punky squealed. “Oh!” she shouted. “My sisters have GOT to WIN!” Around her, everyone laughed.
It’s hard to imagine a time when Punky won’t have her sisters around. Right now, she takes their presence for granted, “hanging out” with them in their rooms whenever they’re home and will let her in- but in three short years, both the older girls will have headed off to college and she’ll lose her video game-playing partners, her “favorite babysitters” (along with an “Auntie” who also leaves for college next year), her manicurists, and her idols.
I’m afraid it will break her heart a little bit. In fact, I know it will.
This post originally appeared on Parents.com.
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