Being a soccer mom kind of sucks, so far.

I like soccer well enough. Ainslie is having a swell time, although on the way to her game, in the burgeoning deluge, she very sweetly informed us that she was nervous, because she wasn't sure what to do. We assured her that her coaches would be right there on the field helping her, so then she was ok.

The rain was not ok. This wasn't a sprinkle, a mist, or even a shower. This was Rain. Hard. Rain. Given that this was supposed to be the third game of the season and they are out of make-up dates (Week 1 cancelled due to thunderstorms, Week 2, due to high winds--welcome to the Prairie), I knew we'd have to play.

Soaked to the core.

Craig was a hero for bringing along a tailgating tent, but that meant, since the other team was a bunch of tough 5 yr-olds who had obviously been recruited from eastern Europe, that we strained to see our kids do much of anything. If we had known all the action was going to be going into our goal, we'd have set up on the other end of the field.

Mercifully, the game was called after the third (6-minute) quarter. As Craig and the other dads struggled to get the tent put away, Ainslie came dripping over, all smiles. I asked whether she'd had fun.
"I did! Did I win?"

We have so far avoided answering, per se. She has the phrase, "do my best and have fun" down pat. Waiting for the seats of the van to dry out.