Soccer on Friday Nights

I love playing soccer on Friday nights.  Love, love, love it.

Sometimes I do things that make me feel like a soccer goddess.  Like last night when I scored off a lousy cross.  The ball was behind me in the air, about waist level, and going too fast.  On reflex, I turned to the ball, hit it out of the air, and lobbed it over my head, over the goalie's head, and into the goal.  And my team went crazy.  Cause it was awesome.  Could I have scored that if I had been trying?  No.  But my inner soccer goddess knew what to do.

I trash talk and say things like, "If you guys would step it up, I wouldn't have to score so much."  And, "You shoot like a girl.  And I'm not talking about a girl like me."

I get to show up on Friday nights and have my ego stroked.  I don't normally care about my ego.  I don't normally find opportunities to have it stroked.  But soccer is different.  It's My realm where I get to rule as I wish.  And I'd like it if you stroked my ego, thank you very much.

And then I go back home and Rob is waiting for me and I tell him about my game and about how awesome I was (or sometimes wasn't), and he tells me again that he thinks I'm awesome and that he loves that I love soccer so much, and then tells me I'm awesome again and I smile.

I go to sleep and the next morning I wake up and I'm a wife and a mother and I love my real life.  I no longer "need" the release that soccer provides.  But I still like it anyway.