>Coach Mommy

Hubs hasn’t been feeling well, so when Friday night rolled around, we needed to find a substitute coach for Saturday’s three-year-old soccer game (another soccer post. I know. Fortunately, the last game of the season is next weekend). The first dad Hubs called declined, saying he wouldn’t know what was going on.

“Do you mind calling Margaret and asking if Steve will do it?” Hubs asked me, referring to another teammates’ parents.

“Oh hell, that’ll just be another long conversation about what’s going on on the field,” I said. “Look. I’ll do it. They’re three. How hard can it be?”

And that’s how I ended up on a field yesterday morning with five preschoolers running around me like maniacs. At first they seemed confused by my presence on the field, rather than the sidelines. “Are you gonna be our coach today?” one of them finally asked.

“Yep,” I said a little nervously. Then I raised my fist. “Girl power!” I yelped. The girls around me grinned and cheered. I was in.

After that, everything went pretty smoothly- as smoothly as you could expect with a bunch of three to five-year-olds, anyway. Girls wandered off the field into the nearby woods. (“Emily! Emily! Emily! Get back here!“) Girls left the game to chat with their mommies or get a drink. (“Punky! Punky! Punky! Punky! Get back here!“) Girls played Ring Around the Rosie with kids from the other team. (“Melissa! Melissa! Melissa! No fraternizing with the enemy!“)

Our top scorer Anna, the one who makes all the parents on the other team see red, started off the game with two goals. I couldn’t exactly take her out for the rest of the game, and I didn’t want to punish her for being a good player, so after a bit of thought, I pulled her aside.

“I am so proud of you!” I said, hugging her. “You are a great soccer player. So I have a special new mission for you. I want you to help Melissa score. It’s going to be really hard. Can you do it?” She looked over at Melissa, who was crouched in the center of the field, picking up handfuls of dirt. With a fierce gleam in her eye, she nodded. “I can do it,” she said.

Within minutes, Anna had gotten the ball again and kicked it all the way to the goal. Inches away from scoring, she stopped and looked around. “Hey Melissa!” she shouted. Melissa looked over from where she was reciting nursery rhymes with my daughter. She trotted over to the goal, looked questioningly at Anna, and, eventually, kicked it in to score while Anna stood guard. Our parents went wild.

“That was awesome!” I told Anna. “That is teamwork!”

“I’m just glad that man isn’t here to make me feel bad again,” Anna declared solemnly, and my heart broke into a million pieces. Damn that George!

By the end of the game, I was hoarse from shouting and my brain had shorted from the act of trying to keep track of five preschoolers at once. I had learned an important lesson- Coaching little kids is a lot harder than I had thought. No wonder Hubs is exhausted at the end of each game.

I have a new respect for the art of coaching now. And hopefully, it’ll make me a better parent.

This post originally appeared on Parents.com.