>The Soccer Babies

After spending the last five years coaching my stepdaughters’ various recreational soccer teams, my husband is known around town for his expertise in the sport. Our home is filled with gold, silver and bronze medals from tournaments, city championships, and season enders. Hubs is so good, in fact, that despite his job as a TV reporter, he’s been asked to coach soccer at three different high schools this year alone. When he coached my younger stepdaughter’s final rec game a couple of months ago, I actually cried- and I know I wasn’t the only one. That gold medal game marked the end of Hubs’ very first team, a group of girls that he literally took from worst to first.

So maybe now you’ll understand why I couldn’t stop giggling yesterday as Hubs coached his newest team for the first time. This group made every one of his former teams seem tame. When he spoke, they didn’t listen and sometimes even turned their backs on him. When he assigned them to positions, they left the field for unauthorized water breaks, pouting mightily when he asked them to wait. One of the team members, who may or may not be related to me, even refused to participate in a drill, accusing him of being “too scary.”

Welcome to the world of three-year-old soccer.

It’s Punky’s first season of eligibility and after sitting on the sidelines of her sisters’ games for as long as she can remember, we didn’t want to deny her the opportunity to wear a jersey of her own and try to raise a ruckus on the soccer field. But I’ll admit I’ve had some misgivings, starting with the first time I put her team shirt over her head and found that it went to her shins. Of course, I wonder if she’s really ready, but I guess there’s only one way to find out.

“Okay, everyone, let’s start by putting the ball between your feet,” Hubs proclaimed to his tiny team. “Now try to jump up in the air while holding the ball between them.”

“But I can’t do that, Daddy!” Punky shrieked, after grunting a few times and giving it her best effort.

“Okay, let’s move onto a drill,” Hubs said gamely. “Let’s take turns kicking the ball down the field and into the goal.” Punky’s friend went first, kicking the ball a few times, before picking it up and throwing it into the net.

“Yeah, that’s not going to work,” Hubs said. “Hmm. Let’s try something else.”

After 45 minutes of herding the tots through a series of soccer exercises, Hubs called for an end to the madness. “Thank you Coach Daddy!” Punky shrieked as the girls’ parents packed up their things and prepared to leave.

Our first game is next Saturday and I shudder to think of how its going to go. Still, there’s one thing that gives me a profound sense of relief.

“At least they’re too young to even realize whether they’ve won or lost,” I said to Hubs later that day. “They’ll just have fun kicking the ball around for an hour.” Hubs grimaced in response.

I think this just might end up being his most challenging season yet.

This post originally appeared on Parents.com.