What a Peach

My son wanted to play soccer REALLY bad this year. So, I signed him up by the deadline, which was the last day to register and he got put on a wait list. The wait list wasn't budging. No one was volunteering to coach, so the kids were just sitting on this list. So, I did what I do best, act hastily without thought and get myself into a committment that ends up being a thorn in my side.

My team was filled with a great bunch of kids. A few of them weren't all that interested in actually playing soccer, including my son, but what can you expect from a bunch of first graders. Waking up early on Saturday morning, getting to practice every Mon and Wed, learning how to actually play soccer were a few minor sacrifices I was willing to make in order for the kids to just be out there, having fun. The thing I could have done without was the psycho soccer mom.

I'm sure every team has one. You know, the mom who is never satisfied no matter how hard you try. Nothing will ever make this mom happy because lets just face it, she probably hasn't been 'satisfied' in a REALLY long time. I'm pretty sure her husband is in Iraq, so yeah, I can gaurantee the satisfaction meter is running low.

She stopped bringing her daughter to practice and the games about 3 weeks ago. She was a 'side line yeller' so it got extremely quiet. I still called her to keep her informed of what was going on. I was just a good coach like that. She rarely closed our phone calls with a "goodbye" or "good day" before I heard the other end slam down.

One phone call in particular, I was explaining that we were going to pass out trophies and have donuts off to the side after the last game. Well, apparently, she didn't like that idea so she hung up on me. The last game ended up being canceled so I called to let her know and she suggested:

Her: Who decided we should be outside for the trophy ceremony?
Me: The other parents, did you have any suggestions?
Her: Well, why can't we go indoors, it's too cold?
Me: Sure, how's Burger King sound?
Her: Alright. (phone slams)

I make the phone calls and all the other parents agree to the change. Everyone shows up at the Burger King with smiles on, ready to pass out trophies and let their kids play. The psycho soccer mom arrives with her usual scowled looking self, plops her butt down away from the crowd with another mom who was willing to listen to her bitch-moan sessions all season and begins to complain. About what you might ask? She got her way didn't she? Yes, she most certainly did, but she still had to get in one last bitch-moan about the fact that she had to tell me it needed to be indoors. I'm not saying she was wrong. I'm merely suggesting that she was a Bitch about it.

I leave you with her last words to me. I say last because soccer season is officially over and I no longer have to attempt and fail at making this mom happy. (No, I didn't rip her larynx out, which is what you were probably hoping right?) Moving the location wasn't enough, she also wanted to know:

Um, where are the donuts?

She was a peach.