|Slushies for all, sometimes, not all the time.|
My kid loves Lucky Charms. And Slushies.
And so does his friend, who somehow made it to the ripe 6th grade age of 12 without every having been into a 7-11, and in one afternoon, I’m sure we rewired his neurons by introducing him to Slushies and the Beastie Boys all in one “play date.” Gag.
My kid loves soccer.
He plays day in and, if his coaches had it their way, day out as well. Because after we signed him up for fancy pants soccer to the tune of community college tuition (circa 1982), we discovered field time was allotted to 8-9:30 at NIGHT. On a Thursday. Which is great if he were 16, but he’s 12, and can’t stay up much past 8 and resemble the kinder, gentler kid we love. On days when he’s bouncing a ball of some sort, or blowing a trumpet, or making a video, or doing his homework much past 8, he miraculously transforms to an incoherent rabid dog in front of our very eyes: vicious and approach with caution only.
Kinda like Cinderella, except smellier with a cleats and lots and lots of Axe.
Nighttime soccer, no matter how good or how much he loves it, just will not fly.
So we don’t send him to fancy pants soccer on Thursdays from 8-9:30 pm. Nor do we send him to indoor Saturday night games at 10:00 pm in a mold-infested, non-OSHA-approved facility. Because even though he loves it, it’s too late for him, and frankly, after a week of working and momming, I’m not spending my Saturday night soccering.
Many other parents think it’s too late as well, but send their kids anyway, because the kids just love it soooooo much.
My kid loves Lucky Charms and Slushies. He loves them soooooooo much. But I don’t let him eat them day in and day out. Once in a while, sure. But not on a regular basis, because I’m the mom and he’s the kid and I get to make those decisions.
Parents: the soccer does not have you by the nut-sack. So release the grip you think they hold and parent your child. Because in the long run, waking up well-rested will bode well for algebra, reading and learning, which will get them a whole lot farther than a corner kick they’re too tired to watch go in.
ps: Real life application of my small town, quasi-redneck childhood: a pony will eat more than its weight in food if it discovers an open grain bin, then colic. Doesn’t know enough to stop. Just sayin’.