Parenting Adventures: Am I a Soccer Mom?
Updated: July 9, 2020
Originally Published: May 12, 2005
One day, while driving my 8‐year‐old to soccer practice, it hit me like a soccer ball to the shins: I am indeed a soccer mom! You know the type—suburban, middle-aged, and a staple in presidential election headlines.
I took a moment to reflect on my life and, well, the evidence was hard to ignore. I have two kids, one of whom is a budding soccer star. I capitulated in the minivan debate and now drive a vehicle that could practically double as a small bus. Yoga pants are my go-to attire, and my sister, who lives in Los Angeles, just shakes her head when I wear tennis shoes with jeans. I traded in my urban lifestyle for a cozy home in a good school district, and now I find myself shopping at Costco, where buying two gallons of peanut butter and ten chickens feels entirely sensible. My husband and I are even pondering a dog. I’ve shouted “slow down” at speeding cars more times than I can count. And, to top it all off, I was unreasonably thrilled about purchasing a new, extra-large washer and dryer.
For the first time, I seemed to fit into a pre-made mold. Growing up, I was never a tomboy or a girly girl, goth or grunge, nerd or part of the cool crowd. I was just me. I never fully identified with any stereotype; I was a mix of all of them.
Before I became a mom, I used to roll my eyes at minivans and dreaded being stuck behind one on the road. I opted for a series of shabby apartments in the city rather than the suburbs, spending as little time there as possible and traveling whenever I could. I shopped at flea markets, never owned a car, dined at trendy restaurants, and spent weekends sleeping in and staying up late. My culinary skills were limited to a single pot and pan, and I had no clue how to use either. While I always knew I wanted kids, my ideas about motherhood were pretty vague.
Fast forward to my thirties: I got married and had kids, and suddenly, I woke up at 40 as a soccer mom. I obsessively pondered my membership in this so-called “soccer mom sorority” for way too long before realizing that I’m really not a stereotype—nor is anyone else. I still wear mismatched socks, view cooking as a chore, and relish lounging in pajamas until noon on lazy weekends. I love reading, visiting museums, and can’t resist cold pizza for breakfast. My kids enjoy both NASCAR and opera, and while “Downton Abbey” is one of my top ten favorite shows, so is “The Walking Dead.”
Despite the passage of time, my core values remain unchanged. Family, faith, integrity, love for the outdoors, and the importance of laughter were crucial in my twenties—and they still are today. My midlife crisis came and went as quickly as a referee’s whistle. The trappings of a soccer mom are merely part of motherhood; they don’t define who I am. As we navigate middle age, juggle kids, aging parents, and careers, our true selves often hide beneath the surface.
Years ago, my grandmother, at 78, told me she still felt 25 at heart. Deep down, aren’t we all still that age?
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Summary:
In a humorous reflection on motherhood, the author realizes she fits the stereotype of a “soccer mom” but embraces her unique identity beyond the label. Despite the trappings of suburban life, her core values and interests remain unchanged.