Being a Sports Mom Is Not for the Weak

I was an athlete my whole life — softball, basketball, cheerleading, more softball, with a theater-kid detour in between. Most of my best friends came out of team sports, the kind of friendships you only get from being sweaty and fourteen together. So you'd think I'd be built for this next phase. Instead, I'm completely overwhelmed by it.

Part of it is having twins. Up until now, my boy/girl duo has either played on the same team or stuck to rec and intramural: low stakes, same schedule, done. Third grade, apparently, is where that ends. They're each on separate travel soccer teams now, with two practices a week per kid and a game on Saturdays, which sounds manageable until you're actually in it.

This past Saturday we had a game at 11, another at 2:45, and our neighborhood block party at 4. I scrubbed my bathroom in the ninety-minute gap between fields, half-watching my toddler, half-wondering why my kids had to turn out athletic when I already have a full-time job and an ADHD brain that was not built for this many calendar invites.

And still: I watched my son score his first goal. I watched my daughter find her footing on the turf, literally, and get that little flash of I can do this on her face. I love the teams they landed on, and with the help of our village, I think we're actually going to be okay.

There's a version of this where I pull back, where two sports across two kids is too much. But I keep coming back to the same gut check I use for everything else as a mom: not what looks balanced on paper, just whether they're lit up when I pick them up. So far, they are.