Last night at the soccer game, our daughter was hesitant to join in the action because she spotted an Amazonian female player on the other team. Number Seven. Our eldest said she remembered her from last season and knew that she kicked hard. REALLY hard.
I assured our little girl – who incidentally is usually the tallest on the field – that everything would be fine and she had nothing to worry about. Famous last words.
Toward the end of the game, Number Seven on the Yellow Jackets squared off against Number Eight on the Orange Tigers (our daughter), and the Amazon kicked our Tiger TWICE in the stomach, making her fall down. To her credit, she got up immediately but was covered with mud (what IS it? Monsoon season? It rains every few days here!) and her knee was badly scratched. Once she saw a trickle of blood, it was all over and she retreated to the sidelines in tears for comfort and medical attention.
Upon closer look at the Yellow Jacket bully, I had issues with her age. If that girl qualified for the micro league – reserved for four, five and six year olds – I’ll eat a shin guard. Seriously, I think I saw her leave the game driving her own car.
But I digress. The crucial test came today when we had another soccer game at noon. Time to get back on the proverbial horse, as they say. Our daughter is decent at soccer but completely non-aggressive and doesn’t like it when her opponents challenge her. So she wasn’t very excited when we showed up today and found out we were playing one of the fastest teams in the league.
That’s where the bribery comes in. To sweeten the pot, my husband and I decided we’d make our Orange Tiger a deal. If she participated with a good attitude today, she’d get ice cream afterward. If she made contact with the ball during the game, she’d receive a quarter, and would get a dollar bill if she scored a goal.
In retrospect, I think bribery is too strong a word. I prefer performance incentive. And by the way, it worked.
I honestly don’t care if she ever plays soccer again, but we only have two games left and she needs to finish what she signed up for. And frankly, I’m okay with offering a few coins and frozen dairy products as long as it gets us through the rest of the season. Please don’t judge.
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I can totally relate! I, too, have harbored thoughts of moving. I've gone so far consider downsizing a strategic move - less room for stuff and less space to clean means more time for family. And we'd have a smaller carbon footprint, too. It's win-win from where I sit... which is up to my eyeballs in Barbies.
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