I’ve been ambivalent about the term “soccer mom” since it was coined 10 or so years ago. On the one hand, it’s trite and it places one squarely within the herd. A sheep or a cow, I’m not, but I’m also proud of being a mother and the Solidarity of Mothers does has its appeal. It’s not so difficult to imagine me, 45+ though I be, standing shoulder to shoulder with other mothers, pacing the sidelines with women approximately half my age, hands clasped and hoping for best performance from that there young one, sweating on the field.

Well, no. Instead, today, I get this. This … this, “Hello, this isn’t at all what I expected. I would like to get away from here. And now.”

Today I almost became such a being. I suited him up, flung him upon the soccer field and … nothing. Wouldn’t go.

OK, so there have been forays into soccermomdom in the past. The week before Trassie was born, Christopher, now 12, starred briefly in an indoor soccer league. He played well for a game and then seemed to lose interest. No more flying down the field, snappy toes a-blazin.’ It was more of an, “oh well, that was fun for about 5 minutes.” The entire event was memorable for A) He was awarded a bobble-head trophy of dubious aesthetics and B) I attended Game 1 pregnant and Game 2 sporting a week-old child. In that moment, as as far as Soccer Moms go, I most certainly did rock.

But, as I said, it was short-lived, and I never really did join the ranks of the van-driving, sweaty-child transporting, sunburned nose sporting Soccer Mom.

Not that I’m complaining. Lordy my life is busy enough, what with the full-time job and the gourmet meals  5.5 days a week, and the three kids and the homework and the Spongebob and all.

But really it was quite a surprise when this child, this Trassie of mine, all will and cute and physicality and cleverness, decided that YES MOM I DO WANT TO PLAY SOCCER, suddenly put on the breaks and declared no, nope and I Will Not play soccer this lovely September afternoon.

Like I said, I’m all ambivalent. Sure, I want my darling to pursue excellence, coordination and glory upon the soccer field along with Emma, Olivia, Hunter and Gatherer. On the other hand, am I cut out to be among the herd? A demographic to be courted? A nose to be sunburned?

Time, as has been noted, will tell. Stubbornness, thy name be Soileau, and in the person of young Trasimond, son of two eldest children who tend to be somewhat opinionated and strong-willed themselves, it seems to have reached full fruition.

Will he play? Will he score? Let us pack up our water bottles, load up the Prius and greet Saturday a week and find out.