I could have asked the soccer mom that. Or I could have asked if she could make her kid stop terrorizing the other children. But instead I took the Mean Girls route: I glared at her.
Let me rewind. It’s Saturday morning soccer practice for Logan, and I was flying solo with both boys. It was my first time at soccer since usually Hubby goes. And Hubby had warned me that one of the kids was very disruptive.
It didn’t take me long to spot him. His mom dragged his limp body onto the field. She hissed at him to get up. The kid, I’ll call him Ivan, labored to life and joined the rest of the 3ish year olds.
Enamored by my own child, I didn’t pay much attention to Ivan. Then half way through the class, Ivan started to go rogue. He refused to participate in any of the activities. Meh, he’s 3, no big deal, I thought, obviously my Hubby was exaggerating when he spoke of this kid.
Hubby told me a story of how Ivan was “going crazy” one day and then as Logan was drinking from his water bottle Ivan decided he wanted it. He snatched the bottle from Logan and Logan quickly swiped it back while giving Ivan one of my signature white-hot glares. Ivan looked at Logan and slowly backed away. (I’m secretly proud of this.)
On this Saturday, Ivan had kicked it up a notch, yelling at the coach, who was trying to corral him. I stole a sideways glance at his mom to see her reaction. She slowly turned her back to the field. That’s strange.
Things quickly devolved. Ivan started throwing balls at the other kids. I looked at his mom. She was looking at the ceiling. Seriously? I looked at the other parents. They all looked uncomfortable. It was the elephant in the room.
Logan was staying away from Ivan the Terrible. OK, my kid’s safe, but what about the others? When the coach’s back was turned, Ivan cornered a shrimp of a kid against a wall and pummeled him with balls.
“Excuse me!” I called to the mom. She ignored me. Meanwhile, the coach stopped the attack and sequestered Ivan for the remainder of the class.
I kept looking at the woman in disbelief. I try not to be judgmental, but sheesh, I’d never seen a parent so deliberately not watch their child. She might as well have started whistling and twiddling her thumbs. I tried to compel her to look at me, thinking if I caught her eye, I could strike up a conversation.
I switched on my white-hot glare, known for causing fear in the hearts of men. (It’s true! Ask my Hubby.) And nada. Then I softened and for the first time I truly saw the woman.
She looked at her wit’s end and that this soccer class appeared to be her escape. I’m not making an excuse for her checking out, especially at the expense of the other kids’ safety, but I do understand when you’re just spent and want someone else to be in charge.
I remember once when Logan threw a huge, screaming, arm-swinging fit in the train station, I didn’t want to deal with it. I wanted to give him to one of the passengers. Instead I just grabbed his arms and confined him.
Next soccer practice, I’ll try to position myself closer to her and start chatting it up before Ivan releases his reign of terror so that when it comes hopefully I can gently prod her into action… We’ll see.
Or maybe I’ll talk privately with the coach about it. I don’t want to be a meddling parent and I’m new to the etiquette of children’s sports, but it’s just not in me to simply sit there and watch this kid push, shove and scare the others.
Go West Readers: What would you do?
She’sWrite is the pen name of a journalist who lives in the northwest suburbs with her endearing Norwegian husband. She usually commutes daily into the Loop, but she’s currently on a six-month maternity leave and is at home with her baby boy and 3-year-old son. Every Wednesday on Go West Young Mom, you’ll find her musings about being a mom, career woman, wife and friend, and the crazy juggling act in this curious circus that we call life. She publishes several times a week on her own blog, also called She'sWrite, and you can subscribe there to get email notifications of new posts.