The difference between first and third

When Loren was younger every little thing was such a huge thing. He started playing soccer at age four and every other weekend or so my parents would travel over 200 miles just to see him, along with his four other team mates, cluster around the ball and move about the field in one large clump for about 30 minutes. It was absolute silliness, but we critiqued his every move and analyzed just exactly how his skills would serve him throughout his soccer career, his school years, life, etc. Fast forward that by 11 years and now Devon has started playing wee soccer. Now? Now I sit on the sidelines during practice and laugh my ass off. There is my son out there on the field. He is the one dressed in a spider man costume because he can’t bear the thought of being forced to wear the blue uniform. He is the one running aimlessly outside of bounds. The one dribbling with his feet, except that he hasn’t a ball. He wanders from the drills to sit on my lap and tell me he loves me. I can see the other mothers tensing their shoulders as they watch their young, budding stars. But me? I am the one laughing and enjoying it all for every bit it is worth.