When you look at Scarlet, you might think she’s all sugar and spice and everything nice. You might think that of her soccer teammates too. They look all sweet and angelic playing tag and doing cartwheels together.
But don’t let them fool you. These girls are intense. They
are like attack dogs ready to (um) attack.
I vowed before I had kids that I would never, ever, ever,
ever (one more ever for good measure) be a soccer mom. And yet here I am on the
side of the field yelling my face off.
“Attack! Attack!” (It’s better than, “Kill! Kill!”)
I remember when I was Scarlet’s age and would play sports. I
would run away from the ball. Yes, I do mean away. The ball would be in one
spot, and I would make sure to run in another spot. I wonder if that’s why I
would get picked last?
Oh yes, and for softball, I would never hit the ball. I mean,
it was T-ball, and I still wouldn’t hit it. Now that I’m typing this, it kind
of makes sense that I would get picked last. I mean, I wouldn’t pick myself!
But something changed when I made the decision that I would
go after the ball. I didn’t really know what to do it when I got the ball, but
I made up my mind that ball was mine and I would go after it.
And somehow that mentality got me from being a bench warmer picked
last to making the all star team.
I think it’s all about that killer (I mean, attack)
instinct.
Sic ‘em!
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