William is playing soccer this year and his enthusiasm for the sport is underwhelming.
Soccer practice rolls around on Thursday nights and Andy and I look at each other and say, "Crap! We have soccer practice?" Because William could really care less. So it really doesn't cross his mind.
Then Saturday mornings when we've barely rolled out of bed after a night of musical beds like we had last night, and Andy's planning on spending the day in the yard and I have a million errands to run, we look at each other over breakfast and say, "Crap! We have a soccer game this morning???" Then, like this morning, we realize we're already late so after getting everyone else ready, I am forced to choose between getting my pants on or brushing my teeth. I opted for pants.
It's not that we're not happy William is playing. We were actually really excited about it. But after the first practice, William announced that he'd rather be swimming. So he spends most every practice and every game just sort of fluttering around the field, making fish faces and trying to ignore us yelling to him, "The ball, William! The ball! Kick the ball!" Sheesh.
I'm thinking this time next year we'll be going to swim meets. Michael Phelps is probably making more money than David Beckham anyway. Wouldn't ya think?