As we sat around the dinner table tonight, the talk was about the most important part of the school day: recess. Gracie's been playing soccer lately and I had assumed she was actually doing the running around, kicking the ball part. Not so. Apparently, these little turkeys she's playing with are "making" her be goalie every time and she is understandably getting a little tired of it. Her story was corroborated by Johnny, who would be the very first to shout out any inaccuracies.
I asked who was making her be goalie and it's some boys from her class. I'm sure they aren't being mean about it (I've met a few and they are mostly sweet), but someone has to be goalie and they don't want to, so they tell Gracie - who really, really wants to play - it's her job.
Mama hit the roof. In a big, big way.
I'm going to have to talk to her about it again before she goes back to school because my reaction and advice was disorganized and generally unsound. Looking back on what I said, it probably would not be a great idea for my eensy little girl to get in their grill and give these boys the impression that a can of something was about to be opened up and that she was NOT going to play goalie anymore.
I mean, she wants to play and she needs to come up with an answer that gets her what she wants - to not play goalie all the time - but doesn't infuriate these boys so much that they don't let her play at all. A don't-argue-with-me-just-do-it "no".
What I really want to do, more than anything, is to march up there during recess on Monday and start directing traffic so these little kindergarten lovelies figure out how to take turns and not tell my daughter what to do.
That would be unacceptable. Effective, but unacceptable.
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