Confessions of a Soccer Mom

In ten minutes I have to take Son to soccer practice. Dad is the coach. I volunteered him. This is appropriate for my first post because I realize that whereas I used to define myself as a Writer, I now more often think of myself as a Mother. And now with the soccer, I am a Soccer Mom. So my various selves get shuffled throughout the day. But more and more I think of myself as a Soccer Mom sans mini-van and disposable income. And I'm not afraid to admit that I still have a little crush on Howard Dean, and that somewhere, in my heart of hearts, I secretly wish that Bill Clinton could run for President again. Is that part of what makes me a soccer mom or makes me less of a soccer mom? I'm so easily confused. In the bluest part of this red state, I'm afraid I'm too blue to be a good soccer mom. I mean, when it's my turn to bring treats I'll bring bottled water and fruit. My poor son will be unpopular because I won't bring Ice Blue Gatorade and candy bars. Sigh. Add this to the list of my unsuccessful forays into Real Life: bringer of treats.