It was just another weekend of feeling so out of place.
All the really serious sports moms wore this sort of stretchy stuff with weird patterns that made her feel seasick when she looked at them too long. The other moms looked like maybe they had stepped out of some preppy clothes catalog, replete with cloth belts embossed with tiny whales. Some of the moms changed clothes at midday and then again at night before they took the team to the local sports bar/restaurant. This army of women had enormous SUVs, in the back of which they kept folding chairs with umbrella covers, giant coolers on wheels and anything else that might be super handy at a sporting event. And they were uber focused on their daughters’ games, yelling out meaningful support and documenting every play with a photo or video shot.
She had an odd assortment of all-wrong clothes – one set, no wardrobe changes – and a baseball cap she borrowed from her daughter. She had no chair, no cooler and nothing but her work papers in her car. She sat on the bench quietly and reviewed documents and sent work emails. She never yelled anything. She didn’t really take photos unless something artsy or strange struck her fancy. She didn’t understand the game happening on the field or on the sidelines.
And she was pretty sure this was a variation of the same scene when she was watching her other daughter’s dance recitals.
She wondered : When will this part be over? Even though she also knew she would miss it when it was actually done.