And that's what you call a slam-bang start!

Last night was Lauren's first soccer game. She was alternately excited to be participating in the same sport as her friend Georgia, who is a big, cool, kindergartener, and appalled and angry about wearing large padded socks up to her knees. Also, she was a wee bit disappointed that her team shirt turned out NOT to be purple.

But the game must go on.

First play of the game Lauren lines up around the circle in the center spot. The other team gets the first kick and WHAM! Lauren gets smacked square in the face with the ball. I mean, you could hear the thuhwack from the sideline.

It was heartbreaking and I did the only thing I thought was right. I stayed in my chair and didn't say a word. Her coach ran over and checked her out, and gave me a glance to let me know that Lauren was relatively okay, only psychically injured. Lauren cried, copious tears that were more about fear and shock than pain. Still, I stayed in my chair.

Lauren cried through the whole game. Once or twice she kicked the ball, and once she got to make the starting kick herself. She's got dead-on aim. Her tears slowed, but mostly she stood rooted with her hands up by her face. It was killing me, but A) she stayed out there and didn't try to leave the field, B) her team only has 6 kids so they couldn't really afford for her to be out, and C) I don't think it's a good idea to always rush to the side of your kid, especially when you know they are more scared than hurt. I wanted her to be brave and realize that things were really okay, and that we were still there watching, but we couldn't play the game for her.

But I felt like a heel.

The brownie and juice box afterward worked wonders for her soul, as did the visit from Georgia, whose game had ended first. She's already looking forward to Saturday's game.

I, however, am still recovering.