The sky was dark, the trees were blowing. If there was a sun in the sky I was definitely not seeing any evidence of it.
And we had a soccer game in one hour.
I plopped my sleepy-headed 4 year-old in the shower and told her to wash up while I fetched her soccer uniform. This would definitely be a two shirt day, definitely, so I grabbed the only long sleeved shirt without a crazy pattern on it and called it good.
"But I don't want to wear the pink shirt!" She screeched in a voice only the dog could hear.
"Come on honey, just put it on, it'll be fine."
"But I don't wanna wear this shirt, where's my white one?" She was not giving up anytime soon and it was much too early for debating, I hadn't had one drop of caffeine yet.
"Your white shirt is in the hamper - you can wear it later." I always say later just to give her some little ray of hope that she'll get her way. Then, when later actually does roll around, she's forgotten all about it. What?
"Fine." She answered in a less than enthusiastic tone as I pulled the dreaded pink shirt over her wet hair and prepared myself for the next fun morning activity of drying her hair, in which she shouts "ouch, ouch, ouch" over and over again until the task is done.
When we got to the soccer field, she was still scowling. I tried making funny faces in the rear view mirror. I tried singing I Will Survive in my best Gloria Gaynor voice. She was having none of it.
The good news was that the weather had started to improve, so there was that.
Once we located her playing field, she (and her pink soccer ball) took off to practice with her team as I set up my chair and the animal hide I'd brought along to keep myself warm (otherwise known as a fleece blanket). I got out my camera and looked through the lens as she ran circles and did 4 year-old jumping jacks. I took nice long breaths, trying to calm myself from the tumultuous morning with her pink shirt.
Katie's coach lined up all the kids for a drill and as I looked down the line I noticed a funny thing. There are four girls and three boys on her team and guess what? ALL of the girls had pink shirts on under their jerseys. ALL of them. The coach even said, "what is it, pink day today girls?" and the girls would then jump as high as their little legs afforded them and gave each other mini high fives, basking in their "matchiness."
It was the cutest thing ever.
The game was played, the medals for participation were handed out, and bags of Teddy Grahams were dispersed. I do believe that the sun had even decided to come out of hiding. The morning had definitely taken a turn for the better. Things were looking up.
Katie and I walked to the car, her little hand in mine as she kicked her pink soccer ball along the gravel path and she looked up at me and said, "I love soccer mommy."
"I know you do honey," I replied.
"And we all matched today mommy! All of the girls matched!" She giggled.
"I know you did honey," I replied as I smiled down at her, bouncing along.
As much as I wanted to say it, instead I bit the side of my cheek and remained silent.
And never was I more restrained with my words than I was in that perfect minute with my daughter.