Dear Ms. Mabel

We signed my three year old son up for soccer, and HE HATES IT. The whining starts as soon as it’s time to get ready for practice and doesn’t end until practice is over. He hates the socks. He hates the pads. He hates it all. He runs around my house all day every day but can’t seem to find the energy to walk across the field during practice. It’s like pulling teeth to get him to stay with his team while we’re there. My husband thinks that we should continue to make him play because quitting should never be an option, but I just don’t think it’s worth the hassle if he’s miserable. Which one of us is right?

Please help,

Soccer Mom? 

Gallatin, TN

‍

Truth be told, I’d rather have spent this miserably hot week in a classroom full of 4th graders whose momma’s don’t think they need deodorant yet than to get in the middle of a marital disagreement, but y’all need help, so here we go.

Alright little sister, let me ask you something. Who exactly would be doing the quitin’ here? ‘Cause it sounds like the little fella gave up a while ago. Now personally, I like three year olds. They keep it interesting. One minute they’ll be the sweetest, cuddliest little bears, then the next you’ll find them spreading a whole tin of cocoa powder on the carpeted stairs. Three year olds are also the absolute best at not doing things they don’t want to do— kinda like me. I’ll never forget the day I learned that it was alright to be that way. 

It was back when I was a young mom. My grandmother and her sister would come visit me once a week for lunch. These two ladies, in my mind, were the absolute picture of perfection in regards to all things domestic, especially keeping house. When I say their homes were always spotless, I mean, I’m convinced that dirt was afraid to come in the door. At the time I had three little children under the age of 3, and I was drowning in the monotony of cleaning up the same messes hour after hour. On days that my grandmother and aunt were to visit, I cleaned the house like it was gonna save Christmas. I’d put the children outside, and if it rained, that was fine. It saved me time giving them a bath, anyways. Then I’d get to the scrubbin’. And the washin’. And the pressin’ of those table cloths. Wiping down walls. Moving furniture and dusting. 

As hard as I tried, neither of them ever made one single comment about my house. They’d always praise whatever lunch I’d serve, but that didn’t mean diddly squat. I already knew I was a good cook. I wanted them to notice that my house was as clean as theirs. 

Then when I was pregnant with my fourth child, morning sickness ran through my innards like a freight train at midnight. I canceled lunch with them one week, as I just couldn’t physically handle the preparation. To my horror, at our usual day and time, they showed up anyway. They’d brought lunch for me and the kids.  My house was a disaster. Dishes were piled up, floors needed cleaning, my children were a mess, and their little hand prints were covering the windows. 

At that point, I was more embarrassed than I was sick, so I started nervously trying to do SOMETHING to clean up. I was running around frantically, fighting back tears and nausea, when my aunt came to me, wiping my sweaty, very messy hair off of my neck. “Come sit with us, darlin,” she said. “But my house…” I started to protest. Then she patted my hand and said “If it didn’t matter before we got here, it shouldn’t matter now.” 

My sadness increased as I pondered what her words meant. She thought I was lazy. We sat in silence for a few minutes and finally my grandmother spoke. “When I look back on my life, I only have one real regret,” she said softly. “I’ve spent too much time carrying on with things that don’t matter.” My aunt leaned over and slapped her sister on the arm saying, “You got that right. I wasted so much time doing things for the sake of staying busy. All for what? Not a bit of that extra stuff made me happy.”

“The things I HAVE TO do keep me busy enough,” added Grandmother. “It took me way too long to figure out that the only extra things worth adding to my Have-To list were things that brought me or someone else joy.” 

I smiled as I sat there, considering my Have-To list, which, at that moment, didn’t include wiping down windows or worrying about crumbs on the floor.  My aunt hadn’t been calling me lazy, she was assuring me that a perfectly kept house was not on my Have-To list. 

Not another word was said about my fit, my house, or anyone’s to do list all day. I took ten minutes to clean myself up while my grandmother plated up lunch and my aunt helped the children pick up their toys. After lunch, we laughed our way through my pile of dishes and got all the laundry pressed and put away. My Have-To list was done.  

I will never forget that day as long as I live. I learned something that I taught my kids, and they’re now teaching theirs. Have-Tos are different for every person and family. Have-Tos change with every season of life, but sometimes even day by day. You can’t quit the Have-Tos and you’ve got to do them right too—no slacking, no laziness. But everything else?  Shew. Free time is too precious to fill with things you don’t love. 

Okay now, let me ask you this. Is playing soccer on your son’s Have-To list? He’s not old enough to understand how long an hour is, much less understand that he was committing one hour a week to practice and another one to play in a game. Listen now, I’m not saying you should take commitments lightly. No ma’am. Not at all. It’s just that teaching him to honor his commitments is not something he’s mature enough to learn. 

You Have-To teach him not to put things up his nose. You Have-To make him hold your hand in a parking lot. You Have-To teach him how to be kind and act like he’s got some sense. It’s okay to let something like this slide off the Have-To list if it's more trouble than it's worth. In a few years, he’ll be ready to learn the importance of honoring a commitment, but he’s too young for anything to stick just yet. Take a few minutes and think about your Have-Tos and then think about your son’s. You’ll figure out what you need to do from here. 

Well, I guess I’ve talked enough for now, especially since I’ve let it slip that I ain’t perfect. There’s dust bunnies up under my couch right now the size of a salad plate. If that bothers y’all too much, just come over here and sweep em out yourself. 

Hey if you ever want some advice, feel free to let me know. You can submit it on our website here, and if you want to keep it all secretive, just don’t put your real name, darlin’. Nobody really cares who’s askin’ anyway.