Overconfident Mom Moments: The Time I Signed My Kids Up for Two Soccer Teams at Once

There’s a very specific kind of confidence that kicks in when your husband deploys, you’re solo parenting three kids under five, and the military hands you overseas orders.

It’s not calm, grounded confidence.
It’s… slightly unhinged optimism.

The kind that says: “You know what? I can absolutely do this. All of it. At once.”

And that’s exactly the energy I brought into this deployment.

Enter: Soccer Season

Introduce me just a few weeks into this deployment… and the height of spring recreational sport sign-ups. 

I thought to myself:

Yes. Our kids are going to be athletes. This is a peak childhood moment. We’re doing it. My kids will have a normal, full, happy childhood, even while dad is away.

I signed both boys up. Two teams. Two fields. Same time.
But the fields were right next to each other, so it felt doable.
(It was, in fact, not doable.)

The Reality Check

The first practice starts and immediately my plan begins to unravel.

My 2-year-old… Zero interest in his team. None.
He just wants to be wherever his big brother is.
And listen… on an emotional level… I’m thriving. This is the sibling bond I dreamed of. Proud mom moment. Absolutely.
On a logistical level? Not helpful.

Because my 4-year-old is actually trying to play. He’s out there running drills, listening to his coach, fully invested. Giving it his best. 

Meanwhile, my 2-year-old is staging a quiet rebellion against organized sports and making a beeline across fields like, I belong over there.

And, on my hip?
My 1-year-old… slowly approaching bedtime like a ticking time bomb.

So there I am:
Running back and forth between fields.
Scanning constantly to make sure my oldest is okay.
Wrangling the wild beast that is my 2-year-old, in a fruitless attempt to get him to STAY. WITH. HIS. TEAM.
While, alternating my one-year-old from hip to hip as she decides if it’s a be-kind-to-mom kind of evening or an over-exhausted, new-level-of-screams kind of evening.
Bless her soul – she chose kindness.

And then…
From half a field away, my 4-year-old scores a goal.
I catch it out of the corner of my eye.
My heart leaps.
But then he turns.
He looks toward the sidelines… and he starts scanning.
Looking for me.
It takes him a minute. Maybe two.
Because I’m not where I’m supposed to be…
I’m wrangling a toddler and a baby, half-hidden between two fields, doing my best to be in three places at once.
And when our eyes finally meet, I cheer like I saw the whole thing.
Big smile. Loud voice. Full celebration.

But inside?
It stings.

Because I want to be fully there.
For each of them.
And in that moment, I can’t be.

The Question I Keep Asking

I wanted to give them everything they’d have if dad were home.

But standing between two soccer fields, holding a baby, chasing a toddler, and missing half the moments that matter…

I started asking myself something I didn’t expect: 

Is doing everything actually giving them the best of me?
Or just the most stretched version of me?

I don’t have a perfect answer.
But I do know I’m learning, with a LOT of trial and error… and a whole lot of grace. 

What I’m Learning

This season is stretching me in ways I didn’t quite expect.

It’s highlighting the gap between the mom I want to be in every moment… and the reality of what’s possible when I’m doing this alone.

But it’s also showing me something else:
My kids are still laughing.
Still playing.
Still deeply loved. 

Maybe they don’t need everything.
Maybe they just need me.

Present when I can be.
Honest when I can’t be.
Showing up, even when it’s messy.

So, If you’ve ever thought, I can totally handle this, and then found yourself humbled in real time…
Same.

If you’re juggling the impossible math of multiple kids, big life changes, and one set of hands just trying to hold it all together…
I see you.
In the chaos.
In the missed moments.
In the victories no one else sees.

You may not be doing it perfectly.
But you are doing it.
And that counts for more than we give ourselves credit for.

I’m learning that strength doesn’t always look like we have it all together. It looks like showing up anyway. When it’s hard. When it’s daunting.

And When He Comes Home…

We’ll breathe again.
We’ll find our rhythm.

And then, just as quickly, we’ll pack up this life and head to Italy.
A new adventure.
A new kind of chaos.
Hopefully… slightly fewer overlapping soccer practices.

Welcome to this season of Roaming Hoofs, where confidence is sometimes questionable, the moments are very real, and somehow, we’re still making it work.