Our Lightning Bolt

Andy and I met playing soccer. He made fun of my color-coordintaed practice gear and I rolled my eyes when he flexed his calf muscles and told me I could call him "sweet legs." And then he ran me into the ground because I was too stubborn to admit that I was any less strong or fast than he was, and he was too busy showboating to graciously take victory in stride. Two weeks later, we went on our first date. Four years later (to the day), we tied the knot, and two years after that, we watched our soon-to-be firstborn furiously kick his legs on an ultrasound screen while proudly sharing sentiments about strength and speed and, yes, sweet legs.

And one week shy of his five-year-old birthday, that sweet little guy from the ultrasound screen followed "Coach Andy" onto the field for his first soccer game.

And I couldn't help but wake up with butterflies Saturday morning at the realization that my little boy is not so little anymore.

And oh, was he excited to join in the big kid fun, wearing a nervous little smile all morning and demanding that everyone in the family wear red "so I will know you're cheering for me and not the other guys."

So excited, in fact, that he doesn't even realize the final score was green dragons: 16, red thunderbolts: 1.

The highlights:

Porter spent a good three quarters of his playing time either flexing his muscles or mimicking whatever his BFF Wes was doing (which was a whole lot of back stretching and air kicking).

At one point, in fact, he and Wesley were so distracted with one another that, while standing at the mid-line for a kick-off, they ignored the whistle and the coaches' directions for a good two minutes while exchanging plans that included, "I am going to kick so hard!" -- "Yeah, me too!" And I am going to run so fast!" -- "Me too!" "And I am going to be so good at soccer!" Needless to say, there was a lot more of this,

and this,

and this,

Than this,

And it was fun.