Football Mom

I’m not exactly rolling in money. Most weeks I’m just grateful that the bills are paid on time and there’s groceries in the fridge. I don’t have a separate “football fund” saved up. I don’t have a stack of cash set aside for cleats, gear, camps, and travel.

What I do have is gear that costs more than a car payment, cleats that could’ve paid my electric bill, and a kid who lights up the second he hits the field.

So no, I’m not rich. I’m just a football mom with questionable financial decisions and a SUV that smells like muddy cleats and sweaty pads to prove it. I’ll buy the $7 hot dog at the stadium and still Venmo tournament fees with one eye closed. I’ll cancel my own plans so I can cover gas, snacks, and another pair of cleats he’ll outgrow by December. I’ll sit on metal bleachers in the freezing rain for hours, praying the cooler holds enough Prime and protein bars to make it through the day.

Because I’ve watched him come alive in this game. I’ve seen the way he walks taller after a good catch, the way his teammates celebrate after a touchdown, the way his eyes scan the bleachers to make sure I’m watching. I’ve seen his confidence grow with every quarter, every missed tackle he shakes off, every lesson this sport teaches him about life, grit, and resilience.

So yeah, maybe I could’ve gone on more vacations. Maybe I could’ve driven a newer car. But instead, I spent it on memories. On laughter in hotel lobbies. On late-night drives home from games. On lessons that will outlast the game itself.

And honestly? I’d do it all over again tomorrow. Even if it means budgeting like a magician and finding turf rock and grass in my car until the end of time.

Because this isn’t just football. It’s his dream. And there’s no price tag in the world that could ever make me regret chasing it right beside him.