I have a problem

Depending on your point of view it's anywhere from not even on the map, to wow lady, get some help. Here's the thing. In my daughter's kindergarten class....I'll say that again, KINDERGARTEN class...they self pace to read these little paper books with phonetic practice that get gradually more difficult. So there are 30 in this particular series and my kid has 2 to go. Plowing through them! I asked her today what happens when she gets to the end of the 30 and she says you start new books. I say, "Are you sure? Did anyone else start new books?" She lists like four kids in her class who are on the next set and, cue the psycho music, I actually in my head go, "Well! We better step this up!" Some demented weird little part of my brain got all competitive about it! My steadying husband was right there and I turned to him and go, "I have a problem." I told him what I thought and he's all, "Yeah you do. Chill" Which is all well and good and nothing serious and we all have impulses and yadda yadda yadda...BUT! There's always a bloody but isn't there? Just so you know, I recognize what I just typed and my first instinct (a good one this time) was to reword it, but come on...that stays. ANYWAY! What makes this not an isolated little psycho moment is that today I became an official Soccer Mom. I know!
Last night we spent 80 hundred hours rounding up so tiny cleats, bubble gum pink shin guards/socks/legwarmers and Beckham shorts. She looks so adorable. I can't stand it. She's on a team with all her little crew but they all played together last fall so she's a bit behind starting out. Totally going for it though. Check out that wind! And she didn't complain at all, loving it! Her coach is lovely, someone we already know and I'm so glad it's her. She'll be wonderful! So outside of my having to buy a minivan now, here's the thing. Trueby didn't get on the team at first. She was put on another team and I had to be the obnoxious Soccer Mom calling the registrar, poor man lives down the street from us and I have his phone number! I totally felt like my nails were manicured and I had a sweater tied around my shoulders saying "This is not acceptable. It will be my way or I will have your ass," in a pinched face voice. The truth is a friend offered to drive her to the practices and if she was on another team we wouldn't have been able to get her there and she couldn't play. I swear it was for a good reason! But I felt filthy. I know it's not a big deal. But if you line up all the little things in a line...it starts to look kinda like a big thing doesn't it? Yep, you know what I mean. (She just asked if I am "typing randomly." Randomly sounds very funny coming from a five-year old.) So I'm on way down the slippery slope. If you see other signs in my behavior, feel free to point them out. Just know, I'll tell you I love you to your face and then call you a filthy name on the bleachers while serving orange slices to the soccer players.