Kids Journal: Rugby, Dance and Walking


Youngest

My little boy was out all day Sunday playing in a rugby tournament.  I couldn’t go with him so I had to make do with a live commentary of the games from his dad via SMS and a match report when they got home.  His team played really well and he got lots of tags and scored several try’s.  But they were knocked out in the semi’s.

And while he was busy getting muddy and sweaty, I was in my usual Sunday multi-task default position.  I was preparing dinner, getting all the uniforms ready and helping middlie with her homework.  What’s more, in a largely futile effort to be a Super-duper, cultured Alpha Mummy and keep up-to-date with the news and politics, I was also listening to the Conservative party snooze-conference.  Having just heard the speeches of Bumbling Boris, William-drone-Hague, Arnold Swarz… and the Republican mayor of some random American town, I needed some relief so I switched channels.  The rugby world cup was on  – Argentina v Ireland.  With thoughts of my very own little rugby player in mind, I watched for a while.  Big mistake!  It’s brutal I tell you!  The clashing of all those unpadded egg shells heads, the vicious rugby tackles, the smashed teeth, the broken ribs . . . 

Why can’t our rugby players ‘pad up’ like the American football players?  And is rugby not accountable under all those work risk assessment rules that the power-heads are so big into at the moment?

My son is still in the mothers comfort zone under-eight’s team and he doesn’t do contact until next year but what with the display of aggression I saw in the world cup game and with Gordon Brown recently telling us in his speech praising the NHS, that he almost lost an eye due to a rugby injury, it all reaffirmed my determination not to allow my son on a pitch unless he is thrice-bubbled-wrapped and placed in a cotton wool-lined jiffy bag.

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Middlie

And in sharp contrast to the brutal game of rugby, my dancing queen daughter was in a sparkly, glittery music show on Sunday night aptly named the Cinderella showcase.  My daughter is to be one of the dancers in this year’s pantomime (Cinderella) at our local theatre and the showcase was a promotion of the panto.  It was a great sneak preview and it all felt rather (dare I say it?) Christmassy.  Gasp! 

So, she’s going to be very busy with rehearsals and it looks as though she will have to miss a good few hours of school in the run-up to Christmas, something which didn’t go down too well with her dad.  Me neither initially if I’m honest but she’s eleven-years-old for gawds sake!  She’s in year 7, there are no major exams coming up and there’s surely more to a child’s life than study, study, study.  Sometimes, us parents are so obsessed about our kids meeting their homework deadlines and reaching their academic targets that we forget to let them have fun.

Anyway, it’s a big commitment with a lot of hard work all round and no doubt there will be much stress and tears.  But she seems to be dedicated and it will serve her well as a life-lesson in commitment.  And it will be a great experience.  She’s already becoming a bit of a theatre “lovey”.  She can’t leave her dance classes until she’s hugged and air-kissed each and every one of her dance-buddies.  It’s all very thespian and really quite amusing.

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First-born

Yesterday me and my deep, dark and moody eldest daughter, who often opts out of family life these days, went for a quiet walk together (see photo) where we chatted, shared a few (re)bonding moments and even giggled together once or twice.  walking-with-charlotte-and-annas-dance-008.jpg

There are some beautiful areas of Lancashire that are perfect for walking . . . reflecting . . . bagging a mushy moment or two and the walk we took yesterday is one of them.  It’s a firm favourite of ours – not too far away and not too long.  Ideal for youngsters.  It’s a fifty-minute trail which takes about two hours when the kids come. 

Isn’t it wonderful how children can make a whole playground out of the natural outdoors.  The adventures they invent on the trail . .  . the stories they make up . . . the woodland creatures they become . . . the bits and bats of earthy stuff they collect for their nature table. 

Anyway, it was a lovely Autumn day yesterday and me and my lovely first-born had a very pleasant afternoon although I’m sure she would deny it vehemently if you asked her.  And I’m happy to report that, in a rare moment of great sacrifice, she refrained from bringing her iPod.

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