Sports Day

It is Zeph’s sports day today and incredibly grey and gloomy. He was slightly devastated and spent breakfast bemoaning the fact it rained on EVERY one of his sports days. I just nodded along and tried to hide the fact I was keeping everything crossed for rain.

I loathed sports day when I had to take part and always felt it was totally unfair that they didn’t have an equivalent day for anything I was actually good at – like reading or drawing. It’s all very well comforting children by saying you can’t be good at everything but why never give the less athletic a chance to shine?

Zeph seems unbothered by all this. True his infants sports day was basically six teams all taking turns at various obstacle races. Everyone gets a medal at the end. There are no races as such. Equally there’s no defined beginning or end or indeed, purpose. Watching it is painful, sustained boredom. I dread it nearly as much as the ones I was forced to take part in. Hideous.

Yet I still go – determined as I am to be a ‘good’ parent and a supportive one. This year, the first in junior school, threatens to have actual races – I’m curious to see how Zeph takes to it. I had to resist the temptation of a gin-in-a-tin at the supermarket this morning and frankly, it was only the imagined judgement of other parents that dissuaded me.

Ida and I have done a lot of painting recently. There are a million larger tasks I’d like to get my teeth into but I lack the motivation and, more crucially, a gripping hand. Both are quite dodgy at the moment but my left reminds me of a play mobile hook. So we pass the time making jars of water murky and filling scrap paper with owls having tea and cats waltzing under the moon.

I have ordered a bunk bed and various flat pack ikea items. The bed is due to arrive tomorrow. All for project bunk bed summer, there’s no getting out of it now…Soon I will be trying to use a screwdriver, getting red and sweaty while cursing loudly and comprehensively. Until then we’re happily daubing.

 BT’s today include, picking mint from the garden to add to the steamed new potatoes for lunch, a new tube of red paint, Ida feeding the cat titbits from her chicken sandwich, said cat racing back into the house away from the seagull lurching around at the end of the garden, Ida bringing me the hairbrush and a band and asking, very nicely, for a “tail”


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