Last week of September, Sports Day, like clockwork. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I LIKE Sports Day.
Not sure what exactly it is I like about it but as days go, it’s a good one.
This year was Kev’s last one.
One reason most of the other women hate it, is because there is apparently so much to do. A feast must be prepared, P.E. kits must have a radio-active glow to them, litres and litres of cold tea to be made, ice-packs to be checked, cooler bags wiped down, tarps retrieved from where ‘ere they go the rest of the year.
The P.E. kit glow, became a moot point when I got up at 6, came downstairs and saw ( again) there was two inches of water all through the hall and genkan ( porch). *Someone* had failed to lock the tube thing where you take the lint out of the washing machine. They then set the timer on the machine and when it filled with ( ever eco-friendly ) re-cycled bath water, it all leaked out of the tube and covered half the ground floor.So everyone’s bags, which they’d dumped in the hall, despite regular requests to please take them to their rooms, were sodden. The P.E. kits in the machine were not even washed never mind dry.
Fortunately, recently, I moved in to a new phase in my life, the ‘unpanickable’ phase, probably something to do with soon to be hitting over 45 and finding a grey hair, but I can no longer be driven into a tizz, will not wail and moan, will not dash about unproductively, I’m all zen and que sera sera now, or maybe I just don’t care.
So old P.E. kits were procured from the ancient chest of drawer at the back of the boys’ bedroom. 10cms too small yes, but cleanish and dry.
Yes they complained, so I said, ‘wet or dry, you choose’, they went with dry, it was okay, they just looked like they’d had a massive, overnight growth spurt, it happens.
Fortunately, neither of them have changed their names since these kits last fit them, so we just had to change the grade/class #s, not a problem for a woman with a black magic marker.
The feast, I left in the capable hands of The Man, who, after being absent most of the last three months due to work, is trying to work himself back onto the list of essential personnel. I think he’s also scarred from the memory of my very first experience with Sports Day, 15 years ago, when I turned up with Kentucky Fried Chicken. Well, as I’ve said, repeatedly over the years, he told me we need to take lunch!! I did not know that meant a 7 tiered laquered lunchbox, full of vittals representing every vegetable family known to man and arranged according to colours of the spectrum.
So he, my man got on with that and my task was simply to give the boys breakfast, nori sandwiches were requested, have a bath and get the boys to school in the car in their teeny tiny P.E.kits by 7.20. Easy-peasy.
So all was well, for the first time in my personal history of this event, it was pleasant weather, a little cloudy, a cool breeze, we usually have either baking, unrelenting sun or torrential rain.
The Man and I fulfilled our duties by rolling a giant ball around the field, as we do every year as our contribution to PTA activities.
We saw Kev, our spectacularly uncordinated son climb to the third level of a 22 man pyramid, my heart soared.
Young Jim danced with his tassled batons like a boy band wannabe. My father-in-law came along with a huge box of fruit. MIL, absent due to a Tai Chi tournament.
Both boys were in the yellow team, and when they announced the yellow team had won there was much joy and cheering and hugging of one another, alack it was short lived, the announcer had said yellow by mistake, perhaps it was just wishful thinking, he corrected himself, the reds had won.
And home for a bit of a veg on the sofa.