Tag Archives: kids

Soccer mom

I had a lovely weekend. I spent a large proportion of it pretending I was a soccer mom. (No, honestly. I went to an under 9s football game clutching a thermos of tea and holding hands with a little girl. I was picture perfect).

Although I looked the part (impeccably, some might say. No one did, but that’s really beside the point entirely), I’m not sure I’ve got the soccer mom temperament completely sorted. It seems that screeching ‘mark your man!’ and ‘give him options! What are you doing you little wretch, clear the goal!’ is not as prevalent as one might imagine. (I don’t know why. It seems real parents are not as helpful as I am). ‘Take it like a man! Do you need a toughen-up pill?’ I asked as one of the children fell to the ground.

I could tell from the alarmed glances of other watching parents that perhaps childhood first-aid has advanced somewhat since the 1980s. (I could never quite understand why it took so many years to become a doctor, seeing as the only things they ever needed to say were ‘walk it off’ and ‘stop crying’). I know that there’s more to being a good soccer mom than hurling abuse at small children, so I turned my attention to the little girl I was with.

‘Now,’ I said carefully. ‘It’s very good your brother is a football player. It means you’ll have lots of nice sportsmen to choose from.’ The little girl’s Mother looked over at me. ‘Obviously,’ I continued quickly. ‘You should be discerning. No-one’s going to buy the cow if you’re giving away the milk for free.’ The little girl looked up at me uncomprehendingly. ‘Can you pick me up and spin me round upside-down?’ she asked. I was delighted.

I haven’t played dizzy dinosaurs for months. (I got a bit over-excited and became so dizzy I dropped the little girl in the mud. Luckily her Mother wasn’t looking, so I think I got away with it. Anyway, who’s going to believe a child? I’ve got a much more persuasive vocabulary). After the match we went for lunch, and the kids let me finish their chips. I can’t wait to be a parent. Children are brilliant.

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How my friend ruined Halloween

I woke up yesterday exceedingly happy. I bloody love Halloween. I’m trying very hard not to be self-centered, but it’s hard not to see it as a holiday made just for me. It’s an evening where everyone else can see the truth in what I’ve been saying for years- there are few things better than strangers giving you sweets. (I stand behind this resolutely. Free stuff is always great, and free stuff you can put in your mouth is even better. Remind me to tell you about the time that girl gave me an ice lolly in a nightclub toilet. Raspberry, in case you were wondering). I often think that I should use Halloween as a pitching opportunity for my slogans, ‘It’s sweet? Let’s eat!’ and ‘If it’s free, whoopee!’ (I’m not really cut out to be a primary school teacher, so this could be one of my only opportunities to help the children).

I called my friend. ‘Morning! I’m going to put my shoes on my knees and walk around like a dwarf,’ I told her gleefully. My friend says nothing for a moment. ‘Sounds tricky,’ she says finally. ‘And um, why?’ I laugh. ‘For trick or treating!’ I inform her. ‘Do you have any actual children?’ she asks dubiously. I am affronted. ‘Of course I don’t have any children.’ I say. (I quietly make a note to double-check last year’s Christmas newsletter. Perhaps there has been some dreadful misunderstanding). ‘OK,’ my friend begins. ‘You are too old to go trick or treating if you’re not accompanying any children. It’s creepy.’ ‘Of course it’s creepy!’ I reply delightedly. ‘It’s Halloween! That’s the idea! Anyway, taking children trick or treating is infuriating. They walk too slowly, and they need to go to the loo all the time, and you have to make sure they cross the road safely, and it’s all terribly inconvenient.’ My friend is unconvinced. I decide not to tell her about my helpful slogans. I wander around my kitchen putting my finger into various spices my grandmother has given me. Nutmeg is the best. I pick up the jar, get distracted and spill nutmeg all over my counter. This is the worst Halloween ever.

I call another friend. I call my neighbour. I do a quick Google search. I can’t seem to find anyone who thinks adults should go trick or treating. I practice walking on my knees, just in case. My friend was right. It is tricky. I think of another slogan. ‘Feet: better for walking than your knees.’ I hope my friend realises how much the children are missing out on. I guess I’ll just have to wait for Easter.

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