Mini Rugby in the park
‘This was NOT how it was meant to be!’ I say to myself as I push the double buggy towards the park.
I’ll spend a couple of blissful hours by myself on Saturday mornings, catching up on housework (Watching Saturday morning television) I will sign them up for a whole term of kids Rugby, and convince their Father this is a wonderful bonding opportunity for him to have with his children.
I got over excited and signed them up for THREE TERMS of mini rugby, only to be told by my husband that he has to work EVERY Saturday for the foreseeable future.
I am wallowing in self-pity, when I glance at my children sitting in the buggy wearing their Rugby kits and looking adorable. Maybe it won’t be that baa ..
I’m thrown forward with such velocity that I wish the buggy had been fitted with an airbag.
My son has reached up, and pressed the button on the handle bar that activates the breaks.
They think this is the funniest thing that has EVER happened.
‘I AM REALLY SERIOUS!! DO NOT PRESS THE BREAKS AGAIN OR …’
They are laughing so much they can’t hear me anyway.
We finally arrive at the group. The five minute walk has taken approximately half an hour due to the number of unexpected emergency stops. And I have whiplash.
Current status: Not coping. In the slightest.
All of the children are running in different directions and displaying the same kind of indecision that's been recently exhibited by the England Rugby team.
All the parents are desperately trying to herd them in the right direction. I am shoved out of the way by a fiercely competitive Father holding a crying child under his arm. ‘You never hear Chris Robshaw complaining he needs a rice cake in the middle of a game do you?’ I hear him say.
I’m hungover and the sound of twenty parents ‘encouraging’ their little angels at once hurts.
Another worn out looking father runs past me chasing his son, who has taken another child’s ball. He turns towards me looking like he might cry. ‘It’s been a very long term hasn’t it?’
I nod. It has.
My children have bolted in two different directions. My daughter has found a ball and is running full pelt across the park. I hear her shout ‘TRRRRY!’ so loudly at a woman walking her dog that she jumps back in alarm.
My son, really getting into the spirit of things, has raced over to the other end of the park … and sat down.
I hear him shout, ‘Mummy is it snack time now?’
Luckily, at that moment the coaches call all the children over for their favourite game.
The Mr. Men. Game
Mr. Fast - all the children run as fast as they can in a circle. MissChief lies on the floor to look at the clouds.
Mr. Slow - they all run in slow-motion. MissChief finds a packet of biscuits in the back of the buggy and hands them out to all the children.
Mrs. I’d rather be anywhere else?
Mr. Spin … my son takes this as a cue to rugby tackle one of the coaches, nearly taking him out.
‘Mrs. Hungover and over it?’ I say this last comment out loud by mistake and all the parents look at me. Well this is awkward.
‘Can you all point to your ball?’
My son points at a tree.
My daughter points to her nose.
‘Now after three, I want you all to kick your ball then score a ‘Try’ over here by these cones,’ the coach informs the children.
One …Two …Three
‘GO GO GOOOOO!!’ I hear a Mum shout at her two year old son. He stands on the spot picking his nose.
Jeeez Calm down! Scary Mumzilla lady... He’s only a chi ….
‘NOOOO!!!’ I see MissChief kicking her ball in the wrong direction ‘PICK UP THE BALL AND RUUUUUUUUN. NO NOT THAT WAY! THIS WAAAAAY! COME ON! HURRY UUUUP!!!’
The scary Mumzilla lady looks at me as if to say ... ‘Wow!’
What’s the time Mr. Wolf?
‘ONE O CLOCK,’ all the children take a tiny step forward
‘What’s the time Mr. Wolf?’
‘ONE O CLOCK!’
We are going to be here forever!
‘What’s the time Mr. Wolf?’
‘Is it beer o’clock?’ I say out loud, laughing at my own joke.
Everyone goes quiet and looks at me … Again.
‘Don’t you mean COFFEE o’clock?’ The Dad next to me asks whilst looking at his watch.
‘Hahaha, of course!!’ I laugh nervously. ‘Yes. Coffee. Ha, ha! It’s way too early for beer!’
Great everyone now thinks I’m an alcoholic. Why can’t I keep these thoughts to myself! A cheeky G&T would go down very nicely right now though!
The Assault course.
20 Toddlers ‘queue’ up to take their turn on the ASSAULT COURSE OF DOOOOOM. The words of the Unmumsy Mum echo in my head.
“THIS SHIT’S ABOUT TO GET REAL”
I get down to his level and look my son in the eye. ‘It’s going to be tough out there. Will you help your little Sister?’
‘Yes Mummy of course I will.’
Awww! He really loves her.
He loves winning more and sprints straight past her, nearly knocking her flying!
MissChief throws herself on the floor, distraught that her brother has run off without her.
The next ten minutes is a blur. There was screaming, pushing, biting, shoving … and an unfortunate incident involving several children and a Mum stuck in a tunnel.
MissChief, having caught up with her big brother, is now holding onto his leg and refusing to let go even though he is trying to kick her off him. He gives up and jumps over the hurdles with her still holding on for dear life, her head bouncing on the grass. I’m secretly quite proud of their determination as he drags himself to the line to score his ‘Try’, with her still attached to his ankle.
It’s all over and we head towards the gate.
They are having an adorable little chat in the double buggy. I am feeling smug and wonderful. Yes, my children will be rugby champions. I imagine myself in a new dress looking positively radiant for the cameras …
I suddenly come to a grinding halt.
My son looks up at me sweetly from the buggy. ‘Yes Mummy?’
‘STOP PRESSING THE BREAK BUTTON!!!!!!!’