I had a sleepover at the Bear’s house last night. It was awesome to hang out with my Bakery family, even though two of them were missing. It meant that we didn’t have to share chocolate. Or home made burgers. Or snakes. And it meant that
I we could watch whatever I we wanted. Perfect.
Because I am a good friend, when I noticed the Bear was asleep I only took a couple of photos before waking her up. But it was one of those second wind wake ups, where she seemed to really wake up. No zombie shuffling. This was a “I’ll help you get sorted and consider a cuppa and hmm do you need anything?” wake up. Impressive, and perhaps something only a single mum knows how to do. Either way, she gave up her bed for my busted ankle, and crawled into her mini-me’s vacated single bed.
Which is why I considered it HILARIOUS when I sent her this text:
“What is that fucking buzzing noise? It’s under your bed!!!”
She asked if I meant the fan, or some other innocent appliance. I knew she realised what I was inferring when she told me I was a bitch and to go to sleep.
In the morning, we headed off to collect her mini-me and go to netball, which is why I sat in the freezing wind for an hour or so this morning, teeth chattering and everything. I watched the girls playing and admired their ability to run around without breaking parts of their body. I observed that the players in older age groups were beginning to show the signs of age – knee braces, ankle supports, and so on. And I’m talking about players in maybe the next age group – not the seniors team. Netball is a sport that makes demands of flexibility, speed and pivoting that most people don’t do.
But it was when the umpire started making mistakes that I realised I wouldn’t have been a good netball mum.
The parents and coaches 100% knew the rules of the game, and the dark utterances soon became a chorus of injustice. I giggled as a girl was jolted awake by a ball to the head, while the parents and coaches shouted encouragement and instruction. I silently cheered when a player yelled out “Stop telling me to defend, can’t you see that is what I am doing?” and snickered into my hoody when a watching toddler was tackled by his sister.
I’m not cut out for being a sporting mum.
These women have passion. They know what they are doing and they know what they need to be doing. They are ready with water to hydrate, and jackets to keep the goal shooter’s arms warm. And the kids! The kids soldiered on. Busted fingers and blue lips and bizarre uniforms – they kept on going.
Bloody good on them.
So, if you want to cheer on an amazing bunch of netballers, check out Mayfield Diggers. And, if you would like to invite me over for a sleepover, my preferred chocolate choice is hazelnut.
I cannot guarantee that I will play well with others.
But I recognise it when it happens. And I have nothing but respect for it.
Time to go wake up my beloved… heheheheh