A beautiful tapestry of relaxation, food and sleep. Everything in moderation with moments of blissful indulgence. A drunken night with your mates followed by an afternoon with your favorite book nursing a hangover. There are endless possibilities.
Fast forward 7 years and the weekends look vastly different. It all begins at 7 am on a Saturday morning being hit over the head with a Buzz Lightyear and ends with a wrestling match to bed on a Sunday evening. In between, my feet don’t touch the ground. The weekends are no longer my own!
When I was ‘blessed’ with two boys, I knew the day would come where we would be ferrying them from one cold field to the next and pacing the sidelines. In my mind, this would fall to the Husband and I would take the time to paint my nails and plait my hair. The truth is, they can’t keep me away.
Being a soccer mom is not an easy undertaking. It takes time and commitment to fulfill the role to its full potential. It is not for the faint-hearted. Your weekend will pivot precariously around training and match times with no thought for your own social commitments. You will stand in a cold, muddy field for hours shouting “Move it! Find some space! Kick him! (Apparently the last one is frowned upon) with a mixture of profanities which you struggle to keep under your breath. You will swell with pride when the team wins and feel cheated when they lose. You will hyperventilate when there is nowhere to buy coffee.
I remember when it was all hen parties and weddings, interlaced with glamorous parties in a hot new wine bar. Now invites fly in at an alarming rate and need a social diary all of their own and not one of them is addressed to you! This weekend alone, I have 4 parties at 4 different venues. In a sports hall, a swimming pool, a soft play center, and football club. Each party requires a present and a card which needs to be wrapped, signed and superglued together. All I need to do then is make sure the right child goes to the right party wearing the right clothes and holding the right present.
They may not be at school but this doesn’t stop them from having the obligatory homework to crow bar into the weekend. The books to be read, the spellings to be learned.
Boy 2 is learning to read so we spend at least one painful half hour reading Red Book 1. “ I c-a-n…can, s-e-e….see, a, d-o-g…dog. (turn page), I c-a-n…can, s-e-e…see, a, c-a-t…cat?”. Aghghhhhhhhh!!!!
Boy 1 can read but is now bringing home a plethora of fiction books. The latest was about “The Life of a Caribou”. I wish I could say it was interesting, but it wasn’t. If that isn’t enough, we had to build a castle out of cereal boxes and write 10 facts about nocturnal animals… After a few hours of solid work, I felt that I had done a good job. Shame the boys were nowhere to be seen.
Although the temptation by this point is to hurl the remote control in their general direction and charge up the iPads, I feel it is my parental obligation to further stimulate my child. Nobody wants to go for a walk or take the bike out or take a trip to the beach but somehow you convince yourself that some more fresh air is just what you all need. There are many tantrums and tears, mainly from me, but it’s an hour out the house.
By Sunday night we are all exhausted. Trying to have fun and relax has taken its toll and the kids are dying to get back to school so they can have a rest. Maybe next weekend we can stay in our PJs and do absolutely nothing… oh, hang on, there is the league match, the fancy dress party, the school fete ………………