|The track, the grandstand, the excitement.|
They both looked blankly at me and carried on with their normal morning routine of ignoring me trying to get them to school on time.
At 8:15 am a fleet of buses left our school, carrying years 3-6 to the sports field for their day of sporting glory (or at least trying their bestest).
At 9:30 am another fleet (actually I think it was the same ones who'd come back) left the school with years K-2 taking them to the same venue for their "fun day".
At 9:35 am a convoy of Mazdas, Toyotas, a few Audis, and many many Volvos left our suburb to go and watch our precious little athletes run, jump or sit and eat lollies in a coloured t-shirt and novelty hat, depending on their sporting ability.
At 10:15 I finally left the coffee shop, having stuffed around as long as I could. I arrived at the venue, got a shit park because all the bloody early bird parents with their massive SLR cameras had got the good ones and set off in search of someone related to me.
At 10:35 Sarah ran her 100m heat. She came fourth or something. She was pleased, I was pleased. We hugged, then she left me to eat lollies with her friends. Years 3-6 have access to a canteen selling all sorts of
I had already missed her 200m race. But she wasn't worried and said she came fourth in that too. I told her I had to go. She was sad because I was going to miss her tunnelball race. So was I. But not that sad.
At 10:45 I went over to the K-2 carnival, held on the other side of the oval, where lots of tiny children in plain clothes seemed to be moving in strange circular dance of different activities, watched, photographed and applauded by many doting parents. It was very confusing and hard to find your own child, usually they found you first and asked why you hadn't watched them throw the bean bag into the hula hoop, or where were you when the skipping race was on?
At 11am I reminded Josh that I had to leave at 11:30, which was before his sprint race, he had a minor melt down and proceeded to sulk, occasionally looking over at me and looking away when I smiled or waved, his bluest of blue eyes and long sooty lashes a strange juxtaposition against his scowly face.
Oh lord, but he is a tricky lad sometimes.
I had to go, it was a real job. I wasn't making it up, and really, aren't I allowed to work sometimes?
At 11:30, after watching 30 minutes more, I left.
At 11:35 Sarah was stung by a wasp, she was already wobbly due to an altercation with a friend.
|The K-2 "Fun"carnival. I think the teachers were having the most fun.|
At 3:05 Josh finds me outside the classroom and clung to my hand as though we had been parted for four years rather than four hours. He thanked me profusely for delivering him from the terrible torture of after school care where he thought he was headed (a completely blameless institution, well run by great people).
At 3:10 Sarah presented me with her swollen wrist, still covered in Stingose. She told me in great detail about the wasp, but nothing about the altercation with the friend which I have only heard about anecdotally. Normally this means she did not behave favourably and is a bit ashamed. I'm beginning to realise that 9 year olds don't tell you everything and can be quite selective when they do decide to talk.
The details will probably be dropped on me at bedtime, during the tuck in. I will be required to analyse, interpret and suggest solutions. Which is hard because the ins and outs of 9 year old girl friendships require a PHD in...something.
At 3:45 my excellent babysitting nanny lovely person took them all off for ice cream at the local shops so I could write blogs and stuff. They will come back all sugared up and tired after a day of sport. All is well with the world.
PS. I found out later via Sarah that EVERYONE ELSES mum was there and stayed ages except me and almost every mum took their kids home rather than make them go home on the bus and she kept looking at all the other mums and wishing she had hers.
Turn those screws. How could I have left her? them? HOW?
Guess what I'll be doing next year?