From unrequited teenage crushes to failing exams, the path to adulthood is full of moving goalposts.
But for those of us not blessed with athletic ability, training in rejection usually starts on the sports field. It’s been a while, but this week was a keen reminder of being last in line.
Scampering into the community centre Raffie yelled “I exciting Mummy!” But I should have known after about five minutes of Raffie’s try out for the mini football club that we were heading for an own goal.
Watching from the sidelines, the other toddlers took their seats nicely. I watched my budding Beckham run around and around the little cones counting to 20 over and over again until I had to carry him to one side before the class had even started.
But Raffie could do the tasks with ease. Putting the right coloured balls in the right coloured hoops was a breeze, until it came to sitting down at the end. After several attempts we sat down to listen to the next task, but I wasn’t ever sure what that actually was as it was pretty hard to hear what was coming next.
Instead of hearing how we were going to be kicking the ball, I instead had a barrage of questions from “What’s the lady doing?” to “Where’s the ball go?” and “What’s that fan in the roof doing?” ringing in my ears.
And as Raffie ran off with the ball under his arm I realised all that watching rugby with Grandad had probably had made more of an impression than any of us realised.
We’d been looking forward to the trial after a friend told me what a great club it was. And from my experience so far, it is a good club, well structured, fast paced, and run by kind and professional lady coaches.
But when it was time to leave, it was a flashback to my old school days, hovering expectantly on the hockey field. The only difference being I wasn’t wearing a bib. As all the other parents picked up their enrolment slips and arranged their football kit delivery, I stood awkwardly with the pushchair, shuffling from one foot to the other. The last in line.
The lady coaches looked at me sympathetically. “We’re not sure about Raffie…” To put them out of their misery I said I wouldn’t be offended if he wasn’t old enough. “He’s a bit too young really, but he can come back in the new year,” they said.
“I want to go home now Mummy,” said Raffie, vexed in his attempts to escape from his pushchair.
“Did you enjoy it a lot or a little bit?” I asked him. “A little bit Mummy, but I do like football.”
So although it’s time to blow the whistle on his burgeoning football career for now, whether he returns to the beautiful game or not in January, I have a feeling he’ll always be in a league of his own.
I had the pleasure of meeting Lisa Maltby on Twitter this week after discovering her lovely blog at http://malteserupdate.blogspot.co.uk/ I also really loved her forum for people to share their funny parenting stories, I certainly recognised a few of them. You can find out more here http://mumdiaries.tumblr.com/
I also had the pleasure of joining the Small Steps Amazing Achievements linky on the enchanting Ethan’s Escapades blog, please do take a look at http://www.ethans-escapades.co.uk/ it’s a smashing read.