I'm trying to keep my business, my triplets, and my waistline under control. I excel at one of those, fail at another one of those, and one is a work in progress. Which is which is day dependant.

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Falsely Accused

DS plays basketball - which is a good thing, too, because he comes from a long line of Amazonian people, NONE of whom played it and ALL of whom grew up being asked if they play basketball. At least he will be spared that experience.

He has practice one night a week and a game on a Saturday. I can't make it to the Saturday games, so I go to the practices to watch him. I am in fact the ONLY parent who goes to practice, all the others drop and run. The first few weeks, DS instigated the "no reading work stuff" rule. Apparently I go there to actually WATCH him. Then he instigated the "no playing on your phone" rule, and then the "no texting, no messing about in your handbag looking for non-existant stuff" rule...because apparently...I am actually there to WATCH him. Problem is, with all these rules, DS is totally ruining my reputation.

Sitting in the corner of the stadium, being the ONLY parent there, with my kid's eyes boring into mine virtually yelling through those baby blues, "WATCH ME MUM I SAID WATCH ME!!!" ... I look *exactly like* a Helicopter Mum. You know the ones we talk about right here on this lovely blog - Mums who hover over their kids and are in their face all the time. The mothers I find extremely irritating, the mothers I think are ruining their kids' lives, the mothers I run a mile from.

The other day I was sitting in the corner (dutifully watching, I'll have you know) and the Coach approached me and said, "emzee, don't you want to go get a coffee...or...something? You don't have to...stay here, you know."

Shit. He totally thinks I'm a Helicopter Mum.

"Um, well, yes, I guess I'd *like* to get a coffee, but the deal is, I can't make it to Saturday games and so Boy asks me to watch him at practice."

"Oh. Okay then," says the Coach (snickering to himself at how son-whipped I am), and he walks away.

It took an incredible amount of will power not to race across that stadium, grab the Coach by the arm and spill out really fast: but you don't UNDERSTAND, Boy is a triplet, and one-on-one attention from a parent is HARD to get, and I'm just trying to be a GOOD mother and watch him a little bit, and it's the ONE time of the week he and I get to just hang out together, and I SWEAR I am not a Helicopter Mum like all those bitches who hang out on the sidelines during Saturday games and yell and clap like recently escapees from the asylum. REALLY. I'm just a normal Mum, OKAY, and there is nothing WRONG with me sitting and watching a bit of (admittedly boring) basketball practice.

I didn't do that. Instead I sat there and thought, "Well, Boy is happy and I am happy and if there is the faintest sound of thwacka-thwacka, well, I shall just put my fingers in my ears and sing LA-LA-LA!"

So there.


Danielle said...

Love it!

Anonymous said...

Not all helicopter mums are bad!