And the Wind is Blowing Lustily...

One of the joys of being a parent is that you become blessed with magic.

It's not a magic everyone can see, and indeed, not every parent realises the magic is there, but it is there all the same.

One of the aspects of that magic, is that despite the wind blowing a howling gale, and despite the rain bouncing of the ground at approximately 60 MPH and bouncing back up again, you become compelled to drag your sorry arse from your bed, ensure that you child, (whatever age), is dressed against the elements, and stuffed full of protein rich breakfast to make certain they won't fall over on the hockey pitch.

You try to talk them into not going, because two to three hours on a wet pitch is not contributing to their Study Plan, but when they turn at look at you with those big baby blues, and the petted lip, you relent and say -"yes, go and stand half naked in the cold, go and let people fire really heavy balls at you, and wave big sticks at each other".

You drop them in the middle of the car park, because there is a foot deep puddle 15 feet in all round the edge. You park in the puddle, thinking "I can watch from here". You cry, because you watch all the other teams come out and take to the pitch right next to the flooded car park, and watch your child walk to the farthest pitch, no where near the car park, and in the middle of woods.

You drive the car to the cemetery, because it's closest, you wander over and see if you can look over the wall, but you are too short. You walk up to the golf course and through the trees, cursing because you chose to put your child's boots on, and your feet are flapping in them.

You get across to the pitch, and you find them, not playing a game, but standing chatting. Yes, half naked, leaning on their sticks. Not enough of them for a full game, but enough to stand and gossip.

You stand for a little longer, and then realise that the plague that has been blighting you all week, is still blighting, and a quick trip home is required.

And now, back in the warmth of the house, emtpied of my rasher of bacon, that magic is still working, and I feel like a bad mum, because I've left my baby there in the cold and the wet.

Damn you maternal strings!