Sunday Mornings and Soccer Moms

Sunday mornings for me normally involve as much sleep as possible, boiled egg on toast and rooting through Sky Planner to decide what will hold my attention as I emerge from my Saturday night cocoon.  This Sunday was a little different as I was asked by my rather charming 6 year old nephew to cheer on at the sidelines of his first football game of the season. Now there are not many people who could get me up at 7.30am on a Sunday morning but the pleas of my tongue tangled nephew clearly did the job.  After a 45 minute drive to pick him up, a pit stop for a McMuffin and a coffee for my hungover brother, we arrived at a small field in the middle of nowhere and I was given an introduction to the world of Sunday Soccer Moms!

Now I'll be honest here and admit that I was expecting a high turnout of dads in tracksuit bottoms and Sunday stubble, giving lots of advice to their respective mini-me and the resulting back slapping and arguments with the referee.  What I was not prepared for were the ferocious mums on the sidelines, their in-depth knowledge of the off-side rule and strategy! 

After being introduced to two serious looking ladies in wellies, padded jackets (in team colours of course!) and being offered coffee or tea from flasks the size of a bucket, I was welcomed into the collective on the understanding that I was not to utter the phrase "it's only a game" one more time.  After we all cooed over the under 7's in their kits which came down to their knees and in some cases ankles, it was all down to business.  These ladies knew exactly what they wanted and it was a WIN.  They ran through last season's stats and highlights, just so I knew what to look for over the next forty minutes.  I was treated to a review of Saturday's training session and some pointers on how I could help my nephew focus because he is apparently too friendly!

As the whistle blew and the game started I found myself having a little inner chuckle at the pithy comments and barbed glances being directed at the other teams mummy cheerleaders.  I glanced around to see where my lovable rogue of a nephew was waiting on the sub bench, and was pleasantly surprised to see him chatting amicably with the opposition subs and setting up a mini pitch so that they could all play together.  My nephew's general amiability and love of, well, just about everyone, then manifested itself on the pitch as he waved to the other team's goalkeeper, gave them a thumbs up every time that they scored and even shared his juice at half time with his new "friends".

My brother and I were in hysterics but soon realised that we were getting tutted at for not taking the game seriously.  I made myself shout and cheer at a suitable decibel level but deep down I was incredibly proud of my nephew's attitude and ability to make friends.  He is also a pretty good football player for a six-year old in shorts the size of a double duvet.  After winning 6-2, yes I did keep track of the score, we rushed back to the car to avoid the rain and blustery wind which had been lurking all morning.  I had offered a lift to one of my nephew's team mates as his brother and my step-nephew (complicated) were playing in an under-12 match in the next village.  Listening to them chattering and doing their own review of the match, I realised just how important these games were for their confidence and social skills.  My nephew has a terrible stammer at times but after scoring a goal and getting a big hug from the man of the match he was talking with confidence and excitement.  

I think I have been converted to the Sunday morning football run and when my favourite player tucked his hand in mine and asked me to come to his next game "because I make him play better because I smile at him", I only hesitated for a second and then made a promise to be there. I guess the soccer mums will have to make room in their gang for a soccer auntie.

It began at the end.

Two weeks ago I turned 34, which I know is not a momentous age.  It isn't a special age or even a particularly interesting one.  Nothing dramatic happened on the day and it is not one that is typically associated with exciting events or life's milestones.  But for me it kick started a sense of purpose and woke up an inner voice that had always been there, whispering in the background, if only I would stop and listen.  I would like to say at this point that my inner voice certainly doesn't take on the form of a goddess and have silly remarks like "Oh My" on a playback loop and I also have no intention of adding to the newest genre of "mummy porn".  (Very imaginative label I am sure!)

I have always wanted to write and be read but never really pushed myself to do it.  I never felt grown up enough. I never felt that the life I had lived had given me enough life experience to allow me to write of others lives and feelings with authenticity.  As an avid reader I know the crushing disappointment of picking up the latest "bestseller" and finding it hollow and two-dimensional. 

I was also scared that I would fail.  I am for the record what is commonly termed an "over-achiever", or "know-it-all" as my little sister would say. The thought of creating something and opening myself up to criticism was frightening and daunting. 

I decided that blogging would be a start, a foray if you like into the unknown, and a way to marshal my thoughts and experiences. 

So, where to start.....well you could say that it began with an ending.  I went from receiving a love that was "bigger than the sky" to having that same sky crumble and fall down around me. At the age of 27, my father passed away suddenly leaving my family and I floating adrift like jetsam after a flood.  We navigated the whirls and eddies of decision making in the wake of his death like bedraggled victims of an apocalyptic event.  Vacant stares, frightened faces and an inability to do little more than just survive, than just put one foot in front of the other, than just wake up, when the longest sleep seemed more appealing.

I drifted for nearly a year, unable to leave a job that I hated, too blinkered to fight for my relationship and unwilling to help myself, until I had an encounter with a counsellor that changed the course that my life was taking.  It took an hour, just one hour for a small elderly lady, an open fire and a big box of tissues as well as some very direct questions, to make me realise that I had to change something and that it had to be immediate.  I resigned from a director role and made a decision to join a West End firm as a consultant and began working with a team of people whom I hope you will become familiar with over the coming months as their larger than life personalities colour the pages of this blog as they have coloured my life since meeting them.

So here I am six years later with a whole lot of history in between (I plan to share but not all at once!) and still something is missing.  Writing these last few paragraphs has shown me that I may be on the way to finding out what that is.  If you want to join me as I spend the next year writing, creating, sharing and shaping my memories into stories I would love your company, advice and the chance to hear stories of your own.

For now it is goodnight and I hope that you will wish me luck!

WestEndGirl79