Wax on, Wax Off

I realised the other day that none of my 3 children do any extracurricular activities. None. They go to school, after school care, come home, do homework, vedge, eat, vedge and go to bed. In that order.

Saturdays and Sunday are made up just of the eat, vedge, eat, vedge, sleep bits.

Not from lack of trying mind you. In the space of ten years we have tried:

Swimming: Child one, we were the chirpy parents down at the pool every Saturday morning, taking turns getting in the pool, doing the Monkey monkey and generally doling out $10 a pop willy nilly. Then child number 2 came and it all got a bit too hard.

Karate: We decided in the way all good decisions are made, on a whim, that Sam, our lovely yet bit vague 7 year old, could do with the discipline that is Karate. Or Jujitsu. I wasn’t real diligent on the research. So off he and Dad went to the local community hall and he lasted, oh, one class. Not because he wasn’t a black belt in the making. No what stopped us from continuing our potential ninja was the dramatic Tony Award winning curtsy he gave at the end instead of the subtle head nod. Yeah, we got told ever so politely that “perhaps he’s just not quite ready yet” (or ever was kind of inflected)

Soccer: I decided along with another mum at school, that my 7yo at the time, daughter, needed to get active. We went to the netball sign on day. We didn’t sign on. It could have been the fact that they wanted just under a million dollars for fees and uniform or the fact that they looked like they wanted to devour our children because, as they kept repeating zombie like, they are “very tall”. Whatever it was, we happened across mixed soccer. Which well, she sucked at. Maddison was often spotted having a good chat with her friend on the field or bitching about “how unfair it is that the boys just hog it all the time, like oh my god” It was equally fun for me too, getting up in the fricken freezing cold, having rampaging morning sickness and intermittently spewing behind the trees for all the hot soccer dads to witness. Let’s just say we made HEAPS of friends. We did soccer for a season.

NIPPERS: Aussie tradition. I’ve always lived on the Gold Coast but as kids, we never had any surf training. Our parents used to just let us run wild on the beach, swim out as far as we pleased and get 2nd degree burns that resulted in us having the “who can peel off the biggest piece of skin of their back” competition. Again, clearly I was little demented when I was pregnant, because I decided every Sunday of my third trimester would be best spent, hot as fuck, at Cudgen Beach, watching our kids chase sticks and eat their body weight in sausages on bread. Left after one season.

GYMNASTICS: Sam has low muscle tone. We have been told the best way to get this strengthened is gymnastics. Which he did and he loved. But I think I need to find a less, shall we say, intense gym class for him than the one we attended. Sam has little regard for personal space and often forgets to line up. This coupled together makes him look like a creepy pusher-inner. And then well, the term ended, I got a shocker flu and we just never went back.

I think you’re getting the gist here. We try stuff; we just don’t stick it out. I want to stick it out. I want us as a family, to be a member of a club where a dad dresses up as a dodgy Santa and hands out presents at Christmas time. I got to experience this. As kids, we were members of the local footy club and most Sundays we collected cans, drank coke and played pacman, all whilst the parents got tanked and watched the football from their car bonnets. None of us actually played football but it didn't matter.

So this summer, I will attempt again. Maddison, after doing netball at school, wants to join a club for realz. Jack the juvenile delinquent will be put into a swim school. I have a feeling he may model himself on Michael Phelps - the ADHD, bong smoking side. So I might try and head that off by wearing him the fuck out. Swimming seems a good way to do this. Sam, well Sam may revisit some of his past attempts. Hey, Ralph Macchio had a lot of practice at wax on, wax off before he found his groove. I just need to find his Mr Miyagi.