World Cup Fever

Sport rules right now.

The house sweepstake is going well. Good teams are evenly distributed so everyone still interested. Hearth-mother looking good with Belgium, Sweden, Denmark, Columbia and Mexico!

Not that Gilby needs any more stimulus, frankly. Old Statto can tell you the points in each group, the results  of each match, the goal scorers in each game and plenty of other trivia besides. To enliven things even further (as Germany go out in the group stages for the first time ever) we are hosting a German guest in the house this week so massive bragging rights result.

Today was also Gilby's sports day and he was on the winning relay team; his and Gertie's house team won the cup; and his U9 cricket squad are unbeaten in six games.

England cricket has been quite joyful in recent weeks. There is nothing but sport done or talked of at the moment.

So I'm getting in on the action. Hearth-mother has been asked to fill in for a netball team who are a player short tonight. The last time I did this was just before Christmas and I ended up in hospital. Just hoping that I, too, can ride the crest of this current sporting wave and make it through at least a quarter!

Markin'

I have been terribly neglectful of my blog of late, and whilst I have occasionally popped along to read and comment on some from time to time, it has been furtively and with a slightly guilty conscience.

This is because I am in the midst of marking A-level papers. Nearly three hundred of them: something that I used to find difficult and a burden before children, let alone with two of the small people around. The idea is that it is, at my own behest, supposed to be paying for our lovely summer holiday to France. The reality is that it has taken over my life and I will need a holiday more than ever at the end of it. And why did I pick a World Cup year? That coincided with Wimbledon and the one day cricket series against Australia?

The structure of my day has changed dramatically. I have to do a couple of hours in the morning before everyone else gets up, then work through the evening after the kids have gone to bed, perhaps sneaking in a couple during the bedtime hour whilst Gertie and Gilby are otherwise engaged with Peppa Pig, 64 Zoo Lane and occasionally In the Night Garden (though Gertie only 'tolerates' Upsy Daisy et al these days, for the sake of Gilby).

So Gertie sees me sitting at the dining table, red pen poised, quite a lot at the moment. Especially if she happens to wake up early and see a light on downstairs. The initially repeated, "What are you doing, Mummy?" has been substituted for, "Are you 'markin' again Mummy?"

'Markin' has now become one of her favourite games. Pen in hand she will take herself off quietly somewhere and go 'markin'. The back of an envelope or Daddy's latest print out of World Cup scores will become well and truly...marked. It has also become an excuse for not doing other things. (How quickly she emulates her mother's behaviour.) "No, I can't tidy up those things, I'm afraid, I'm markin". She has the degree of concentration just right, and embarks on it with a relish that has begun to wane in me.

As of today, 80 more scripts to go; shame I can't give her a few...

World Cup Bet

If you google 'World Cup Bet Richard Enticott' you come up with all sorts of links to stories about a chap living in New York who has put a bet on his as yet unborn son scoring for England in the 2034 World Cup. The £100 stake will see him net £1 million in the event that master Enticott is able to live out his father's dream.

This chap happens to have been the best man at our wedding, and so we are familiar with his passion for football and his...self-belief, now transmitted to his child. (Still in the womb, but due any minute now!)

This has got me thinking about the pleasures we experience in the success of our offspring. My husband (and one of Rick's best friends) is fully convinced that Gilby will one day open the batting for England in an Ashes Test Match. His initials and surname, 'A A P Gooda' are apparently an important aspect of the dream since they 'sound right' for a cricketer. So you can see, these future ideals are quite specific. My as yet unsuspecting son is under a lot of pressure. I say 'unsuspecting'; he did in fact attend his first cricket match aged just five days old.

Until Gilby arrived last summer, poor old Gertie had to do two hours of throwing and catching practice each night when Daddy came home from work. Aged two. (You think I'm joking?) In fact, now I come to think about it she was only four days old when she first went to a game. Thankfully she is now able to concentrate on ballet, which she is much more excited about...

But given his best man's bet, I'm just waiting for my husband to come back from the bookies with his version of living the dream!