Monday, 17 May 2010
Hubby took the 9 year old along to his first ever proper game of cricket, and I took the 6 year old to her cricket training session down at our local club. I was hoping to join up with the boys and catch the end of their game, but it was all over and done with in 2 hours! I thought cricket games went on for days on end, but not this one!
I loved watching the 6 year old dashing about though - if you bowl the ball in exactly the right place, she can give it a massive slog.
I scoffed a delicious bacon sarnie, and got regular 'live' updates from the 9 year old's game. He had been given the job of captain, and it sounded like he was well into it - shouting captain-like things to encourage his team, like 'just get some runs!' and 'don't get out!'
They lost the game in the end, but I have never seen my little lad so buoyed up and excited when we met up at our local tea room. 450 million hours in our garden with his dad - bowling, hoying, catching and slogging balls into our neighbour's garden, and finally he gets to put all that practice into a real game.
To finish the day, we watched England v's the Aussies in the final of the World 20/20 cricket. We slaughtered them. The cool, calm captain, Paul Collingwood from Shotley Bridge - a stone's throw from where we live, got the winning runs. I bet his mother was proud.
In a truly irresponsible way, we celebrated England's victory and the 9 year old's debut down at the pub when all good children should have been in bed.
As we clinked our glasses, the 9 year old said, 'I can't wait for next Thursday...'
I racked my brain - 'Another cricket match? Football? Ah yes - the class trip to the outdoor activity centre!'
'No, mum,' he smiled, 'By next Thursday you'll have done your last chemo and you'll be feeling well again.'
I know you're supposed to be quietly modest about your children, but I think I'm even more proud of my son than Mrs Collingwood is of hers...