After Grumpy’s triumphant Pancake Cooking day at kinder last week, he was held in considerably high regard by the kinder kids.
I discovered this at kinder pickup time today when, as I leaned over to sign the book that enable the release of Chippie, I overheard one of the kids say to the teacher “It’s just Chippie’s mum.”
This led to a chorus of “Yeah, it’s just Chippie’s mum” by those seated around said child and, by this stage, I was struggling not to take it personally.
“Sorry,” the Teacher says. “We were going to say thanks to Grumpy if he was here, but it’s ok. Can you pass it on, please?”
No, fuck off. My feelings are hurt.
No. Not really. I understand children of this age (and many, many adults I know, sadly) do not possess the capacity to realise how their words may be interpreted by others and there was no ill intent. They are just saying it like it is.
We do our Wednesday Night Race Home, Godzilla and I stuff food in faces and I down a luke warm coffee before heading off to basketball training. Given our horrific run of losses early in the season, we have officially finished until next season, but have opted to continue training until the school holidays kick in.
Upon arrival at the training venue, we discovered two other kids and one other parent. A parent who, aside from being a parent at the games and our team manager, knew little about the actual game, except that he had two sons that play it and to turn up on Saturday mornings.
So we let the kids play for a bit until someone (not me) suggested the brilliant idea of a little two-on-three.
Kids versus parents.
Three ten year olds against the likes of Other Dad and I.