Dear Blog, I am in a state of dither regarding the microbe.
Let’s start by stating the obvious: my son is not sporty.
Neither has he ever been a team player, the contrary little bugger. Even at Gymboree classes, all those years ago, I used to find myself sitting in a circle of mums, singing and puppet-miming to an empty space, while my baby crawled away by himself and investigated the contents of the cleaning cupboard.
Anyway last weekend he went for an informal kick-around game of football in the park with a group of nursery pals, organised by the strapping sort of dad who owns a whistle and is not afraid to use it. The microbe skipped off happily enough to the park, clutching a tiny football – but reported afterwards that he didn’t enjoy it very much because another boy kept taking his football off him. *
Which brings me onto the second point: my son is not terribly robust.
He doesn’t get into fights. He is the sort of boy who cries if a gnat looks at him the wrong way. Suffice to say I long ago discarded any notion of enrolling him onto one of the many rugby or football classes round our way.
But – here lies my dither – I am pondering whether he might benefit from karate lessons. G suspects he won’t last 5 minutes and he may well be right. My brain can’t decide whether it would be a life enriching experience or a form of advanced child abuse. There is a local class for 4-6 year olds that has spaces… I suppose I could take him for a trial session and see how it goes.
On a far less dithery note, we are agreed that he would definitely enjoy a music & drama class – so we aim to find a weekend class for him when the school term begins. Who needs sport when you can be fabulous, eh?
* G told me that the boybot was not alone in failing to enjoy the football – apparently several of the other boys had strops and/or wandered off and refused to play as a team. I reckon Captain Whistle might need a stiff brandy before kicking off this weekend’s shenanigans…