Taking Kim’s mind off the locksmith: Or: On Having Girls

One of the things I love about this joint blogging arrangement is that we work out things about each other all the time.

Now something I have realised about Miss Kim tonight, thanks to the wonderful, wonderful influx of kind, caring and compassionate commenters following her horrible home robbery, is this:

Miss Kim

Has been cultivating


Mothers Of Boys!!

There’s Pea Soup, of course, and Blackbird, and Susie Sunshine, and Babelbabe, and A, and Sueeeus and others – you know who you are. (But not you, Surfie girl or you Lucinda or, wait, if I go one I’ll ruin my argument!)

And let me tell you, I’m not in the least prejudiced against mothers of boys. Hey, I AM one, of one. But something from an earlier post of Kim’s this week made me laugh and laugh.

You see. My mother had me and then two boys.

We moved to a town where, up ’til then, everyone played rugby league.

My mother – being that kind of woman, started a soccer club.

At first it had one team.

By the next season it had five.

By the sixth season, the rugby (mum called them ‘thugby’) league club members had started a smear campaign to try to stop the pestilent spread of soccer. It didn’t work.

By which, I mean, it didn’t stop me having to spend every Saturday from March to October traipsing from soccer field to soccer field in a diameter of about 200 kilometres.

Hours, and hours, and hours in the car to watch other people play not very good sport.

Things in Sydney today are not much different. If you have boys, and they play soccer, you travel to a different field every Saturday, and you often don’t know until Thursday where that field will be.

This is what happens when you play a male dominated sport, organised along rules arranged by men. You never know where the hell you are, nor what time you’re going to have to get up to be sure you’ll be there.

Go on, prove I’m wrong: I dare you!

(and this is where the getting Kim’s mind off her troubles part comes in because I know her well enough to know that, like me, a dare is very hard to resist!)

So. When I saw Kim’s post about how grateful she was to have boys and NOT be standing on a netball court I had to laugh.

And laugh, and laugh.

You see, netball is organised by women. For girls, and women.

And do you know how it works?

Every week, you go to the same place. Unless you are foolish enough to have a sportily gifted child who plays in rep teams, you always know how far you have to travel and what time you have to be there. Always.

So I had to have a laugh.

Then I got over it.

Because I stuffed everything up by having a bet both ways – with two girls and a boy, and boy-girl twins into the bargain. So any sport we engage in on a Saturday MUST be unisex, like gymnastics, or karate.

But it’s funny,
how the lens through which we view life can be coloured by such strange things as the way our children emerge from the womb.

And I was thinking all about this tonight because my big girl was allowed to stay up a bit later and watch New Inventors (favourite show, go figure) and while we watched it she brushed and plaited my hair.

And it was good.

That’s all.


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