Saturday here. Just ticked over to the afternoon; the morning spent with the children’s sport shuffle.
I left home with Our Girl before 8AM to get the two netball matches, this week in back-to-back time slots. Hubster left home about an hour later, and took both boys to T1’s soccer match. After netball, Our Girl and I raced through four suburbs and we managed to see the last five minutes of the first half, and all the second half of T1’s soccer. Just as well, because T1 kicked his first goal.
I jumped in glee, raised my arms and yelled a cheer. Our team was already winning, so this was purely a moment of praise for my own boy. I saw him turn to look at me, a big wide grin on his face. I gave two thumbs up.
And then he kicked another one.
After his second goal (which I think was more difficult—I know nothing about soccer), on the run without lining it up, he waved his pointer finger in the air, and again had a big, yet this time, cheeky grin on his face.
I did actually raise an eyebrow at the finger pointing. To me, it bordered close to showing off, which my own parents would not abide in me or my brothers when we were young. But I remembered how my dad admonished me courtside, in front of all my team and the other parents, when I cheered myself for shooting numerous goals in a row (I was about 6 or 7 years old). I remembered how that felt, how embarrassed I was and how it affected me after shooting goals for the rest of my netball playing years.
And, I let T1’s moment of self-praise slide. He wasn’t cocky or showing off, just revelling in his own mini-triumphs. I let him enjoy his moment.