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Saturday Morning Sports Fiasco

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Saturday morning sports are a ritual for aussie families and my family have a routine too sorry a fiasco.

The kids start off sports morning by getting up at the crack of dawn. From there it is the usual couple of tantrums and a quick run out to get the paper from the driveway before breakfast.

I am not really sure where the morning goes anymore. I look at the clock and it’s 10 past 7 and then I look again and it’s quarter to 9. I think it must be some kind of weird back to the future-esque time space continuum thing.

After breakfast and coffee I start to round up the kids and get them ready. Our sport of choice is swimming. In reality it’s Wife A who rounds ‘em up and I just wonder around trying to figure out why we are running late and what happened to the last hour and a half.

Here is the hardest part I have to decide whether to have a shower before I swim or not. Swimming involves me taking Ernie in the water for his lesson. I usually decide against a shower, hey I was about to have a 30 minute mysterious chemical and floating band aid detox bath. It’s like jumping in a hot springs only with extra snot and small pieces of poo.

After another couple of tantrums about which towel Kid X is taking and the hunt for her goggles, we finally get in the car and head off. The swimming place has poor parking and you usually have to wait for 5 minutes before you get a park. Usually some muppet will cut through the line of cars, obviously their kid is much more important than the rest of ours.

We make our way in. I have to carry 3 bags, a baby and sometimes a toddler. Usually Kid X’s teacher, a bloke who looks about as thrilled to be there as me, runs late. I have Ernie’s class at the same time so I am always late for Ernie’s class, I look like a shit dad being late every week.

When I finally make it in to the water with Ernie I trudge over to the other dads and grunt and they grunt back. Then we have a bit of warm up swimming followed by going through a tunnel. From there we start the 20 minutes of singing Nursery Rhymes. None of the dads know the words and all of us are off key, or is that just me hearing myself sing.

Before I know it the lesson is over and I find myself trying to remember where our bags are, oh and Kid X, I can’t forget her. Once she is finished and finds me we head to the worst place of all, the change rooms. I have to shower two kids, dry myself, dry two kids and dress everyone, all without them rolling on the floor getting wet again. Usually I try to dress Ernie first, this causes issues when I expect a 10 month old just to sit there whilst I dry and dress his sister. He just wants to get down from the dry expanses of the bench seat to the wet floor. This turns into a battle, then I have Kid X battling with me over that bloody towel, it turns into tug of war and over she goes straight into the puddle of water. Usually this happens when she is half dressed.

I crack, I finally crack and yell at both of them. All the dads in the change room stop and look at me. Except my dad in arms Simon who understands my yelling, he is in a similar boat to me with the 2 kid change.

A couple of dad’s who only have to contend with one kid give me a “you are a bad parent” look. I give them the “go fuck yourself, just you wait til you have to deal with two of them” look and they avert their eyes.

I rush the rest of the getting dressed process and usually walk out sweating so much that I am wetter than when I am in the water. Finally we make the car and in we get and then I sit in my seat turn up the radio and try to ignore the “I want a yoghurt” question all the way home.

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