Oh God, I can see the rage in his face. He is trying to suppress it but I know him so well; the signs are obvious to me.
There’s a vein and you can just see it’s throbbing slightly. He is sweating and gritting his teeth. He is going to come home in a terrible mood and take it out on me, I just know it.
He always feels remorseful afterwards. He can’t handle disappointment. I am not making excuses for his behaviour, it’s just that I know him better than anyone on this earth. As soon as he calms down he is crying and sobbing, begging for my forgiveness. He knows I’ll obviously forgive him – I can never stay mad at him for long.
I hope it doesn’t last too long today, last time it was over an hour and it’s so difficult to watch the baby as well.
The final whistle blows.
There it is now, the under 6’s have lost their football match.
I sigh and brace myself for the tornado of emotion that his little brain can’t process. I tell him he played so well, that yes, the ref did seem a tad biased and that there is always another day. I try to placate him with, “But you had so much fun, so it doesn’t matter if your team didn’t win...”
He snarls at this; clearly I do not understand the competitive stubborn nature of a 6 year old who might as well have just lost the World Cup. After well over an hour of angry complaining and general grumpiness, I pull out the big guns…. A last ditch effort to bring him back down.
“Let’s go feed the ducks and maybe we could get an ice cream on the way home, it is very hot today. And I was so proud of how you didn’t push that boy back in the match.”
Then I see It, the twinkle in his eye returns and he is transformed into my gentle, loving soul who stops to give a dying bee some water, who is the first to ask a classmate if they are ok when they fall. My baby boy who rests his head on my lap when he is tired and asks me to stroke his hair.
Thank God, I say, he is back and here to stay.
Until next week’s under 6’s blitz.
But I’ll be there on the sidelines praying for a fair ref and a bit of good luck!