Our columnist is busy playing the roles of personal assistant and chauffeur as her daughter goes about her daily activities. Was it always this way ‘back in the day’?
• HOW many after-school activities is the right amount? I’m not even going to pretend that I’m asking for a friend ... I’m asking for myself!
It’s just that in a flurry of enthusiasm, I think we might be after signing up for too many – or at least one too many. It’s a hard one to gauge but I suppose if you sometimes find yourself eating dinner in the car (and trying to convince yourself that a hot dog qualifies as a well-balanced dinner) and generally being a bit shouty (‘Hurry up! We’re late! Get your shoes! We’ll do the spellings tonight!’) that it might be a tell-tale sign you’ve overdone it, right? Or being secretly thrilled that last Sunday’s weather warning meant all activities were cancelled? It wasn’t just me, surely?
• I was chatting to a mum about it the other day (on the sidelines at a GAA blitz, where else?) and we were trying to remember if we did after school activities back in the 80s.
GAA back then was reserved mainly for boys, and those girls who showed talent ... so I was not involved! It was certainly not the all-inclusive, welcoming space that it is today.
And for the activities I was involved in, I have to admit that my staying power was fairly questionable. I was a complete flake (perhaps the original snowflake) and I dropped out of everything very early on. I tried horse riding (but I was, and still am, terrified of fast-moving animals so it wasn’t a great match); ballet (I’m not very bendy and I’m terrified of performing in front of audiences), tin whistle (I was terrified of the teacher but on the plus side I can still bang out a pretty decent Edelweiss all these years later), and Brownies (now they were my tribe, not terrifying but terrific, with a fabulous blue uniform, and rules that appealed to my inner nerd. I think I’d still be going along if I was allowed). Now that I think of it, that sounds like a lot, but I definitely never remember having to eat ‘on the go’.
• In our household we’re what you’d call good triers, or middle-grounders. Not that I want to set limits for my smallie, but I’d say it’s unlikely we’ll perform in Carnegie Hall or tread the boards on Broadway. Wimbledon might be just outside of our reach and we’ll probably never make it to the track and field at the Olympics.
But that’s not the point, there’s still a valuable social aspect to partaking in activities. It’s a chance for camaraderie, to make friends and build a little discipline and resilience, as well as learning that new skill and developing talent.
And that goes for the grown-ups, too, who ferry the kids around – as much as we give out about the rushing and racing, it’s a chance to grab a chat with each other, talk about how tired and busy we are, swap tips on what pasta cooks fastest when you’re up against the clock, and remind each other where the matches are on at the weekend! Anyway, GAA season is coming to a close soon so that will be a chance for us all to regroup and assess the schedules ... and for those involved in winter sports, well, I applaud your stamina.
• On a completely different note, what is the story with the ‘stop-go’ system on the Bandon to Innishannon road? I could have got this wrong but I think it’s in place to allow for the construction or extension of a walkway, which is a fabulous idea, but ... why does it have to take so long? I pity anyone who has to travel that stretch of road frequently on their work commute, although from chatting to pals I think everyone has figured out alternative routes on back roads by now. Who can blame them?
Luckily I don’t need to go this way often, but I was held up there for ages last week when I was rushing to make an appointment in Cork, and when we finally got the green light, there was a tractor at the top of the queue, leading us the whole way until after Innishannon. Not at all good for the blood pressure.
• What is keeping me nice and relaxed and in a very mindful state of mind is my newly discovered love of piano. In a bid to encourage my eight-year-old to commit to her piano practice (in between rushing around going to all the other activities), I started tinkering away on the ivories myself. Monkey see, monkey do, etc. I took lessons for a few years in my teens (before ... dropping out). My first teacher was so fearsome I quivered like a leaf before, during, and after the lessons (not ideal if you’re trying to hit those notes), and my second was a complete dote but I failed to join the dots between practice and making perfect. I wanted to be perfect immediately, without any practice. Youth is wasted on the young. But now, decades later, I find myself enjoying it more than ever. My mother heard me the other day and was only thrilled. ‘When I think of what we spent on all those lessons!’ she said (which is exactly what I say to my own daughter in moments of exasperation). I’m currently flat out practising my all-time favourite Christmas hymn O Holy Night.
Emma is dreaming of a Christmas spectacular to impress family with her rekindled passion for the piano. (Photos: Shutterstock)
I’ve a vision of me dressed in a crushed red velvet gown, perched on the stool, performing for an intimate group of friends and family on Christmas Eve, who are moved to tears by my rendition (I’ll have plied them with plenty of mulled wine in advance to help win them over). It will have to be the slow version, though, more like O(oooo) Hooooooly N(iiiiight) as it’s proving trickier than I remembered. What’s that they say about old dogs and new tricks again?
