Can you devote too much time to your children?
Can you reach a point where their lives impact on your lives and it crosses a line?
My 7 year old plays rugby on a Saturday morning and football on a Sunday morning.
He adores it.
The team spirit, the elation of a win, the team talk when they lose, being with friends, having his parents watch him do something he’s good at.
Every weekend our house is a mad rush of organising: Up, breakfast, where’s his boots, kit on, out the door, on the way to whatever match he has lined up.
Whatever the weather.
Sometimes we all go and make a family day out of it. Sometimes I take him on my own. Sometimes hubby takes him.
Sure it impacts on our weekends. We plan around it. He’s missed probably only a handful of matches in the 2 years he’s been playing.
It is a Permanent Fixture.
But here’s the thing. Or my thing anyway.
While he’s found something he adores I want to encourage and support him however I can.
If that means standing on the sidelines of a football pitch as a biting wind cuts through to my bones, then so be it.
If that means having to postpone a day out somewhere else until the afternoon until his rugby match is over, then so be it.
I stand there with my camera, cheering, encouraging, high fiving.
His face when he comes off that pitch is worth the few minutes stood in the biting cold.
In a few years time he may want to ditch it all and do nothing.
He may not want us around, let alone want us spending every single weekend together.
He may want to break free and strike out on his own. And that’s fine. If that’s the way he wants to fly, I’m OK (ish) with that.
But for now he wants us; wants us to enjoy his joy with him and I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than give him this time we have together freely.