Nineteen

Well, it's over for another year. Footy that is. At least *our* footy, which is the Victorian Amateur Football Association - 'The Ammos'.

Glenn's beloved St Bernard's made the B-Grade final, and were subsequently elevated to A-Grade for next year. Unfortunately they couldn't bring home the choccies yesterday and lost the Grand Final to Caulfield Grammar.

Sportscover Arena at Elsternwick Park blew a gale; the ball would be kicked, would travel a certain distance and then would visibly start returning to whence it came, high up in the air but literally travelling backwards courtesy of the gale that was a-blowing.

My Cherub baracked his little heart out, often saying to me "Do you think that gave them encouragement Mum?" after screaming out 'Go Bernards!' at the top of his voice. He was devastated that they lost, not because he is a diehard supporter (he comes to the footy when we go, but I haven't been much myself this year due to Glenn spending most weekends renovating his house so that he can sell it), but because he knew that we were there for a reason - to cheer the Snowdogs to a flag.

Suburban footy is unreal for families like mine (and families in general really). You can still run out onto the ground at half time and kick a footy, and there is no problem with the kids just running around the stadium or around the fence line (supporter's side of course). You can always keep an eye on them, and they have a great time. For me, it means that my Cherub isn't confined to a seat all the time, and that if he gets bored (which he sometimes does), I am more than happy to let him go for a run, knowing that there isn't too much trouble he can get into when members of our club are strewn all over the place and are able to keep an eye on him.

The club have been very accepting of my Cherub, and all of his idiosyncracies. At home games he sits and plays his DS, while interrupting his DS play with visits to the fenceline to cheer the boys on. The other ladies talk to him and understand that if he doesn't respond, or if he needs some prompting from me, it's not because he is being rude. The men shake his hand with a 'G'Day Mate, how ya goin?', and he loves it.

Last night was his first visit to the Club for the aftermatch gathering. Previously we have watched the game and then headed straight home, but because yesterday was a special day, I told him that we would go to the 'party', would stay as long as he wanted, and he could have a 'Bar-Coke' (he totally believes that the Coke sold at the footy club bar tastes better than other Coke, even Maccas Coke!).

So, after going home for something to eat, we drove down to the Club and headed inside. Cherub LOVED it. I think he really tuned into that male bonding thing that the football club thrives on - Mum was left for dead to sit with the other women and Glenn was sought out very quickly. Cherub felt oh-so-comfortable walking around the club rooms, trying to find his buddy to bond with. (The fact that he was walking with his butt cheeks tightly together, on tippy toes as he was holding on to a pooh, didn't interfere with his desire to bond with the other blokes as they had a beer and he had his Bar-Coke).

We didn't last all that long, as he was VERY tired after his big day, but for 30 minutes I watched him enjoy something that other kids (and dare I say, other parents) might take for granted as it is part of their weekend routine. He still had trouble saying hello and goodbye of his own accord, and was doing some typically 'William' behaviours, but I could see from his general aura that he felt a part of something, even for just those thirty minutes.

And I was happy.

Talk tomorrow

Janeane
x