A season fit for failure

Every season has its story.

My story this time of year is end of term, end of schoolyear, exams and lovely weather. 

It never fails: when it is time for exams, the weather is at its best. This is the season for lovely, hot weather and sunshine from blue, blue sky. Not a cloud in sight, and barely any breeze.

Exam really means sweat and tears around here. In buckets!

It is time to sum up everything done, everything left out, everything missed and everything we never got time to get done.

This is the season for the feeling of shortcomings. There are no good hairdays.

For my part, it's not only true for work, even though I may feel it more, as I am a teacher, but I have kids in school as well. And to be a parent these days means you need to be forever young, otherwise you have lost on behalf of your kid.

My 15-year old has finished junior high school, and now is on the threshold of making the choice which to a large extent will decide which occupation he will have for the rest of his life. 

Well, it's not really carved in stone, but very few take the extra burden it is to start anew to get the education they discovered they actually really wanted.

Although... my oldest son is unsure of his choice and is playing with the thought of continuing school and get a higher education. He has an education, and is very good at it too, but he struggles to face doing it for the rest of his life.

I can only ensure him he will get my entire support, whatever his decision will be. 

Apart from all of these lifechanges my kids are facing, which takes a lot of time and conversation, every activity they participate in has some kind of summer celebration, marking end of season.

Barbeques, games, hikes, sleep overs... and at work it is the same. All the teams and departments I am a member of, as well as the entire staff combined, invite me to pubs for a beer or a glass of wine, barbeques, boat trips... lovely, adult unwinding. I never get to go to any of them.

Through out the year I used to rush home from work to get dinner finished in time for whatever was on today's schedule. 

This time of year I rush home to avoid those last minute's tempting invites, put on my running shoes and play with kids, engaging in water fights, throwing darts at ballons and treasure hunts. 

And then the obligatory barbeque, which involves hotdogs, buns, ketchup, mustard (for those a bit daring) and crisp fried onion. 

Kids are not very adventurous when it comes to barbeques, or maybe they are just not patient enough to wait for that perfect, marinated steak with baked potatoe.

Anyway, by the time the schoolyear is over, the end of season gatherings are as well.

My 9-year old's soccer team announced a game between the boys and the mothers.

I had every intention to participate, but... my body ached, my head was spinning, my feet felt like soar concrete... I didn't have a crumble of energy in me, and all I could think about was the neglected mountain of laundry at home. 

So the mums played a heroic match with me on the sideline. And they won. Mums 5- Sons 4.

My son asked me why I didn't play.

I didn't know how or what to answer him, and that's when I lost.

Only for a brief second, though; He was generous enough to give me a second chance, and his reply was swift and obviously prepared: 

"That's ok, you'll be on the team when season starts, and the mums play against the dads".

Oh, joy.