So, our children have done the Olympic-themed Sports Day and end of year drama shows, watched the torch relays, read up on the origins of the Games, discussed the merits of David Beckham and lived through the disappointment of his exclusion from Team GB. The overzealous Mum that I am has snagged the last Team UK T-Shirts from the department stores to use as costumes for Olympic- dress up days, and has (nearly) given in to pester power to buy Wenlock and Mandeville.
Funny thing about this Olympic spirit: My son and daughter, and all their friends, really have run faster, tried to jump higher, been stronger in their sporting, academic and dramatic endeavours.
In a fit of generosity, the Olympic Gods smiled on us and repaid clever Dad for his mastery of the ticket ballot system.
Somehow, against all the odds, we got extremely lucky and managed to secure a set of 4 tickets to see the Men’s 200m finals next week featuring Usain Bolt.
So, I should be whooping for joy and packing the egg sandwiches and mini cheeses, along with sunscreen (and the umbrella!) for our afternoon and evening’s entertainment, shouldn’t I? Well, if only I were that sort of mother. No, I am obsessively checking the route, any security scares and my husband’s diary for his meeting times that week. Will he get out of the office in time to meet me at King’s Cross? Stratford? Even better, can he work from home that day and travel with me and the children to the event?
Why the anxiety?
My children are now out of the relative safety of buggies and reins, are too young to travel independently but don’t want to hold my hand while we are on a tube. My son, in the twilight zone that exists between childhood and adolescence, will rarely hold his little sister’s hand unless forced to.
His sister, a feisty five year old with little regard for personal safety or Mum’s blood pressure levels, is more likely to charge ahead reading the directions as we go. Then, after she has worked out the most efficient journey plan and times, will suddenly, DESPERATELY NEED THE LOO. In a packed tube carriage, stuck halfway between stations. The only way that I can imagine travelling in a nearly calm state of mind is if I find the human equivalent of a staple gun to stick us all together, and borrow some of those natty LOCOG bibs which identify the children as belonging to me.
Mums can be Olympians too, can’t they? I hope so. In my efforts to join in with the Olympic spirit of pushing the boundaries of human endeavour, I will not give in to the temptation of staying at home to watch on a screen, where I can hand out the egg sandwiches and mini cheeses to the children safely ensconced on the sofa. I will face my fears and bravely venture out with them and Dad (wherever he ends up joining us!) to see Usain Bolt power his way through one of the most important races of his life. Now, if only I could find that staple gun …
Tell me, are you going to the Games this year? What are your tips for travelling with kids on the train or tube?