Oui, je regrette beaucoup

Two things I regret this week:

The first: I had to leave the house on Sunday after a heated exchange with The Little Prince. He’d asked me to help him prep for his music assessment. That was why I found myself downloading the backing track and searching for lyrics to Coldplay’s ‘Fix You’. The Little Prince played football outside with his friends (as I’m writing this, I realise how bad that sounds. Bear with me, it gets worse).

An hour later, I’d downloaded the music and printed the words. I even listened to the original and had written helpful notes in the margin so that he’d know how many bars to count in between verses and so on. I continued to try to help whilst he was practising. Until he told me that he couldn’t concentrate with me standing there, that I was trying to be too helpful and that he really didn’t need to practice anyway.

He’d just ‘wing it’.

So after a brief discussion in which I failed to behave like the adult I’m supposed to be, I left, muttering about the dire consequences of not putting in hard work. Of course I went to my parents for a soothing cup of tea and the chance to tell on my son…’but Mum, he’s not playing nicely…’

Fast forward to the ’phone call I received yesterday. The assessment went very well. His music teacher loved his ‘beautiful singing’. Two other teachers were drawn from their classrooms to listen. All three were in tears.

The Little Prince earned himself an A* and has learned nothing. No, that’s not true. He’s learned that, not only can he get by with no prep, he can score top marks and wow the ladies. Good grief, Charlie Brown (my favourite new phrase).

The second: I was in the throes of a successful diet last week, and signed up for lunchtime netball. WHAT???

Alas, am no longer in the throes of a successful diet. But I am on the list for netball, along with women who, if this were a comic book, would be the Magneto to my Dr X. My polar opposite. They are very nice, but... they are skinny, very, very fit, eat well, they work hard and run marathons (oh yes – a few weeks ago, one ran a half marathon before work, arriving at our meeting ‘so refreshed!’).

Soon I will be thundering across the court whilst they skip about and run rings around me (as long as they’re not holding the ball, obviously). I’ll stick myself down as Wing Defence, the netball equivalent of sitting in the corner.

It’s as if the last 25 years have never been.

Will I never learn?