School sports carnival hell day, featuring dry humping and jazz hands

Todays guest biatch is Georgia of the Clooneys

aka Mrs George Clooney

{Why the guest biatches? Click here}

For the past two weeks I’ve been locked in a covert war with #1Hubby.

There’s been raised eyebrows, muttered ‘shed words’, hissed threats.

It has been on like Donkey Kong, yo.

What’s got us so riled up?

The school sports carnival.

That bastard event that occurs once a year – always on the windiest, coldest, most miserable day of the year.  Forget the bureau of meteorology, just find out when all the local school sports carnivals are and sure as shit, those will be the days it rains, blows a gale, and is cold enough to freeze your lip gloss (semi true story).

I hate the sports carnival.

Back in ye olde days when I was a kid, I sucked at all things athletic, unless it was a race to the front of the canteen line.

Unfortunately, Miss6 seems to have inherited my poorly coordination and athletic abilities, and none of her father’s sporting prowess or competitive nature.

Last year, at her first carnival, other parents admired our tall girl as they lined up before their token running race.  It was like when horses are paraded around before a big race.  Miss6 was admired by many, a good head taller than everyone else, all long legs and full of enthusiasm.  She was a sure bet.

Naturally we were all puffy-chested parents, happily owning the odds-on favourite.

Until the race started and Miss6 really couldn’t be arsed participating.  Like, at all.

She was much more enamoured with the older kids sitting on the sidelines.  And the grass.  And the trees.  And waving at us while everyone else ran past her.  A teacher literally had to jog behind her and prod her in the back to keep her going.  All the while, she had her head turned around the other way, trying to finish a conversation with her bestie who was lining up for the next race.

By the time she finished her 20 second race, all the other kids had been collected and returned to their parents.

Miss6 could not have given less of a shit.

#1Hubby and I sort of melted into the grass.  Me smirking, him mortified.

And so it came to pass that #1Hubby decided to train Miss6 before this year’s carnival.

For the past 2 weeks he’s done his level best to instill a killer instinct in her.  She’s ignored him and acknowledged his efforts with nothing more than an eyeroll.

While he’s impressed upon her the value of being #1, she’s proudly told him that it’s not about winning, and can he please be quiet so she can watch SpongeBob.

All the while, I’ve threatened him with everything in my arsenal (no sex, no cleaning, no cooking, lots of nagging) to just shut up and let her enjoy being a part of it.

The day of the carnival arrives, signalled by some early morning showers, constant drizzle, and high gusts of wind cold enough to take your breath away.

#1Hubby is devestated that he can’t locate his “Eye of The Tiger” cassette tape, because he had wanted to psych Miss6 up to go hard core.  He settles for YouTube instead, and Miss6 deftly switches it over to Katy Perry’s “I kissed a girl and I liked it”.

He continues reminding her to go hard, and I continue threatening to remove his voice box with my nail scissors, all the way to school.

We take our seats along with every other parent.  We all nod solemnly, in silent agreement that the most shit day of the school calendar has only just started, and already it’s drizzling with rain and there’s a delay because someone bought their dog and it won’t stop dry humping the hurdles in the middle of the field.

Finally, Miss6′s race is called.

#1Hubby is rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, so I send him to stand at the finish line so that I don’t have to take him down in front of all the other parents.  Because I’m the Vice President of the P&C and that would be wrong, right?

The race starts and Miss6 sets off in time with the rest of the kids. Bonus, a definite improvement on last year.

Only she’s not actually running.  She’s not even jogging.  I’m not sure what she’s doing, but I’m going to say it looked like tap dancing in high heels on an ice rink – complete with jazz hands planted at her sides.

It was awesomely awful.

I laughed my ass off, as did my friends who were aware of Miss6′s level of athletic enthusiasm and mad skillz.  Other parents who weren’t in the know simply looked either horrified or puzzled.

#1Hubby literally had his head in his hands at the finish line.

Best. Carnival. Ever.

I can’t wait until next year.  I’m going to teach her how to moon walk, because I think that would make an awesome finale – right as they think she’s finally about to hit the finish line, she starts moon walking on the spot.  Awesome.

Parental Parody is all about taking the piss out of parenting, and finding the sarcam in every heart felt moment and milestone.  Rather than improving my crap parenting, I like to offer it up for others to laugh about.  It’s the place other parents go to feel superior.  Daily parent fails and updates available on The Book, and random observations and incoherent ramblings on The Bird.

Magnetoboldtoo is sponsored by:

BIG4 Bellarine Holiday Park