I Miss the Footy, the Washing, the Oranges — All of It

 

I Miss the Footy, the Washing, the Oranges — All of It

This week in Adelaide, Gather Round has brought the city alive.

Everywhere you look, there are families in scarves and guernseys, kids with painted faces, parents carrying snacks and jumpers and drink bottles, and that familiar rush of people all heading somewhere together. There is noise, excitement, complaints about parking, children asking for chips, and parents pretending not to calculate exactly how much the day is costing them.

And as I watch it all, I find myself smiling.

Because I miss it.

I miss taking my kids to the footy.

I miss weekend sport.
I miss weekday sport.
I miss being on the sidelines.
I miss being in the stands.
I miss being the one yelling encouragement, carrying bags, hunting for missing drink bottles, and somehow holding everyone together while pretending I was not completely exhausted.

I miss being their biggest cheerleader.

Not just in the big life moments.
In the small ones too.

The run onto the field.
The look back into the crowd.
The little wave.
The “Did you see that?”
The moment they scan the sideline to make sure you are there.

Those moments do something to you as a parent. At the time, they can feel frantic, messy, loud, inconvenient, and sometimes honestly just one more thing in a week already overflowing with things.

But then one day, they are gone.

I miss the chaos more than the calm

People talk a lot about wanting peace when they are parenting.

A quiet house.
A clean laundry.
A weekend without rushing.
A car without sports bags, half-empty water bottles, and socks that no one will claim.

And yes, in the thick of it, you do crave those things.

You promise yourself that one day, when life slows down, you will enjoy the calm.

But the truth no one tells you loudly enough is this:

Sometimes the calm feels far too quiet.

Because the chaos was never just chaos.

It was life happening.

It was love in motion.

It was jerseys draped over chairs.
It was muddy socks in the hallway.
It was ballet shoes missing five minutes before you had to leave.
It was one child unable to find a mouthguard, another refusing to wear the jumper you told them to bring, and someone always, always yelling, “Mum, where is my other boot?”

It was cutting oranges at the kitchen bench.
It was last-minute uniform washing.
It was late-night hunts for shin guards, hair ties, tights, ribbons, socks, tape, and somehow the one thing they absolutely needed the next morning but had not mentioned until 9:47 pm.

It was endless washing.

Goodness, the washing.

How could there be so much washing for such small people?

Jerseys.
Shorts.
Socks.
Training gear.
Towels.
Dancewear.
Casual clothes somehow mixed in with all of it.
And always one item needed urgently that was still wet on the line, forcing some ridiculous solution involving the dryer, a hairdryer, or prayers.

At the time it felt relentless.

Now it feels holy.

The things we think we will not miss

No one warns you properly about this part.

They tell you that you will miss the little hands.
The cuddles.
The bedtime stories.
The first-day-of-school moments.

And yes, you do.

But you also miss the things that once drove you half mad.

The frantic searches.
The sports sign-ups.
The forgotten forms.
The early starts.
The complaints from the back seat.
The hunger five minutes after you already fed everyone.
The wet towels on the floor.
The last-minute “I need this for tomorrow.”
The endless washing.

You miss the noise.

You miss the mess.

You miss the way family life once filled every corner of the house so completely that silence felt impossible.

And then, somehow, silence arrives.

To the parents still in it

If you are in that season now — racing from one activity to the next, washing uniforms late at night, trying to find lost shoes, cutting fruit, buying sausages at the canteen, standing on cold sidelines, juggling work and life and everyone else’s needs — I know you are tired.

I know sometimes it feels relentless.

I know there are days when you think, surely there is more to life than this washing pile and these sports bags and this constant rushing.

But please hear this from someone standing a little further down the road:

This is a precious season.

Not because it is easy.
Not because it is glamorous.
Not because every minute is magical.

But because one day, you will miss it with an ache that surprises you.

So when you can, even in the rush, take it in.

Not perfectly.
Not with guilt.
Not with pressure to treasure every second.

Just enough to notice:
this is our life right now.
And one day, I may miss even this.

Final thoughts

This week, Adelaide is full of families heading to the footy.

And as I watch them, I feel joy for them.
And nostalgia for me.
And gratitude for the years I had.

I miss the footy.
I miss the sport.
I miss the sideline version of motherhood.
I miss the washing, the oranges, the jerseys, the chaos.

I miss all the things that once made life so full.

And maybe that is the strange gift of parenting.

The very things that exhaust us in one season become the things we would give anything to hold again in another.

So to every parent this Gather Round, lugging bags, buying snacks, finding seats, keeping track of children, and showing up yet again:

You may not realise it now, but these are the days that will stay with you.

Messy, noisy, beautiful days.

And one day, you just might miss them more than you ever thought possible.

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