Jordan Watson

When I was growing up in rural Te Kauwhata, my after-school activities consisted of running through the paddocks trying not to get bunted by George the pet sheep, mean-as skids on my BMX, unpinching my skin from the trampoline spring, and annoying my little sister.

Wellllll, it ain’t the ‘90s anymore. There is now this unspoken competition between parents to see who can get their kid doing the most professional after-school activities. You know, swimming, Scouts, netball, soccer, rugby, touch rugby, rippa rugby, all the rugbys.

Which parent will rule the clique of all cliques?

My kids struggle to complete the fiveminute bike ride home after school, let alone extra afterschool commitments daily. They’re not unfit or anything like that, they’re just kids.

Their mushy little brains have been absorbing stuff like how to count in twos, sharing is caring and the difference between hair, here, hare and hear. By 3pm, their spongy little brains are knackered, bulging at the seams and sometimes they need to just come home and blob out, take it easy. No, not sometimes, most times.

I’m gobsmacked when I hear how little 7-year-old Steven has swimming on Mondays, hockey on Tuesdays, guitar on Thursdays – woah, woah, woah! The kid is seven!

It just seems like a lot for a kid to handle, let alone the cost of all these must do extras.

Back in the day, swimming meant in the murky pond down the road, and guitar was just yelling down a toilet roll.