Mother stands for comfort

The ultimate test of motherhood has started again, although it didn't really feel like there was much of a break. This, to the uninitiated, is football season. Through the wind and the rain, the hail and the snow, the freezing ground and ankle-deep mud, we huddle together in small herds. Umbrellas cannot help you here; they don't shelter you, they turn inside out and cause vicious injuries to the person immediately behind you. And it's only October. And it was very mild. I was prepared though, I put in my contact lenses so that I didn't have to contend with my glasses, I tucked my hair under a waterproof hood, I wore my snow boots.

It's a test of my dedication, but it's a test of something else as well. I can't even watch talent shows, I hide behind my fingers at X factor and have been known to leave the room from GBBO and that is like, the nicest reality show on television. Watching Pip play football makes my skin crawl. I love her and I don't care how bad she is, except...that I know how good she wants to be, and thinks she is. At ten you still believe you have the capacity to be whatever you want to be, but there are some amazing footballers on her team. I can see that and I know little about football. I also recognise in her a desire to be a jack of all trades and a master of none which is exactly me; both of us work and work to do as much as possible without working hard at anything in enough depth to actually get good at it.

Last week she expressed a desire for her brothers to watch her. Her best friend's brother has hardly missed a match. "I don't like football." says Max. "It's cold." says Rex. "It's not really my thing." says her dad. It's not my thing either. But it's my duty, is it? That's why I rush home from work, and make sure that dinner is in the slow cooker so that Pip can eat her tea really quickly then get changed so that I can drive her down to the astroturf. She likes football, she wants to be good, so I have to encourage her. Don't I?

How did I learn that? I suppose that is exactly what my parents did for me, which is exactly why I had to drive up to Mum and Dad's the other evening when my dad phoned me in tears to tell me that Mum had had a stroke. My Dad doesn't cry. My husband may not watch his little girl play football, but he told me to go and picked up all the pieces without a second thought.

By the time my brother, Dad and I arrived at the hospital the next day my Mum was as near as possible back to normal and pleased to see us. She's not back to normal though and a lot has changed. I've been up to cook meals for them. And she's let me, that's the difference. They were both so grateful to me for visiting, each time I've visited. That hurts. How bad a daughter am I that they are so pleased to see me, how much have I been letting them down? My brother came up to see them again straight away, he said he was planning to come and see them anyway because he knew mum had been ill. My little brother who has surpassed me in any way I can think of. He lived with them longer than me, he cooks better than me, his wife is wonderful. I knew he was good, and I know he doesn't have parenting responsibilities, but I need to learn from him.

I love my mum, but maybe I would be surprised if my gorgeous Pip came to see me in thirty years time. She loves me, but I hope I teach her to be independent from me, I hope I teach her to put her own family first.

But today, my girl was player of the match. She played well, she was in the right place at the right time, she bravely tackled and kicked the ball out of play at the right time. "I'm proud of myself." she said. I took her for hot chocolate. She rang her dad, then Grandma. Maybe there is still time for me to get something right.