Dear Legs

Dear legs,

I'm sorry. 

<Fights back tears>

I'm sorry for all the hurt and pain I have caused you. 

I'm sorry that I betrayed your trust and let you down. We've had so many wonderful times together you and I. You mean so much to me. You literally take me places.

I wish I could change what I've done. I wish I could change what happened and we could go back to like it was before. No one was supposed to get hurt, it was only meant to be a bit of fun. It wasn't planned. It just... happened. 

<Sniffs>

(Harmless fun…)

I woke up that morning and thought, yeah, let’s go for a jog. I’ll take Boy8 with me, that’ll burn off some of his grumpy extra energy. 

It seemed like a good idea...

I realise now, as I write this, that jogging isn't something I normally do. In fact have ever done. 
I have a car, a bike, a scooter, a teleporter. I don’t need to jog.

Why that day? 

Why that morning? 

I don’t know.

Boy8 was so super keen to go with me, he just made it easier.

Oy smeg face Boy8!

I’m going for a jog before work, if want to come, be ready when I am

<Looks stunned at me>

'Dad, it’s 6:30 am'

Yes I am aware what the clock says

'But you’re awake and making sense, and not shouting'

<Grumbles off>

Amazingly Boy8 was ready when I was and after reluctantly letting the cat in, we went out into the cold morning, a light rain falling, and started to jog.

I'm sorry legs, I know this must be hard to read. 

I just feel that if I can explain myself you’ll understand what happened better and be able to forgive me sooner.

We stretched before we left. Well I did. I was careful. I didn't want anyone to get hurt, especially me. We were only gone ten minutes. We just jogged, and talked.

Boy8 found the morning world fascinating to see. He loved seeing all the street lights lit, the dew still soaking the world. And I loved just chatting to him like two mates as we jogged around the park. We bonded.

I should have noticed then. I should have seen that when we got back he wasn't even slightly out of breath. He was still full of energy. That was my clue, and like the smuck I am, I missed it.

If we had left it there, no one would have been hurt. Me and Boy8 would have a nice memory of that day when I went mad and we jogged and everyone would have carried on, as though nothing had happened.

You legs, didn't even mention that first time. You were amazing. Not a single complaint. No gripes, no twinges, you took it in your stride (!) and never said a word.

<Sobs>

If only you’d had said something...

We jogged again the next day. Yes I know you know, I am just trying to explain. 

I felt great, Boy8 was happy too. 
We chatted and talked about life. My blood was pumping and I was bonding with Boy8 through excise. It felt good. It felt right.

I don't regret going out again that next day. I don't think Boy8 has ever got dressed that quick in his whole life. He was excited just to go out for a jog with me.

It was as we got close to home... the badness happened.

<Pulls self back together>

We were nearly home. 

I could see our house and all we had to do was gently walk home and everything would have been fine. But no. That isn't what I did, is it?

<Looks to heavens>

I raced him.

It was my idea. ‘Race you back to the house pants breath’ I said as I sped off.

How did I forget I'm 30-Lots and it was 6:30 am. 

That’s not my best time of day at all. Or best age.

I raced off confident in my victory. 

But then Boy8 did something that surprised me. I wasn't expecting it. He caught me up.

As I glanced to my side and saw Boy8 easily matching my strides I thought no.

NO bloody way!

Not yet. I am not ready for Boy8 to beat me in a race yet. No!

Not yet.

And that’s when the damage was done. 

<Whimpers>

I asked too much of you, legs. 

I knew you had more to give. I pushed and pushed. Made you give every single ounce of energy we had. You responded like a stallion and pulled on every muscle and sinew you had. I don’t think we have moved that fast in a long time. We ran as though our very pride was on the line.

<Fans tears from eyes>

And still we lost. Boy8 won. 

<Hangs head>

I thought he would be older when this happened. Me too.

Boy8 overtook me without really trying. He was even smiling as he did it.

(I am fine with being the very competitive additional winner...)

Boy8 celebrated and even did a little victory dance.

Well actually a long and excessive victory dance to be honest. It was tempting to deck him. But I didn't, people were watching it felt wrong.

Instead I patted his shoulder and wheezed ‘well done’, before limping home.

I know you are cross and are hurting, legs. 

I can feel it in my every movement today. I sound like a dramatic pirate every time I sit down at work.

Arrrrrrr

Oooooo

Eeeeeeeee

Arrrrrggggghhhh

<Trips over own sword>

(That’s gonna leave a mark...)

Maybe, though legs, you could lighten up a little on me. 

You were there too. You joined in.
So lets just forget about all that lactic acid, muscle pain, and just move on with our lives.

Next time we'll prepare better, we'll practice. 

Eight year old's have little stamina and find running up hill exhausting. Their legs aren't strong enough yet. Next race? 
Up hill, jumping tyres, with a back pack full of balloons, and at least a 1/10 mile.
#GonnaWin

With kindest regards,

Body Overlord, Dictator for life, Grand Decision maker,

Brainzilla X

Height IS The Answer...

I wasn't very tall as a child….

… hang on that’s seems pretty obvious, children aren't normally tall. Let me rephrase that...

I wasn't very tall as a child, compared to my peers, under normal atmospheric conditions, in a prevailing wind of 10 grannie knots, whilst holding a banana, facing Tuesday (that clears that up).

You could say gravity was against me. It still is the bastard.

<Shakes fist at gut>

However. Now I’m old I don't give a crap about height and enjoy making tallies crick their necks when we talk, AHA HAAAA HAAAA HAAAA.

Me and gravity have made our peace and I'm not old enough and not mature enough to know that being tall is isn't as brilliant as it once seemed.

Still, young me, wished over and over that to be taller. Life just seemed better and brighter, with more ladies, from up high.

(Of course not everyone obeys the laws of gravity...)

I imagine having elder siblings pretty much hard wires into your brain that being taller is better. Of course some siblings are lucky enough to be bigger, in height, than an elder sibling without any modifications. But I hear that's a very rare, bit needy, clear sign of twonkitus, and frankly is really rather gauche. Bad form and all that.

Boy8 is the tallest child in the house.

Which means he has been gifted a form of torture only available to those of advanced height and age.

Do you want this sweet? 

<Holds sweet above Boy8's head>

'Yes!' <Jumps but misses>

Do you? <Keeps raising sweet out of reach>

'YESSSSS' <Is leaping like a salmon to get sweet>

Why don't you take it then? <Cackles>

<Boy8 stops jumping and solves the problem in another way>

OWWWWW! No kicking!

<Boy8 walks off eating sweet>

But Boy8 doesn't use his height given skills at torture on Miss4 very often for two clear reasons:

a) She's kicky Miss4 has pointy little feet and is best not to anger her

b) Boy8 isn't that mean

Which is a blessing. (Not the pointy little feet bit).

Miss4 is neither tall or small. She's 4. Her height classification is in the post and should arrive just about the time she starts her second or third year at school.

I call her my little lady, as she's the littlest lady in the house. Mrs. Amazing lost that role some years back, 3 or 5 years ago, I can't remember when exactly...

But recently Miss4 has decided she doesn't like being called little lady.

I am currently having to stop myself from saying it. Or at least apologise when I forget.

I mean it as a sign of affection. The same way I would say Boy8 is my little man.

But I appreciate and sympathise with Miss4's anti-height-label stance, and shall adjust accordingly. I'll call her Snotface.

BabyBoy1 cares the most about height.

It affects him the most. As he has the least of it.

Team Parents (yay!) use his height, well lack of it, to keep him safe.

Everything sharp, pointy, stabby, electrocuteingly, slashy, zappy or is as sticky as tar is kept up high.

All the machines that can burn or scald, all the killer bath products, puke inducing foods, scissors, plastic bags, glues, wherever possible, live up high.

And by high, I mean at adult waist height.

Stored at BabyBoy1's height is dry pasta, plastic cups, cabbage, his toys, the cat, blankets and pots and pans. All stuff we don't mind him getting to, or throwing about.

You can see why he wants to be bigger.

BabyBoy1 wants so much to be doing what his elder siblings are doing.

He stands next to them, eager as pie, ready to join in. Even if he can't reach or do what's going on. He's there ready and watching. It is utterly cute and adorable to watch.

He never misses a chance for some teeth brushing. Sheer elation on his face, stood on his stool, because he knows he is doing what his elder siblings are doing.

His joy from inclusion is brilliant and either a warning or a heart warming story to us all. I'm not sure which...

BabyBoy1 is also no fool, and uses Team Parents (yay!) to access some higher up things.

I offer a very good, and easily flagged it seems, lifting service. Mrs. Amazing does as well, but is less of a mug.

However BabyBoy1 has recently learnt a few new tricks and the entire safety of the universe house is now in doubt. BabyBoy1 has learnt to climb and then stand on an adult chair.

Initially BabyBoy1 needed a chair brought over for him...

'Uh uh uh uh uh' (* 'Old man get the chair, I wanna see what you're doing' )

Sorry BabyBoy1, no way, I am eating making fudge up here, too dangerous for you

'Wahhhhhh' <Lies face down on floor>

<Ignores third child's attempt at emotional blackmail, as is seasoned old pro>

Bowwww <Burns tongue on fudge>

'Wahhhh..hhh...h.. whatever' <Crying trails off as it's not working>

<BabyBoy1 grabs my leg and holds on>

What are you doing? You're gonna trip me?

<Holds on despite leg being lifted into the air>

Fine

<Picks up boy and carries on one handed>

Happy now?

<Nods>

BabyBoy1 climbing a chair is a bit like watching a turtle trying to right themselves, it's a long and slow process, and you constantly worry they are going to slip and smack their face on the floor, oh and for the love of chocolate would they please drop the toy truck as they climb, I mean why? USE BOTH HANDS!!!

It's hard to watch.

(You utter, utter, bastards...)

But he is undeterred. BabyBoy1 wants so much to be at table height with us, he struggles, totters, strains, with his hard to control limbs until finally he is stood on the chair.

And boy is it worth it for him.

All of a sudden can see and reach sharp things, shiny things, food <Nom nom nom>, LEGO! FRICKING PROPER LEGO!!! <Nom nom nom, choke>, glue, mobile phones, jigsaws, the car, wine glasses, matter transporters, gold bullion, knives, toasters...  It's basically BabyBoy1 Eldorado.

And all of it shiney and cries out to him to play with.

It's easy to see why BabyBoy1 would put so much effort into climbing a chair when the rewards are so rich and dangerous.

(Climbs for the company, but stays for the yoghurt...)

But BabyBoy1's reliance on someone else bringing him a chair really limited his options.

So BabyBoy1 just learnt to bring drag his own chair to the table 'party', as it were.

It takes quite a while as he's still very little. There's a lot of effort and straining, and sometimes stuff is in his way so he has to go the really long way round, to get where he wanted.

But BabyBoy1 works hard at what he wants and gets there in the end.

#proud

<Scraping noise of chair from kitchen>

What's that noise?

<Boy8 and Miss4 shrug>

Which one of you, isn’t here?

<Boy8 and Miss4 shrug>

... er.... the little one… points a lot... padded butt

'BabyBoy1?'

Yes that’s him! BabyBoy1…

<More scraping noises from kitchen>

Boy8 go see what BabyBoy1 is doing will you?

'OH GOD WHY ME, I DO EVERYTHING IN THIS HOUSE Sure Dad'

<Waits a few minutes>

<Sees Boy8 outside riding about on his bike, my request utterly forgotten>

Damn it! If you want a job done properly... <Mutters>

<Scraping noise continues>

Miss4 go see what BabyBoy1 is doing will you?

'NO! OK Dad'

<Waits>

<Scraping noise from kitchen stops>

<Miss4 comes back>

So… what is BabyBoy1 doing?

'He's in your cupboard'

Which one? The munitions?

'Nope'

Knife, sword, flaming apparatus, and axe cupboard?

'Nope'

<Tenses> Not my collectables cupboard?

'Nope Lando is fine'

'You're favourite cupboard'

Which one? <Is confused>

'You know... choc choc...'

NOO-<Moves faster than sound>-OOOOOOOO!!!

<Finds, round tummied, chocolate covered, BabyBoy1 eating chocolate as fast as he can>

<Joins in>

Car Attack...

I have a cold. Well had.

I have the sniffles, it's not the same. And no it's not man-flu either. It's just a cold.

Which will pass with rest and warmth and whiskey. 

But whilst it hangs about, it will make me more grumpy, more snotty and extra tired.

Bonza.

But the worst part of it all, the absolute bum in the ointment, is that I am poorly just in time for the weekend. Why can't I be ill during work time? Monday is ill day. Monday...

<Shakes fist at sky>

<Bird poo falls on head>

Friday evening I got back from work feeling ropey. Threw a child or two into bed, ate something spicy and good (lovely noodle soup, thanks Mrs. Amazing), and did as many house jobs as I could before I headed to bed with snot pouring out of me. My head decidedly banging and my brain in power save mode.

'Do you want a cuppa'?

Urgh

'Was that a yes?'

Urgh

'Hmmm this isn't working...'

'How about, you hit yourself in the face for yes, chest for no...'

<Indicates yes>

OWWWWW!!!

'That looked painful, are you OK?'

Urgh

'Hmmm...'

I was even refusing some cups of tea. The madness.

(I'll just have a half cup then…)

Mrs. Amazing let me sleep all night. Children may have come and gone through out the night, I do not know. I was left to sleep.
However I bet they did come in during the night as both Boy8 and Miss4 are knackered.

And like all children exhausted children they are refusing to sleep through the night, go to bed early, or lay in even a little bit. The swines Bless 'em.

Children can be right idiots constantly sometimes.

Go to sleep, you're very tired

'NO!!!'

'I AM NOT <Yawns> Tiree... <Yawns> tir...'

<More yawns>

<Has to lean against wall as so tired>

'I AM NOT TIRED'
<Picks up sleeping child and places them into bed>

BabyBoy1 however cares not about anyone being tired or ill. 

BabyBoy1 operates purely on a need basis. I need food, feed me. I need sleep, Zzz. It's morning, someone play with me. etc... It's all me, me, with him. Wise lad.

Annoyingly though at 6:00 am on Saturday morning, BabyBoy1 woke up.

Normally he just sings to himself in his room and is very happy until we drag ourselves out of bed. But not so this morning. This morning BabyBoy1 awoke cross and unhappy and wanted to share his message with the world at top volume.

'AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH' (* 'I would like someone to share my woes with')

'He's gonna wake up the ratbags others'

<One eye lid flickers, once, in recognition>

'I'll get him shall I?'

Please do

Bring back tea

The crying stops and I am about to resume my cold infested sleep. When Mrs. Amazing bundles a very cute, but wide awake, BabyBoy1 into our bed. Brilliant! Both Mum and Dad in the big bed! Yayyyyyy!

BabyBoy1 bundles on top of Mrs. Amazing and tries to lay on her face. It's hard not to laugh. We try not to laugh too much. But BabyBoy1 is so happy to be awake, and alive, and full of life.

It's hard not to smile.

Team Parents (yay!) are not so full of life.

One half of Team Parents has so much snot and gunk in his nose and throat he cannot talk and his eyes seem to be lined with lead. Gestures at this time of the morning are my own means of communication. But even I manage a smile at the happy little boy bouncing about on the bed.

Mrs. Amazing is very tired too, and tries to go back to sleep, but is finding BabyBoy1's hugs, face licks, and bundles hard to ignore. Plus she keeps giggling.

I am just drifting off again when it's my turn to be bundled by BabyBoy1.

He lies on my face, a move I am sure the cat taught him. I pick him up and he giggles.

How can anyone be this cute? at 6 am? Almost everyone else is bloody annoying. He's magic!

Meanwhile the snot and gunk in my throat is really making breathing hard and my body does what it needs to. I cough and splutter and clear the channels. I feels loads better. But it has woken me, utterly, up. Damn.

(Toned down and nice-d up...)

I could try to go back to sleep. But it seems pointless and Miss4 and Boy8 are due in in (!) thirty minutes. They are nothing if not punctual in their early waking of us.

So like a man diving on a grenade (literally), a captain going down on his ship, a chocolate cow knocking at my front door, I grab the happy and wide awake BabyBoy1 and head downstairs. Leaving the delighted Mrs. Amazing in bed asleep.

I do this because I love her, because I want to show her how much she means to me, because I want to show her much her well being and mental state is important to me. Yeah I know. Sweet.

And because it's Mrs. Amazing's day for a lie in anyway.

Me and BabyBoy1 have to pass Miss4's and Boy8's room on the way. We need to be utterly silent.It takes nothing to wake them.

Ninja mode engaged. 
I have become one with the corridor and it's squeaks and creaks. No one would, could, or will hear me move. I navigate the corridor of noise and surprise without a single noise. Ah yeah!

But, as I said before BabyBoy1 doesn't give a crap about anyone else sleeping and starts singing to himself. Loudly

He utterly ruins my ninja groove and shushing him doesn't work either. He just tries to eat my finger.

Still we manage to make it downstairs without either of the children grumps waking up.

After a long, heated, discussion me and BabyBoy1 choose the box of cars to play with. I wanted to play trains. I make myself a cuppa to aid the morning pain and go to plonk myself down on the floor, ready to play. When BabyBoy1 gestures at the microwave...

'UhUhUhUhUh' (* Where's my milk? You forgot my milk? WTBiscuit?)

<Frowns at me>

'Uhhhh Uhhhhh' (* You have your tea, where the smeg is my milk?)

I explain that no milk shall pass his lips until 6:30 am. Normal wake up time. I am not about to adjust his tummy clock to go off thirty minutes early. That would be madness.

BabyBoy1 handles it well. He appears OK with the milk refusal and comes over to play cars.

He leans over the big car box and starts sifting through the cars. I am quite amazed about how picky and choosy he is being. Normally just grabs the first one and starts to play. It's as though he is looking for one particular car. The right size and shape, to match his requirements. Not that one, not that... he is head first in the box searching as fast as he can. Then finally finds what he wants.

A big, red, metal car and he looks right at me.

I don't understand what is going and am utterly intrigued...

Dude! Why's that car so special?

Is it the fastest?

Is it the strongest?

Is it the reddest?

BabyBoy1 why that car?

(Car on the right: small and plastic doesn't hurt… Car on the left metal, painful and cooler)

Happy he has my full attention. BabyBoy1 throws the car right at me and it hits me in the face. 

I am still half asleep, with cold, and wasn't expecting a car attack from one so young.

Owwww! What was that for? 

I'm telling Mrs. Amazing

But before I can work out what made BabyBoy1 feel he needed to pick a car, and then luzz it at me. I am distracted by Miss4 entering the kitchen.

She managed to stay in bed a whole five minutes extra thanks to BabyBoy1's non-ninja skills. Boy8 is right behind her. Oh bravo my tiny ninja of noise.

Ah well.

We all play and have lots of fun with the cars and I manage to shove breakfast into all three of them before Mrs. Amazing awakes from her slumber.

It isn't until later, when I have a moment to think about it, that I realise why BabyBoy1 threw that car at me. It's quite obvious really, if I put myself in his tiny shoes. 

I am not at my smiliest first thing in the morning, and if someone (a brave, but foolhardy soul) told me I had to wait for my cup of tea… ooooo can you imagine the mess? Salt water everywhere.

No wonder I got car-ed, I made BabyBoy1 wait for his milk.
I'm lucky I walked away...
#SecretlyProud