Caring and sharing

On Labour Day afternoon after another nocturnal phase with my older son, we are determined to wear them all out in the pool. It is immediately apparent that the water is one degree cooler than on the previous day. My youngest son, in his wet suit, shrieks as his toe touches. Only 18 lengths to go. I do not know how many breaths the average person takes per minute. I do know that every breath equates to one 50 decibel shriek of agony interspersed with cries of “I gonna freeze into an iceberg.” Despite the protests he persists and doesn’t escape from his watery end, but continues to persevere and decrease his average length time. I’m sure that all of our neighbours also enjoyed the experience of his progress as they certainly couldn’t fail to hear the running commentary.

Afterwards he is calmer, spent and in a much more malleable frame of mind, which is just as well as we thrash our way through the evening meal:-

“All I’m saying is that perhaps, just this once, you could share your chocolate pudding with your brother and sister?”
“I would raver die!”
“Come along now, it’s not really fair that you get two desserts every night is it?”
“It is justice for the poison one.”
“Well if it Queen’s Pudding scored a 3 then it’s not really in the same category as poison, is it? Could you give it a try, just this once? I just didn’t have time to make dessert tonight.”
“O.k. but only a very teeny tiny one, not dah whole darned puddin.”
“Ah thank you dear, that’s so sweet of you…..so mature.”
“Dis is dee manifestation of adultishness.”
“For you…..that is most probably quite right.”

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