Beau was happily chatting to me while sitting on the toilet. I took the opportunity to talk about why I only take him to Little Athletics once a fortnight. His best friend had curiously asked his own mother and I thought it timely to talk him through it.
He looked at me, at first disregarding what I was saying, then as I kept refocusing the conversation on to why and that it didn’t take away from the fact I love him very much, he quietly nodded and told me he loved me too. I consoled myself by knowing he has quite a mature little head on his shoulders and he truly understood.
That weekend I took the boys down to the oval. Beau and his best mate in matching hats mimicked and followed each other around constantly. Beau sprinted off in a race and waved a gregarious hello to Chicky and me on the sidelines.  I secretly cheered when two other kids fell over and Beau came second place.
My job with two other dads was to take 18 under-six boys to the bathroom at break. It was like herding cats. I couldn’t stop laughing at chasing kids off fences and into the loos, while Beau’s best mate’s dad reminded the boys to “lean forward” so they didn’t get themselves wet.
Chippie’s house was the official recovery party for Little Athletics. Every sweaty kid and parent tired from the three-hour ordeal in the sun sat, nugget in hand, pulling kids off fighting brothers and sisters and the screaming kids in Ronald’s playground.
We flew off to my house and nestled in for the night with Clone Wars to watch. The men love Yoda and have begun speaking in his tongue. “Come with me you must” sounds so cute from someone the same height as the Jedi master.
We had a christening to go to on Sunday, so after a mid-morning bath to wash the boys’ hair, I warned them about running around or screaming in the church. I had packed them apples and two chewy lollies to keep them occupied.
I picked them up and helped them see the little girl get dunked into the holy water. The boys gasped silently at the sight.  Beau said out loud, “Dad, I think he just said Clone Wars,” as the Orthodox priest continued his service. I concurred that it was completely possible the priest had indeed said that.
I hardly saw the boys at the reception as they were on the kids’ table — something they’ve never done before.  They loved the freedom — I was slightly more anxious.
At one stage, junior appeared at the table, his face completely covered in sticky lolly remains. “Daddy, my eyes are sticky,” he said, massive blue eyes drooping. I laughed as I dislodged the lolly from his face. “Go to the washrooms we must.”

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