Swings and roundabouts

Last Friday the boys and I spend the night yanking pizza wedges apart and silently inhaling them like all young men do.

We progress through the evening with some wrestling and tickling on the rug and blocking the TV so no one else can watch it.  At one stage both boys have me pinned down.  With a small foot in my mouth and two tightly clasped hands around my neck, they are supremely happy with their capture.  They think they are the Ninja Turtles and they have the grimacing teeth and crumpled nose look down pat.

Saturday morning is always a heart starter, the door of the study opens quietly and just before I get one eye open (it’s still before the sun has risen) I’m jumped upon and attacked in bed.

As they nestle beside me (all three heads on one pillow), their legs are stretching out and kicking anything in their way. I’m awake!

No time for a gentle cup of tea, I dress and coerce my angry cockatoo hair down with some water and get into the car and drive them to swimming lessons.  The boys don’t want their swimming caps on (because it hurts when it comes off) so it’s a screaming match and wrestle again before jumping into the pool with all the other kids.

I look over to my baby man and he has his cap pulling his eye down on one side and his ear sticking out on the other. He looks at me and smiles, his little face all distorted but the sunshine coming from him is blindingly sweet.

I sit on the sidelines chatting to the family’s next-door neighbour who has his kids in the pool while I clap, mime and thumbs up the boys as they swan around the water.

Out of the pool, my eldest is dressed for Little Athletics and is so so cute in his little white shorty shorts, blue tank top and runners -” OMG, he’s all grown up..!  Rain thankfully cancels this part of the morning, so we go home, pack up some gear and take off to Daddy’s house.

On the way back to my place my eldest asks to hear Mamma Mia for the tenth time in a row, followed by the -˜pink’ McDonna (his name for Madonna, which is probably about right given the extent of her -˜corporation’ vs the soggy burger chain).

Nearly at home I spot an overly large drag queen in a small group of onlookers. I ask the boys if they can see a man in a dress and they say -˜no, I can only see a lady, Daddy’.  Such innocence and yes, perhaps she was well put together, I’ll concede this time.

We go up to the little park in our area and play on the swings.  I push my eldest hard on the swing, making him belly laugh and he comes out with the sweetest comment yet. I wish you were little with me, Daddy. I’d push you on the swing like this so you know how it feels.

I consider for a moment what my son just said to me and was so touched by his gentle little soul just wanting to play with his dad.

Sunday I take them to the Art Gallery of NSW, telling them it’s a castle in the forest with special paintings in it.  Both boys love the paintings, my eldest the classics, and my youngest the brightly-coloured contemporaries, but both love giggling at the marble statues where they can see a -˜willy’.

Typical boys-¦