My little girl has been doing her dying swan act, as she was cold, and shivering with a tummy ache. When I phoned my lovely wife to ask how she was Friday lunchtime, my wife proudly announced that my little girl was going for a wee and she wanted a sample. I did wait a few seconds, before announcing “Whatever floats your boat, princess!” I put my latte down as I strangely could not face it anymore. As I walked through the door when I got home that evening the phone was going and when I answered I heard a voice announce my daughters name. I was a little worried the PPI salesman were after her, or cold callers were now trying my daughter. They usually ring us and say that they can offer compensation for my ‘accident’. Now unless you can foretell the future, the only mistake was me answering the phone. The doctors gave the all clear and my little girl went to bed with the pink magic medicine that all parents know cures everything!
I was right. My little girl woke up right as rain after the pink medicine the next day and spent the next few hours squabbling with her brother, whilst my wife made herself look beautiful. After a few hours I said in a big voice that unless mummy came downstairs and joined me in stopping the kids from killing each other in the next five minutes we were all coming upstairs! My wife then shouted back “I have done this for two weeks on my own whilst you’ve been at work!” Ok, my wife won that battle and I slumped back on the sofa whilst my son said his sister had beaten him followed by his sister then claiming that “…he hit me”. My lovely mother- in- law phoned at that very moment and asked whether we would like to go to the beach for a walk. I moved so fast there were sparks spraying from my feet. I should have been wearing running shoes to make me move faster. I had the house cleared, coats in the car, wellies (as it was a wet day,) and everyone in the car in record time.
We fired up my wife’s car which has around 800 watts of power, trouble is around 750 of them were in the radio, but it did not matter, we were out. I spent the next hour in the passenger seat feeding the ‘lions’, with the only noise announcing that the food had run out. I figured the faster I threw food at the ‘lions’ in the back seat, the less they could squabble. It was only when I looked in the back of the car and saw the scene of pure devastation I realised how bad things were. I reckon I could have made a three course lunch from the left overs on the carpet, and my son gave the impression he had been in a chocolate factory when it exploded!
We arrived and put on wellies when my little girl announced she was dying again of a stomach ache, but in no way was Daddy to blame for the amount of food he had given her. Please could we put that on the record, remember I was not to blame. When we arrived at the beach my little girl could not face the walk and stayed in the car with Mummy. My wife handed me a rucksack that was so comfortable I had forgotten about it, and failed to enquire why I was carrying it. I only knew that if our mobile ‘lion’ for a son was going with Daddy, I had to wear it. These days I just nod in defeat and never question why, so on went the rucksack, and my son took off down the beach at around 90 miles an hour. As I ran to catch up we saw the car park turn to a tiny dot, and walked for ages.
Now let me set the scene, it was now very warm, and I was wearing most of my wardrobe for warmth. The sea was lightly caressing the beach, with the faint laughter of other people when my son suddenly shouted “Poo, Daddy, I need a poo!” What?! Can you hang on son? “It’s coming Daddy”. I grabbed his hand and started to run then he announced he was too tired to run, so I picked him up and ran like the clappers. Now let’s go through some stats at this point. I last ran at school and my PE teacher said, and I quote, “My Granny runs faster!” So here I was, forty one years old and running with around 16 bags of sugar and a ruck sack for ten minutes wearing most of my wardrobe and wellies sinking into the thick sand with every stride. As I got to the car I was breathing like an asthmatic, almost on all fours, and looked like a beetroot. It was only when I paused for breath he announced “It’s ok Daddy, I don’t need a poo.” WHAT!? You have to be kidding me, my world had just crashed around my knees. Please tell me you’re joking son!!
My wife turned up with my dying little girl, and I announced “We’re leaving, get the kids in the car.” My son must have seen my defeated face as he did not even put up a fight, just sat in his seat, whilst my little girl crawled like a crab into the car. It was only then that my mother- in- law turned up and announced “Who would like an ice cream?” You have never seen two children unbelt their car seats so quickly and get out! Why can they not do that all the time?! Even my little girl had made an amazing recovery. It begs the question why do we have a health service and hospitals, when all they need is the miracle pink children’s medicine, and for the truly chronically ill, ice creams. That day my little girl made the most amazing recovery thanks to chocolate ice cream! So for those of you who believe they are on death’s door do not panic, my mother- in- law has cracked over a millions years of searching for a cure to every disease know to man, and who would have thought it was chocolate ice cream!