Message In A Broken Bottle

My day is nearly over and I am feeling reflective. I am sitting in the bathroom waiting on my two boys to fall asleep and the day is racing through my brain. I sit in the bathroom because I’m too lazy to walk up and down the stairs. I usually practice french plaits in the mirror or recheck facebook for the millionth time that day. I might try and sneak down the stairs like a ninja or persevere depending on the mood I’m in. I was the epitome of stealth tonight.

We normally have a Fat Food Friday. (if you know me you know that it’s not just one day) (if you don’t know me… yes i stick to a strict one fatty food meal a week rule! don’t you?) Today was the turn of the local chip shop.

This moralistic tale requires a little back story. My eldest ‘The Sun’ is a lazy lump. At five years of age he would still jump into the buggy no bother at all to him. Arms and legs hanging out over the edge like a baby giraffe. So i’m trying to encourage him to walk, run, move even breathe with a bit more gumption. He has a bike… he hates it… he has a scooter… he hates it. Sometimes he can’t even walk up the stairs. His legs are literally broken and I might need to bring him to the doctor.

As you can imagine as a result of this I regularly try to encourage aforementioned activities with little success. Everything is just too much effort for him all the time.

Tonight the scooter got hauled from behind a curtain of gathering dust and cobwebs and was being tested out around the house. I was thrilled. Full of wonderful words of encouragement and praise. And exaggerated descriptions of his speed and courage. All of a sudden it was dinner time and I asked him to come to the chip shop with me. He agreed immediately. Then came the bombshell.

‘Can I go on my scooter?’

”Whaaaaaat?, you most certainly can not the chips would be cold and i’m not carrying home that scooter when you decide that your legs are too tired and i have to get milk and bread and i’m not having you run into peoples ankles and having to say sorry to strangers on your behalf and the handle is down too far you have grown since you last never used it and that’s not good for your spine and anyway we are driving.”

We hastily made it to the car amid a flurry of protests and as I drove my son said to me calmly.

‘Mam why are we driving when you always tell me you want to get healthy?’

I was stunned and how right he was. He also mentioned that I was always complaining that my belly was getting bigger and that it will get bigger now that I didn’t walk. Note to self: stop talking about my wee belly in front of my children.

His statement made me pause at the junction, look around and say sorry to him that he was right that we should have walked. For months i’m encouraging him to be active. Today he suggested to me that he uses his scooter, the very scooter I have pleaded with him to use on more occasions than I can quantify. What do I do. Shoot him down like a rabid dog.  A rabid dog that only wanted to scoot to the chip shop.

I promised him that tomorrow we would go out on our bikes and scooters and have a great time. I’m really looking forward to it. I’ll make a little wager with you though. I’ll bet a tenner he won’t want to go!!! Lazy Lump.

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