Twin boy is becoming a young man in front of me, his hands reside somewhere near his manhood at all times and he is brewing a dislike of all things girlie.
His love affair with the great British sport of football is fully underway and I despair daily when I have to put away the shredded remains of the wrappers of his Euro 12 stickers. I have one grown man firmly stapled to the sofa whilst bigger men run around on the TV chasing a ball and one smaller man seizing every opportunity to take his little foot and welly a ball against my garage door.
Saturday mornings are a relief, the football mad boys leave the house for twin boys weekly match and us girls get down to some serious lady time; this weekend involved breakfast in bed and a Barbie kidnapping by evil Buzz Lightyear.
The minutes passed by and suddenly they were home again, a flustered, red faced six year old boy and his proud beaming Daddy.
‘I scored!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’ cried my son bounding into the room with glee.
‘They lost’ whispered he who helped create them but continued to smile.
Curious I grabbed his arm and we went into the kitchen to talk away from little ears.
‘He missed a goal,’ said he who helped create them, ‘he literally did an outstanding tackle, charged down the pitch, belted it in and it went wide of the post.’
‘But he said he scored?’ I questioned, confused.
‘He did,’ grinned he who helped create them, ‘two minutes later Fred was aiming at the goal, he kicked the ball, Twin Boy ran in front of it and the ball smacked him on the chest and went flying into the goal.’
He who helped create them paused momentarily.
‘Then he came running over to me and said “I scored Daddy; I scored with my heart”’
That’s my boy!
Always shoot from the heart; it can never fail to go in…..