When it Rains, it Pours

When things go wrong, boy do they ever. Following on from my father-in-law's stroke last week and the flat tire on the Yukon in the middle of nowhere, we got a call from a cousin Monday night to say the air conditioner at my father-in-law's house had died. Nancy drove back to the hospital in Brownwood on Tuesday morning and yesterday she found nails in both front tires on the car which resulted in another two new tires.

For many years I have jokingly referred to Brownwood as "Mordor". Nancy said she's beginning to feel the same.

But hey, things have got to get better from here, right?

I'm now into my second week of being a "single parent", and my hat is off to single parents everywhere because it's not an easy job. Gavin has been brilliant though - he helps me corral his brother, we've had some long chats and we've been enjoying our time together. Father and son time is very important, and he's great company.

Dylan is a wonderful mess - a curious toddler who is busy exploring the world, pulling the house to shreds, hammering on the tv/windows/blinds/cabinet doors/anything else not nailed down and running away giggling when his dad catches him.

I may never have a tidy house again!!!

Running (other than after Dylan) has stopped completely since last Saturday - I'm hoping to get something in early Saturday (and maybe Sunday) morning, but I'm resigned to the fact that I may be struggling to keep up with my friends for a while.

But only for a while.

Tuesday night Gavin wanted ice cream after we got Dylan to bed, and I told him he could have some as long as he either did a weights workout with me or became my trainer while I worked out. He chose to be my trainer, loved it, and was surprisingly good - I've taught him well :-).

As well as providing encouragement he'd circle me and monitor my form, making comments like "daddy, your butt's up in the air. Get it down or we'll start over" (while doing plank) and "keep those elbows in" (while doing bicep curls). He'd put his hand on the floor behind my shoulders while doing crunches to ensure I didn't take them all the way down to the mat. If my shoulders brushed his hand I'd get a swat across the head and he'd restart the count from the beginning. If I got tired or tried to slack off, he'd get up close to my ear, yell at me, dish out punishment like a drill sergeant and we'd start all over again.

He got his ice cream, which was a great price to pay for a kick ass personal trainer.

My boy takes no prisoners - Jillian Michaels has nothing on him!!!


Nancy is coming home tonight for a few days. I think we're all looking forward to seeing mummy.