Crash Bang Wallop

You ever get one of those headaches where the slightest movement of your head makes it seem it's about to explode? I blame pixies - evil little faye folk with nasty little pick axes whittling away on my brain.

Or does that make me sound too much like a superstitious welsh village boy? (there be beasties in them there hills)

OK, let's try again. For the last few days a heavy metal rock band has taken up residence in my head, and brought a refrigeration unit with them (aka fever and chills). At least today I can move my head (slowly) without it threatening to split apart. So that's good, right?

I hope I recover quickly because I'm supposed to run a 10k leg on our Silicon marathon relay team on Sunday. We've won the Governor's cup for the last 2 years and are hoping to make it 3 in a row. It's one thing when you pull out of a solo race (or run it easy), but it's a whole different ball of wax when there are 4 other guys on your team depending on you.

So give it a rest pixies!!!

Gavin and I have been continuing our daily mile runs (at least until the pixie onslaught) and I've found myself really looking forward to them. It's the first thing we do after we get home from school, and it's a great way for us to decompress and talk about the day. I find he's much more likely to open up and talk to me while we're running together than he is when we're at home.

So Wednesday evening I went to pick Gavin up from school to find his teacher white and shaking, and Gavin with an ice pack on his head. She told me that he'd come sprinting down the corridor, slipped on the wet floor and crashed head first into the water fountain. She said that in all the years she'd been teaching she'd never seen anybody hit their head that hard and was convinced he'd knocked himself out, or at the very least sustained a concussion.

But no, he got back to his feet and shook himself off. He loosened a few teeth (again), had a fat lip and a bruise on his head, but apart from being a little shaken up seemed fine. I asked him if he wanted to go home and lie down or go to gymnastics class, and he was adamant - gymnastics class.

I kept a close eye on him, but he was fine. I thanked his teacher the next day for looking after him and she kept shaking her head and saying she couldn't believe he bounced straight back up like he did.

"But that's why he's the Gavinator" she said.

I just shrugged my shoulders - it's not the first and it certainly won't be the last. Mother nature seems to have dealt him the same cards as me - clumsy as all get out, but with a hard head to compensate.