On Saturday, Felix pulled our hall table down on himself. Our really heavy, wooden, hall table. One minute I was vacuuming with him by my side, the next minute he was on the floor screaming, pinned underneath, with a mess all around him. It frightened me so. much. It frightened him so much. But I still think it rattled me more. And as is often the case when one of the boys hurt themselves, my reaction of panic startles them and they go straight for their daddy. Which upsets me even further I think. But he is big and strong and calm and when I think way back to when I was little, I always turned to my Dad to make everything better too. So I regathered my composure and checked him all over and cuddled him and tried to stop the involuntary shaking in my legs. He was absolutely fine. In a million years, I would not have believed he could pull a table that tall and solid down. But then Felix is consistently showing me that in fact he can do anything he sets his mind to.
On Sunday morning, the weather was drizzly and bleak. Both Scott and I were bleary eyed from Saturday night and to pull the doona over our heads and snooze for a good twelve hours, would have been perfect. Instead, we answered the calls of our energetic duo and hit the park. Some kicking, frisbee throwing, tip you're it! and hide 'n' seek. Just the ticket for clearing the cobwebs.