A post from my boys

Having just spent the day, in fact two days, in fact the week, well, three weeks, the year, two years - oh let's be honest 10 years...cooking, running, driving, planning, helping, coping, eating, shouting, laughing, play dating, more cooking, more jobs, more planning, more everything and a tiny bit of stressing.....

I am now in front of my computer, having finished the last on the list of today's jobs before our relentless weekend of fun and 40ths and weddings and shipping the kids off and the mother in and the dog out.

My youngest is here with me, chatting away watching me buy the gift for the above-mentioned wedding.

After doing that I decided to look in on this blog, and show him what it is and a tiny weeny bit of what I write here.

He asked if he could do a tiny blog too.

So here it is, typed by me, his devoted secretary:

*we just had a small row about me typing it, and agreeing that he could type his name*

I want to write about my brother.  I get to play rugby with him.  That's mainly all I want to say.
Playing football with my brother makes me happy.

*Mummy just asked if I have a message to say to anyone who comes to read about us here*
 
I don't.
I really want to type my name now.

*Mummy says I have to do a little message and then I can type*

Wait a minute, my brother just came in.

*Mummy is asking him if he has a message having just been shown that this blog exists - for the record, Mummy may well regret showing them this...let's see*

*With some prompting we say*

Thank you for reading about us, sort of, it's a bit weird but

*this next bit is kind of written by me*

Mummy hopes that we trust her to not say too many embarrassing things.

*time to sign now - just had to tell them I don't use their full names, so they have plumped for initials*

LJSJ  JHAJ

*they want the dog's initials too*

BEJ

*preview shown, they aren't that excited, which is good*

Publish and  goodnight

#Thisismychild

Half a post for a brain not quite working but I love this Mumsnet campaign www.mumsnet.com/this-is-my-child and I want to stick my oar in.

#ThisIsMyChild as I sit I a hotel room 300 miles away pretending to be TV Sara, thumbing clumsily on my phone (phew, circa 30th August, finally done a tidy and edit)

Typical to a casual onlooker but as rare as an alpine flower under a microscope
Unrecognisably lucky and successful from the baby we had diagnosed
To his Daddy joyfully a boy with no need for a label and with all the promise of a typical life ahead
To his big brother an annoyance and yet not entirely like everyone else's sibling
To his extended family a joy and a relief from the worry of the earlier years

And to his Mummy all that he was, is, could be, might be in all its joy and pain and
fear and exhaustion and protection and need to hide and shout, to fight, to be patient, to dare to dream and to challenge all who stand in the way

This is my boy but this is my voice and I am sorry if it shines a light that you don't want
I will stop talking about you in a heartbeat if it hurts, but I can't stop talking about
how blessed, challenged, heart filled and heart broken I sometimes am as your mummy.

When a doctor can't see or hear me when I tell them what you need
When you squeeze and kiss the energy back into me
When you experiment with tears and emotions that I feared might not be in there
When you read and speak and run and jump in a way that we were cautioned you might not
You are my youngest boy

You are ours to protect

Forgive me if I do that too loudly sometimes