CRUEL AND UNUSUAL PUNISHMENT

Dear Mummy,

We're never quite sure what we've done to deserve the cruel and unusual punishment that you subject us to, around this time, every year.  Isn't Santa the judge and jury over naughty and nice?  Unfortunately this bizarre event has appeared to drift into some kind of sick ritual.  No doubt, a tradition to be feared in years to come and dreaded as December clicks over on the calendar.

You call this torture "Our Christmas Photo" shoot.

At first, your excitement is a little contagious, as you flaunt our newly purchased Christmas outfits and entice us into them, promising endless amounts of fun and frolics. Don't get us wrong, we love this season, with the mysterious fat jolly man in the red suit and the fact that you decorate our house to a point where it looks like Christmas simply threw up in our lounge room.  This, however, obviously isn't enough, as you forge ahead and enhance the scene of the crime by preparing additional props and set decorations to create a suitable 'Christmas' atmosphere.

Mummy, we both suspect that you have deluded visions of candy canes, mistletoe and cheeky magical elves dancing a jig in your head when you first start this charade. For some reason though you become increasingly irritable when we don't conform to your specific ideas and strike your predetermined poses.  Your frustration appears to grow proportionately with our increasing boredom.  Admittedly we do have 'bright and shiny' syndrome and become
easily distracted, but as you're fully aware that we only have a limited attention span, we fail to understand why you insist on taking multitudinous photos.


We believe your demands are a little unrealistic and think you should reconsider your requests for us 'both' to look in the general vicinity of the camera and for us 'both' to smile at the same time.  There's also no need for your gratuitous sighs when we become restless and start to strip the Christmas tree, wrestle each other, use Christmas props as weapons, cry for no reason or simply meander off in different directions.


By the time you've taken hundreds of happy' snaps, apparently "searching for gold" (?), we figure even you've realised it's become a bit of a nightmare as we hear you grumbling something about "not working with animals or kids".   We tried to remind you that this was going to be the inevitable outcome, just like previous years, by attempting to escape and run away.  However, you didn't appear to listen or conveniently forgot and blocked it out, as you continually insisted on preventing our 'runners' and dragged us back to the photo shoot.


Mummy, we may not have a democratic vote in this torturous tradition but for future reference, and for everyone's sake, please remember, if you haven't got the shot you want in the first five minutes, then you'll never get it!

Love Ollie and Linc xoxo

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO EVERYONE ... FROM OLLIE AND LINC XOXO

SUPERMAN: FAIL

Dear Mummy,

Initially, I thought it was a very ingenious and creative idea to clamber to the top of your headboard on your bed, to put my superman heroics to their test.

Urged on by Linc's chants and squeals of excitement, I thought my courageous attempt at reenacting superman's ability to fly, would be destined for greatness.  However, my kamikaze leap from the towering height did not result in the deafening applause and congratulations that I had envisioned.

Unfortunately, as you now know, my showmanship abruptly ended when my skull collided with the furiously rotating ceiling fan, which knocked me rudely out of the air.  You apparently only witnessed the grand finale as I bounced awkwardly off the bed, into the wooden blinds and sprawling into a mess on the carpet.


When you flew into the room, no doubt attracted by the sudden crashing noises, I saw your face crumble and watched you spring into action as the first signs of blood start to ooze through my finger tips.  No sooner than you reached me, the trickle of blood had turned into a gusher and my initial shock had graduated to become panicked screams.

Later, I heard you tell grandma and grandpa, family and friends that a mother shouldn't see that much blood.  I don't think a kid should either. I didn't even know that stuff lived in my head, which is probably why I freaked out so much ... Well that, and the searing pain in my noggin.

Mummy, as I don't want you to relive the entire sequence of those tragic events in gory detail, I just wanted to write this letter to say thanks and that I reckon you did really well under the circumstances.  You were like Fireman Sam to the rescue! On the bright side I got to go on my first adventure to the emergency room.
 
The doctors were really friendly when they came to 'fix my head'.  However, Mummy, I thought you exhibited some very odd and inappropriate behaviour at the hospital though. For example it was strange when you showed concern and winced as the nurse cleaned out my wound, when I only found the whole process funny and laughed because it was "tickling me". Yet when they were cutting my hair around it, you and the doctor were giggling when my locks started to fall to the ground and I suddenly became horrified and declared he was "hurting my hair".

Overall though, despite having to be glued back together, I quite enjoyed our impromptu hospital excursion, so I can't really comprehend why you said you never wanted to take me there again!?

Love Ollie xoxo

PS. Don't worry. I've learnt my lesson: Never attempt superman stunts again ... at least, not without my cape.

I'M A BOY. THAT'S MY JOB.

Dear Mummy,


I know you can't understand my compulsive attraction to dirt, but what can I say ... I'm a boy and that's my job.

I, on the other hand fail to comprehend your obsession with clean clothes and I'm a little concerned about the OCD behaviour you exhibit a when it comes to washing our hands and scrubbing our faces all the time. What's with that?

The moment that back door creaks open, I seize the opportunity to escape into the great outdoors.  Like a magnet, I'm compelled to seek out dirt, collect random rocks, flick sand madly out of the sandpit like it doesn't belong there and to create muddy puddles if none are already in existence.  I can't explain it.  It's just part of my primitive instincts I suppose and besides, it's awesome fun!



I love the challenge of smearing myself in layers of filth and dirt within seconds of you turning your attention elsewhere.  My favourite part is intently watching for your comical facial expressions when I taste my own mud pies and sample the various textures with my tongue.







Face it Mummy, just like Peppa Pig, I love jumping in muddy puddles and there's not much you can do about it.  You may wrongly assume that you could keep me, locked on the radar, under your controlling stares 24/7, but even you know you'd have to blink at some point.

As you say, boys will be boys.  Mummy, I think you should just sit back, accept it and enjoy the ride!

Love Linc xoxo

MUMMY, PLEASE DON'T GET BORED AND DIE

Dear Mummy,

Over the last couple of months, Linc and I often wondered why you would sneak away to crouch in an empty corner, only to rock back and forth, drool and mutter gibberish to yourself.  We've finally deciphered that you must have been mourning the death of your old computer... or perhaps it's Mother.

Initially, you eyed us suspiciously and rashly decided it had something to do with Linc and I cramming twenty cent pieces in the dvd drives as if we were expecting it to spit out freddo frogs.  Well, although we were disappointed that it didn't dispense any chocolate, we must admit that we're extremely grateful that no conclusive evidence was found, to suggest that this was the cause of the major issue.  We're certainly relieved the problems weren't able to be traced back to our coin deposits, our insistent OCD button pushing or to us, in any way. (Insert big sigh here - Phew!)

Although innocent, we didn't want to risk this status and ask what had happened to your beloved computer, however, one day we overheard you say it was because 'the mother got board and died'.

We just wanted to let you know that this scared us immensely, as we'd hate to see you end up in the wheelie bin too, especially as a result of severe boredom. So, Mummy, we've made an executive decision to ensure things around here do not become monotonous or stagnant.  Just when you think you have us adhering to a mundane and safe routine, we'll promise to veer off course, encounter endless speed bumps and throw everything out of whack.  We'll also strive to entertain you with our absurd behaviour, amusing, yet cryptic, anecdotes and quirky ways.  This, we endeavour to keep up around the clock, in public or at home, throughout the day and well into the night.  Linc and I concur that sacrificing our sleep time is worth gratifying you and keeping everything spontaneous.  You've also probably noticed that we've already begun to increase our random demands for drinks, bananas, biscuits and anything containing traces of sugar, and that we continue to insist on hurling our vegetables to the floor in disgust.  We do this to keep you active.

We solemnly vow to keep you on your toes so that you don't get bored, like that old computer's mother, because we don't want you to ever give up and throw yourself dramatically onto a scrap heap too.

Mummy, please don't get bored and die.  We love you too much and besides, who would read our letters then?


Love Ollie and Linc xoxo