LITTLE MAN IN THE MIRROR

Dear Mummy,

I'm not quite sure why you and daddy find it so bizarre that I'm constantly checking myself out and scrutinising my own reflection.  You refer to me as your drama queen and diva, but I can't change the fact that I'm just so good looking and when that charming little man in the mirror wants to play, how can I resist!?  Besides, you should be grateful that I'm my own source of cheap, endless entertainment.

You may have noticed that any bright and shiny surface can capture my undivided attention.  I'm able to analyse myself in a drinking glass, pull crazy faces at closed windows, dissect my emotions in a car door and eyeball my shifty counterpart as he ogles me from the toaster. Even my own shadow can dazzle and delight me for hours.

Mummy, I suspect that you think I'm, sometimes, very melodramatic and destined to become a famous thespian or stage entertainer. I wanted to write to you and explain that I simply find it beneficial to practice contorting my face to discover exactly how far my bottom lip can protrude or how many wrinkles I can form when I craft a serious frown. It's also amusing to see, through squinted eyes, how wide my toothy grin can stretch or how my tongue pokes out, flops around and does weird tricks.

I believe it's extremely educational to watch myself in a tinted door, so I can witness how sensational I look as I push nonchalantly past on my scooter or how debonair I appear mounted on my hobby horse.
Interrogating my reflection also assists me in evaluating my raspberry blowing techniques or improving my tactics to generate spit bubbles.

It's great to have a little friend who copies everything I do.  The most compelling part is being able to facilitate interesting conversations with myself.  Mummy, I hope you realise that I can hear you and Daddy both giggle when I repeat words such as, "No", to my mirror image whilst trying to find a suitable manipulative expression and decibel level.  It's serious business trying to exercise my vocal chords, quiver my lips and transform expressions, to be able to access a whole new range of different tones and emotional moods.  I'd really appreciate it if you kept it down during this process as it can be quite distracting ... from myself.


Anyway, I just wanted to reassure you that my behaviour is totally justified and should not be of any major concern or referred to as 'obsessive' or labelled 'dramatic'.  In fact, examining reflections, specifically my own, is a fascinating occupation which is extremely educational and highly entertaining.  I strongly encourage you try it with me sometime.

Love Linc xoxo

My Spiderman Outfit
(Temporarily on loan from Ollie!)

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

WHY YOU DON'T RUN

Dear Mummy,

Only a couple of days ago, I overheard you say to your friend Ms N, that "running is against my religion, except for maybe when my kids do a suicidal run through a carpark or near a road or something".

Well I thought I'd test this theory yesterday after we left Ollie's ECD school.

After having a fun time with the play group we made our way back to the carpark.  While you were unlocking the car, getting ready to bundle us into our seats, I saw a small window of opportunity and I didn't hesitate.  My little legs started to quiver with excitement as I escaped from your grasp and scampered away from the car, back into the school grounds and disappeared around the corner of a building.  Laughing hysterically, I glanced over my shoulder and saw you and Ollie in hot pursuit.  You still weren't running but you were definitely advancing upon me.

For a moment there, we lost sight of each other but I heard you gaining momentum as you started to pick up the pace.  You still weren't running but you had commenced a sort of clumsy jog.  I giggled as you had to overtake Ollie with all the grace of a side-stepping footballer, nearly being forced to leap frog him as he got in the way.

I had practically lapped the whole building by the time you got closer and then that's when it happened.  The moment you realised I was heading back into the carpark and onto the road, true to your word, you started to run. 

Mummy, you've always chuckled at the way I race around, leading with my tummy, squinting with my eyes and throwing my head back.  I don't know why, because after seeing your attempt, I think my way is much more effective.  I finally witnessed your running style when I caught a glimpse of you over my shoulder.  You appeared to be running whilst leaning too far forward.  Your head was way out in front and your legs were oddly, a long way behind you and trying desperately to catch up.  I stopped in my tracks to turn and gape in awe, as your legs and arms suddenly sprawled and flailed haphazardly as you crashed to the ground, face-planting the cement, like you were sliding into 'first' on a baseball field.  You might want to check, but I think you left half of your skin behind on that rough concrete.  I also wouldn't be too concerned that the group of grade two students, who witnessed your fantastical stunt, will be scarred for life, as although it wasn't a pretty sight, it was pretty funny.

Dazed and confused you somehow managed to recover and drag yourself slowly to your feet.  I've never seen that look on your face before.  I know when you're being a funny angry but this glare emitting from you, was the glower from a homicidal maniac.  This did not encourage me to return to you, so with a nervous smirk, I took off again.

Under your command, Ollie, who had then caught up to me, was given permission to reprimand me and take me into custody by grabbing my shirt and holding on for dear life.  Despite my protests, I couldn't escape from his clutches.

Mummy, I do hope you'll forgive me one day, when your wounds have healed, your skin grows back, when you're able to walk without wincing in pain and when your dignity returns.

I'm sorry.  I just wanted to find out why you say you don't run.

Now I know why.

Love Linc xoxo

 

THE PICK

Dear Mummy,

I don't know why you're so opposed to me sticking my finger up my nose.

You look exasperated each time I wedge it up there and I can't understand why you become so embarrassed when I show off my talented move to other people you know.  If anything, it's now become a great game to play with you.  Lately I've taken to hiding under the blankets or concealing myself behind chairs, just to see how long I can insert my pointer finger up my nostril before you promptly command me to withdraw it.

I keep informing you that there's a bug up there but for some reason you continually insist I use one of those futile white tissue things to blow the bug out instead.  As I find my own appendage of the hand a much more effective way of digging the bug out, I fail to understand why we have to waste time using those flimsy fabrics.

Also, as you're aware, I love playing games on your phone and I've recently discovered that my favourite app now allows me to send both you and Daddy, and Grandma and Grandpa thirty second video messages.  I've since realised that this the only way that I can have a really good dig around, without being interrupted.   I'm certain that, after viewing these randomly sent videos and watching my skills develop, you will concur, that driving my finger around, inside my nose, is the best method and an extremely effective way to to retrieve those bugs.

Love Ollie xoxo