Another marvellous week comes to an end in the Mr Six family and, unlike last week, I’m feeling particularly less challenged with writer’s block.
Firstly, for those who have been waiting, I have to point out that Jesus has indeed risen again, in Stockport of all places. It’s true, I saw him outside Superdrug.
I had headed into town on my lunch hour and was trotting over to the shop in question to visit the pharmacy (I’m a dreadful allergy sufferer and needed to top up my anti-histamene stash) when my journey was interrupted by a phone call from a colleague. As my colleague wittered away about thoroughly unimportant work stuff (I’m on lunch man! Top priority here is a sandwich!) I paced up & down half listening to him chunnering on, I became aware of a stout, balding man walking alongside me with an eight foot crucifix on his back! (Jesus has let himself go – believe me)
My focus left the call, and my attention followed the second-coming as he hefted his crucifix over to a bench, popped it on the floor, sat down, and proceeded to eat a sandwich in one hand and start texting in the other. (Who was he texting? And more importantly –what model of phone would the Holy Trinity have?)
Now then – things have changed somewhat since his first time around on this Earth. For a start; his crucifix had a wheel on the bottom. Footwear has somewhat improved also – I imagine the carrying of crucifixes is far more comfortable in a pair of walking boots when compared to sandals. The baldness was an especially concerning change on Jesus (Everyone knows that Jesus was obviously a white guy with hippie hair and a beard) – my own recede had led me to conclude that baldness could be nothing other than the devil’s work.
Here is a piccie of the second coming, after finishing his sandwich, converting a heretic. Notice the crucifix at rest behind the bench. Apologies for the shoddy quality – it was taken on my shambolic work phone.
On the home front; Little Ms Six & Mini Mr Six continue to entertain, bemuse & stress (That recede I mentioned) on a daily basis.
Little Ms Six has displayed a few interesting behaviours as of late. There are a couple of particular note. The sleep talking has been especially curious, as, being the boisterous little nutter that she is, it has been more like sleep shouting. The other night I overheard her shout “no thanks, I want chips & peas” – clearly dreaming about her dinner order for the following day.
She has also discovered the word “no”, and has been testing the limits of its application, as well as testing the limits of our sanity with its use. It’s not the use of the word itself that has been the source of our stress, more accurately it has been the delivery; in random & explosive outbursts that lack rhyme or reason with the inconsistency of a season of Lost. The way it is at present I fear the teenage years – I’m probably going to move out on her 12th birthday.
Mini Mr Six continues to be a fairly standard baby; sticking to the previously mentioned cycle of sleep, poop, eat, and repeat. He’s putting on weight at an extraordinary rate and is one hungry little creature – my poor current Mrs Six has become tantamount to a battery-farmed cow. He is slotting into life at the Mr Six household pretty well though and we are certainly feeling far more relaxed about caring for a baby a second time around – for the few moments of the day when he is not on the boob or sleeping.