Blake our Brick

I was watching 'The Middle', where the youngest son, Brick, was nearly swopped at birth with a baby named Blake.

The mother, pacifying Brick, said: "Anyway, Blake is a boring name."

Have you ever?!

Misty was unpegging the washing, when she felt as though a gale force wind was about to lift her off her feet.

With a prior warning of: "Marmeeee," Blake with his arms and legs, clutched around Nick's shirt, swirled around the washing line like a tornado.

Even the neighbour's looked over the wall.

Nick brought Blake home from playschool, and saw the house key on the kitchen counter.

Nick pushed Blake through the window and begged him to give him the key.

Blake, however, had a better idea and jumped off the counter, ran to his bedroom, and rode his bika up and down the passage.

When Misty returned home, Nick was still standing at the window, begging: "Please, Blake, please, give me the key!"

Nick and Misty, no longer need an alarm. At 6am, their wake-up call is 'vroom, vroom, vroom'.

Blake often checks the car tyres, by kicking them, to ensure they are in order.

Last Saturday morning, Blake insisted on baked beans on toast for breakfast.

Once the beans had taken effect, Blake dramatically bent over, placed his hands on his knees and let rip.

While he looked embarrassed, he guffawed as though this was the funniest thing ever.

Misty and Aimee visited me for a natter. We sat on the front porch, while Blake batted the ball.

Blake then hid the ball under a tree and toddled up the steps to sit next to me on the slatted bench. He looked uncomfortable and slid off.

Blake then pushed his fist under Misty's bottom, which was on the comfy chair.

Misty said: "Blake, your ball is not here. I'll get up and show you."

Blake was now comfortable and smiled at his mom.










As Misty stood up, Blake leapt onto the chair, with a look that had to be seen to be believed.

Gotcha!