An impassioned encounter with Christopher this morning gave me the salivating jitters of a sugar junkie entering a chocolate factory—which would be fantastic if I were not about to spend two nights alone with Donovan.

Backyards and footballs make for a foolhardy mix when I’m around. Stupidity prevailed when I saw how awkwardly endearing Christopher looked playing catch with our seven-year-old son, Graham, and our five-year-old daughter, Antonia. Embarrassment on Christopher’s behalf compelled me to rescue the poor kids from their father’s lack of grace. Seriously, while his muscle has nicely filled out from all the equipment he lugs, the Queen Mum could lob a more masculine pass.