I lost my heart to Darth Vader

My son Joel has Chicken Pox. It started on Sunday when I noticed a slight rash and each day the spots have become more visible and are now covering most of his small torso and have moved onto his face. It must be at its peak because he looks like a victim of the plague, he had a fever last night and he is complaining that it itches. I have told him that he mustn't scratch the ones on his face as he will be scarred for life. I am living proof of this as I have two pronounced Chicken Pox scars on my face as evidence, which I showed him, he seemed impressed.

He is in the care of grandma whilst I am at work. His younger brother who is not yet showing any signs of a rash, despite me checking him every hour, has gone to nursery. For some reason Joel has decided he hates nursery so to some extent he is pleased to be ill and to have grandma's full attention. I remember when I was a child I used to love going to my nan's house if I was ill and couldn't go to school. She had a twin tub washing machine and it was great fun to help her do her washing. We would play snakes and ladders and watch Going for Gold with Henry Kelly, whatever happened to him? Then she would cook me fish fingers and chips and I would help her do her crossword.

To ease some of Joel's suffering I have ordered him a Darth Vader costume. He is obsessed with Star Wars and watches one of the films everyday. He has a collection of lightsabers in different colours and we have to fight him with them. His knowledge of the characters is incredible. I heard on the radio recently that the average child asks 400 questions a day. Joel asks 400 questions a day about Star Wars alone!

He has been waiting eagerly for his costume to come and it arrived at 7:00am this morning. It was delivered by the postman that has a ridiculously and unnecessary loud knock. He could wake people several streets away with his knock. We have a lot of parcels delivered by this postman and it is difficult not to verbally abuse him. He should know by now that there is no need to knock that loud, I am always up.

Joel dived out of bed and we helped him open the parcel to find that Darth Vader has been sent in a large rather than a small. It says it should fit an 8-10 year old but I could have quite easily fitted into it and I am 5ft 6, are 8-10 year olds 5ft 6 these days? Poor Joel was very upset when I explained that it would have to go back and he would have to wait for one in the correct size to come. It was terrible to see my little boy, covered in welts, crying his eyes out over his seemingly long awaited costume. The fancy dress company are going to dispatch a small (which should fit a 4 year old) to him today so at least I'll be prepared for the postman.