With 3 boys under 5, there’s never a dull moment. Certainly never a quiet one… It’s a question of sport this week for Buggy Blogger mum to J (4), B (3) and S (1).

On your marks. Get set. Go! … Erm. In your own time then.

My eldest has just endured … oops, enjoyed … his first school sports day. Notable achievements included: managing a 100% miss rate in the 'chuck the beanbags into the box' competition; demonstrating his Irish-dancing potential … and simultaneously scuppering any hope of speed … by throwing his legs any-way-which over the hurdles; and helping his team to come ungloriously overall last.

It's fair to say he's not an obviously sporty child. Running-races leave him cold, he loathes playing football and even a bit of spontaneous hopping alongside his best friend SB got a big thumbs down when he couldn't keep up (well her hopping leg is somewhat longer than his). Not exactly racing towards a place in the Junior 2012 Olympics then.

But look a little closer and he does have hidden sporty depths. He's a dynamite on the scooter. He'll happily ride ponies 'til the cows come home. And he flings himself about the swimming pool with a vigour, monumentally swimming a few metres without a float this weekend!

Perhaps he's best summed up – in his own words during a recent bout of daft wordplay – as the Muscles from Brussel Sprout. He couldn't be described as a beefcake by any stretch. Comparing his physique to a vegetable, therefore, seems wholly more appropriate – still a little green but not too bad when considered apart from the beefier competition.

B, predictably, is quite different. What floats his boat is the sports kit. He'd cheerfully wear J's cycling helmet from dawn to dusk without feeling the need to trouble himself with the bike. He's mad for his 'football top' (which is actually more of an imitation baseball shirt but I'm not begging to differ). And he's utterly hooked by his shark goggles. Though if push came to shove one might associate him less with Jaws and more with snores to be honest.

Because I wouldn't say he was lazy as such, but his willingness to throw himself into activity is perhaps a little lacking. If there's a buggy board to hand, why walk? If there are shoulders to ride, even better. And if you can persuade him onto a scooter he'll stand on it one-legged, stick the other one prone out behind and await for motion to simply happen.

But perhaps I shouldn't expect too much too soon. He'll find something that suits eventually. There's always rugby – he'd fit right in with his speed-drinking abilities (milk today, Michelob tomorrow). Or boxing – when riled he shows promise of a mean left hook in the making. Yikes. On reflection, perhaps I'd rather encourage him in his tendency to barely lift a finger. Dull I know, but a future in tiddlywinks would be so much safer don't you think?

And last but not least there's S. Though as yet the smallest, he may well turn out the sportiest. He's an expert dribbler either with or without a ball. His stamina is second to none, especially when repeatedly bouncing on my full bladder while I’m hoping … in vain … to remain in bed until 7am. And though I can't comment on his ability on the track (still not walking so no idea how he'll run) he has all the hallmarks of success in the field.

He has the physique (chubby cheeks, round tum and nature's own flesh-roll bracelets). He has the throwing ability (current speciality lobbing toys down the stairs and wet flannels out the bath). And he's already mastered the all-important loud grunt when exerting himself. A Sh*t Put champ of the future then?

And so, moving swiftly on, what of sports day? Frighteningly familiar: same shrieking crowds, same beating sunshine and same nerves in the pit of your stomach. Mostly mine as I wondered whether there'd be a mother's race at the end. Which thankfully there wasn't. (Sigh of relief). Otherwise my sons would've soon seen who they inherited their lack of sprinting prowess from.

Tiddlywinks anyone?

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