Hi! <Waves>

Funny and honest tales from a made-to-work Dad of three, wobbling, graying, and laughing his way through parenthood. Armed to the teeth with Nerf guns, full of pie, fighting a chocolate addiction, but genuinely honoured to be at least half of Team Parents (yay!).

3 October 2015

Just Stop For A Moment...

If you could just stop the world from spinning
I need to catch my mind my breath
<Waves hand>
<World goes all wibbly and time is frozen>
(don't ask how, just think Saved By the Bell, but less mullety)
<Skips off to kitchen and raids the chocolate cupboard>

(I said stop, not smack it off the table and break it! Oh wait, no you're right… I did say that. Well done, have a beer)

I'm not sure if it's the noise, the multiple conversations, the emotional outpouring. But suddenly I needed to get off (the world), not for long, just for a moment, but I needed a quick break. Mere seconds that's all.

Think of it as a release valve. Stress builds and builds and it either comes out as rage and anger and stomping about, or as a moment to the side. It would be nice to have a little machine though that warned me when the stress was rising, before it got too much:

[Beep Beep]
What is that noise?
Boy8 did you set your Robot alarm clock again?
<Has emotional response> WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS BLAMING ME!!! <Storms off>
<Door slams>
<Door is reopened and then slammed again>
Ooooooooookay... A simple no would have done
[Beep Beep]
<Continues hunting for beeping noise, but obviously doesn't actually move>
What is that damn noise?
<Miss4 shrugs shoulders>
Mrs. Amazing: Check your thingy
Hanging to the right, it's fine
Mrs. Amazing: Not that thingy, your iStress thingy!
Oh yeah! <Checks>
What does it say?
It's just a picture of a little man with his head exploded? That's weird...
<Mrs. Amazing grabs Miss4 and BabyBoy1 and dive for cover behind the sofa>

Sadly I didn't really manage to freeze time. Yeah I know, I'm disappointed too.
Mainly because my time freezing magical godlike powers are still pending (which is a right shame), and also because I am not Zack from saved from the bell, the lucky bugger.

(A mullet of the Berks Gods)

But still, somehow, amidst the madness of our family life morning, and mainly because Granny is here giving us a pretty nice 1:1 adult to lunatic ratio. I did manage to pause for a moment and collect my thoughts.

Then I had something similar to an out of body experience, but less naff. More a Matrix moment, hella cool. Everyone else seemed to freeze for a few seconds, and I got a very rare moment of clarity and comprehension.

BabyBoy1 was frozen in the act of spilling cream out of the fridge, having opened the baby proof lock on the fridge. Again.

He needs more attention.
It's hard being the third child (I know, that's my honour too). He knows he shouldn't be in the fridge, but he was bored and no one was playing with him. So he headed off and found his own fun.
Sorry BabyBoy1 I'll make sure I just sit down and play more.

Miss4 is frozen having a hissy fit over her shoes.
She doesn't want to wear her most favourite ones (sighs), although we all know they are the pair she will definitely end up wearing. Such fun.

Right now she’s cross. But she isn't normally. Normally Miss4 is hilarious, and clever, and full of fun, a dancing, singing, swirling, blur of energy and raw emotions. She's well on her way to becoming Miss Amazing.

But her little screamy face looks tired.
Starting School has knackered her right out, and we are only on day five (!).
Miss4 is missing Mrs. Amazing too. Those two have been joined at the hip for the last four years. Miss4 is having to handle the world on her own now. I doubt I’d cope as well as she is.
No wonder she is having a hissy fit leaking those difficult to handle emotions.

I can't replace Mrs. Amazing for her, or go to school in her stead, but I can listen to her yapping on more without collapsing from boredom.

Boy8 is currently talking back to Mrs. Amazing, trying to convince her that whistling over someone else talking isn't rude. He's very wrong about that.
Boy8 is being so bloody fricking rude to Team Parents at the moment. I've no sodding idea where he gets it from, the twonk. We are struggling with it.

Last week he got me so cross I stormed into the sitting room, unplugged his X-Wee-Fun-Station (real machine) and hid it next to my bed. As punishment.
Didn't work. Obviously. Just made him ruder.
But it felt good.

Team Parents (yay!) are not sure why he's playing up at the moment, twonkism. But emotions keep on pouring out of that boy, and clearly they need to come out.
Bet he could use a good listening too as well.
And probably some physical activity that exhausts him would help as well. Rugby with adults big boys would work, and I do have that mud pile that needs shifting...

And with the kids done, my eyes fall onto the most important family member.
The lynch pin.
The only family member that can make other family members.
The family glue.
The cat Mrs. Amazing.
<Queue angelic singing>

She's looking tired. And cross.
Cross because Boy8 is still whistling, whilst she is telling him off for whistling when she was talking before.
By hecky she's impressive in a rage.

But mostly Mrs. Amazing looks tired. She looks really tired.
Not 'Oooo what fun we're having' or 'You mean that was wine, not water' tired.
But split five ways, emotional torn, patience gone, getting to the bottom of her ocean of love tired. The very bad kind.

I don't think either of us thought having three children was going to be this exhausting.
It's not each day that wears you down, it's each one coming right after the last one that does the damage.

I want to rush over to her and say:

Screw this lot! Let’s get out of here
Let’s go, just you and me, Disneyland Paris!
Wine, cheese, talking all night, cheese, Goofy!
Just us!

And she'll say yes and we'll go, and it will be amazing and brilliant. It will be like it used to be when we were young, and we'll have the best fun, we'll talk, we'll reconnect. We'll eat lots of cheese.
We'll remember what was so damn brilliant about life together that made us think sharing it with tiny copies of ourselves was such a good idea!

But I don't. Because we can't. BOOOOOOO!
We can't leave the kids, there's laws and stuff stopping us it just feels wrong.
Plus my work is really not an optional thing. They made that very clear last time.
School's not so voluntary either. I believe the current fine in the UK is one finger per day.
And Mrs. Amazing runs a weekly club...
Plus we're mostly skint...
Damn it.

So instead, in this brief and fleeting moment I have.
I throw every single good vibe, all the positive energy I have, every ounce of the love I have in me, right at her.
Like a huge beam of bright and positive power towards her. Which when it hits will soak into her skin, her bones, easing the knots and pains, restoring her spirit, lifting her soul, lightening her load. Letting her know that she is loved and cherished, and admired, and wonderful, and that she still lights up my day, and she is still amazing.
All of the things I try to say, but fail to, most days.

(It was like this, but without the wristbands, otherwise spot on)

But my beam is deflected away. Her shields are up.
Boy8 is still whistling. Miss4 is still screaming and BabyBoy1 is now trying to open the oven.
Defensive shields are buggers like that. They stop everything.

And yes I know. I know.
Mrs. Amazing just needs more of my time, and attention, and patience, and love. She needs me to be a voice of adult reason (oh crap) in her child infested days. She doesn't need imaginary power beams, which is a shame as I've lots of those.
Oh and yes to Paris, it's always yes to Paris, but when practical.

And Granny? (who was also present in this madness moment)
Well Granny is fine. She even has a smile on her face, as though all of this is fun.
Of course she has.
She's just visiting this mad house.

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