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!).

4 November 2015

Height IS The Answer...

I wasn't very tall as a child….

… hang on that’s seems pretty obvious, children aren't normally tall. Let me rephrase that...

I wasn't very tall as a child, compared to my peers, under normal atmospheric conditions, in a prevailing wind of 10 grannie knots, whilst holding a banana, facing Tuesday (that clears that up).

You could say gravity was against me. It still is the bastard.
<Shakes fist at gut>

However. Now I’m old I don't give a crap about height and enjoy making tallies crick their necks when we talk, AHA HAAAA HAAAA HAAAA.
Me and gravity have made our peace and I'm not old enough and not mature enough to know that being tall is isn't as brilliant as it once seemed.
Still, young me, wished over and over that to be taller. Life just seemed better and brighter, with more ladies, from up high.

(Of course not everyone obeys the laws of gravity...)

I imagine having elder siblings pretty much hard wires into your brain that being taller is better. Of course some siblings are lucky enough to be bigger, in height, than an elder sibling without any modifications. But I hear that's a very rare, bit needy, clear sign of twonkitus, and frankly is really rather gauche. Bad form and all that.

Boy8 is the tallest child in the house.
Which means he has been gifted a form of torture only available to those of advanced height and age.

Do you want this sweet? 
<Holds sweet above Boy8's head>
'Yes!' <Jumps but misses>
Do you? <Keeps raising sweet out of reach>
'YESSSSS' <Is leaping like a salmon to get sweet>
Why don't you take it then? <Cackles>
<Boy8 stops jumping and solves the problem in another way>
OWWWWW! No kicking!
<Boy8 walks off eating sweet>

But Boy8 doesn't use his height given skills at torture on Miss4 very often for two clear reasons:

a) She's kicky Miss4 has pointy little feet and is best not to anger her
b) Boy8 isn't that mean

Which is a blessing. (Not the pointy little feet bit).

Miss4 is neither tall or small. She's 4. Her height classification is in the post and should arrive just about the time she starts her second or third year at school.

I call her my little lady, as she's the littlest lady in the house. Mrs. Amazing lost that role some years back, 3 or 5 years ago, I can't remember when exactly...

But recently Miss4 has decided she doesn't like being called little lady.
I am currently having to stop myself from saying it. Or at least apologise when I forget.
I mean it as a sign of affection. The same way I would say Boy8 is my little man.
But I appreciate and sympathise with Miss4's anti-height-label stance, and shall adjust accordingly. I'll call her Snotface.

BabyBoy1 cares the most about height.
It affects him the most. As he has the least of it.

Team Parents (yay!) use his height, well lack of it, to keep him safe.
Everything sharp, pointy, stabby, electrocuteingly, slashy, zappy or is as sticky as tar is kept up high.
All the machines that can burn or scald, all the killer bath products, puke inducing foods, scissors, plastic bags, glues, wherever possible, live up high.
And by high, I mean at adult waist height.
Stored at BabyBoy1's height is dry pasta, plastic cups, cabbage, his toys, the cat, blankets and pots and pans. All stuff we don't mind him getting to, or throwing about.
You can see why he wants to be bigger.

BabyBoy1 wants so much to be doing what his elder siblings are doing.
He stands next to them, eager as pie, ready to join in. Even if he can't reach or do what's going on. He's there ready and watching. It is utterly cute and adorable to watch.
He never misses a chance for some teeth brushing. Sheer elation on his face, stood on his stool, because he knows he is doing what his elder siblings are doing.
His joy from inclusion is brilliant and either a warning or a heart warming story to us all. I'm not sure which...

BabyBoy1 is also no fool, and uses Team Parents (yay!) to access some higher up things.
I offer a very good, and easily flagged it seems, lifting service. Mrs. Amazing does as well, but is less of a mug.
However BabyBoy1 has recently learnt a few new tricks and the entire safety of the universe house is now in doubt. BabyBoy1 has learnt to climb and then stand on an adult chair.
Initially BabyBoy1 needed a chair brought over for him...

'Uh uh uh uh uh' (* 'Old man get the chair, I wanna see what you're doing' )
Sorry BabyBoy1, no way, I am eating making fudge up here, too dangerous for you
'Wahhhhhh' <Lies face down on floor>
<Ignores third child's attempt at emotional blackmail, as is seasoned old pro>
Bowwww <Burns tongue on fudge>
'Wahhhh..hhh...h.. whatever' <Crying trails off as it's not working>
<BabyBoy1 grabs my leg and holds on>
What are you doing? You're gonna trip me?
<Holds on despite leg being lifted into the air>
<Picks up boy and carries on one handed>
Happy now?

BabyBoy1 climbing a chair is a bit like watching a turtle trying to right themselves, it's a long and slow process, and you constantly worry they are going to slip and smack their face on the floor, oh and for the love of chocolate would they please drop the toy truck as they climb, I mean why? USE BOTH HANDS!!!
It's hard to watch.

(You utter, utter, bastards...)

But he is undeterred. BabyBoy1 wants so much to be at table height with us, he struggles, totters, strains, with his hard to control limbs until finally he is stood on the chair.
And boy is it worth it for him.
All of a sudden can see and reach sharp things, shiny things, food <Nom nom nom>, LEGO! FRICKING PROPER LEGO!!! <Nom nom nom, choke>, glue, mobile phones, jigsaws, the car, wine glasses, matter transporters, gold bullion, knives, toasters...  It's basically BabyBoy1 Eldorado.
And all of it shiney and cries out to him to play with.
It's easy to see why BabyBoy1 would put so much effort into climbing a chair when the rewards are so rich and dangerous.

(Climbs for the company, but stays for the yoghurt...)

But BabyBoy1's reliance on someone else bringing him a chair really limited his options.
So BabyBoy1 just learnt to bring drag his own chair to the table 'party', as it were.
It takes quite a while as he's still very little. There's a lot of effort and straining, and sometimes stuff is in his way so he has to go the really long way round, to get where he wanted.
But BabyBoy1 works hard at what he wants and gets there in the end.

<Scraping noise of chair from kitchen>
What's that noise?
<Boy8 and Miss4 shrug>
Which one of you, isn’t here?
<Boy8 and Miss4 shrug>
... er.... the little one… points a lot... padded butt
Yes that’s him! BabyBoy1…
<More scraping noises from kitchen>
Boy8 go see what BabyBoy1 is doing will you?
<Waits a few minutes>
<Sees Boy8 outside riding about on his bike, my request utterly forgotten>
Damn it! If you want a job done properly... <Mutters>
<Scraping noise continues>
Miss4 go see what BabyBoy1 is doing will you?
'NO! OK Dad'
<Scraping noise from kitchen stops>
<Miss4 comes back>
So… what is BabyBoy1 doing?
'He's in your cupboard'
Which one? The munitions?
Knife, sword, flaming apparatus, and axe cupboard?
<Tenses> Not my collectables cupboard?
'Nope Lando is fine'
'You're favourite cupboard'
Which one? <Is confused>
'You know... choc choc...'
NOO-<Moves faster than sound>-OOOOOOOO!!!
<Finds, round tummied, chocolate covered, BabyBoy1 eating chocolate as fast as he can>

<Joins in>