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!).

2 March 2016

Crawling... Again?

Well that was weird.
I'm entirely sure how I ended up doing that.
My knees hurt. Fool.

During the normal morning madness.
Mrs. Amazing was busy convincing Miss5, that clothes are actually, very much, an requirement for school, and the UK at the start of march. (It even crap snowed today) (Crap snow is snow that doesn't settle).
Miss5 was slowly relenting and had even consented to having her crazy mane de-tangled.

(If you don’t hear from me every five minutes, start wafting pie smell after me…)

Boy8 was busy getting ready.
Not for school. Oh no. Nothing that obv. 
Why would he get ready for school on a school day through his own free will?
<Screams into cushion>
Despite all of us rushing about to get to work and / or school on time. Boy8 was getting ready for his mate who was coming for tea tonight. He was laying out his toys ready. They were going to have a Nerf war.
Which basically means Boy8 was laying out guns. On his bed.
I had mixed feelings about it.

On the one hand I totally understood his need to prepare and lay out his toys ready for his mate. I put beers in the fridge when a mate is coming round, find the Yahtzee dice, make sure everyone else is either asleep or going out... 

But on the second hand I wasn't too happy that BabyBoy1 was with Boy8 and lots of cocked Nerf guns. BabyBoy1 doesn't understand the danger of guns on any level. 
In an almost comic style BabyBoy1 was inspecting each gun backwards, looking into the barrel.
Boy8 pointed out they weren't loaded. 
Which they were not. I checked.
I said that was good, but it would be better if he didn't cock them either.
He disagreed for the last time.

And on the third, mutated weird ass, hand.
Boy8 was still hanging about in his tiger onesie, miles behind the rest of us getting ready to leave.

As I said mixed feelings: Sort of anger, amazement, murderous rage, fear and a slight tinge of gassiness. But that was probably the pint of sweets I had the night before.
All those feelings mixed together. JOY!
But I was cool. HEY! 
I made my point about the cocking of guns in a mature and grown up fashion.

Dude don't cock the guns, it ain't cool
Boy8: ‘Is’
It is not (ZING!)
Is not times infinity, not come backs, infinity add one, you can't talk until someone says your name, cross your pants, you need the loo, opps you've done a poo (BOOMPOW!)
<Knows he has been beaten> ‘Fine’
<Does victory dance>

(Next time... I'll just show him my mug...)

I played it cool.
Rather than nag or whip cajole Boy8 to get ready. I just left him to it.
He had thirty mins. He had time. Me shouting at him, was just going to annoy me.
I KNOW I am starting to think he likes winding me up.

So me and BabyBoy1 left the armoury Boy8’s room and headed downstairs.
For some reason we started playing with a bouncy ball in the kitchen. Fun mainly.
Looking back it seems a strange choice of toy as BabyBoy1 has just started throwing toys in anger, and for attention. So I doubt my choice of game went down to well in the Mrs. Amazing camp, as she spends most of the day in his delightful company. Whoops.
I fished a bouncy ball out a classic Miss5 treasure bag. There's always one within two metre radius, anywhere in the house.
You just have to know what to look for. A bag of crap.

The weird bit was that BabyBoy1 crawled after the ball.
He's been walking for a while now. So why would he crawl?
He's way faster on foot. Maybe he had just fallen into a crawl and remembered an old skill he had and just on whim thought it would be a laugh.
Then when I started crawling behind, and we giggled, I perpetuated it, and he couldn't stop as it became part of the game.
I like to think it was that, as we had great fun chasing that ball about, in a few stolen morning moments together.
It was nice.

Because if it's not that.
If it’s not by accident lie reason, the it’s pretty likely that BabyBoy1 saw just how much crawling was hurting my knees and he thought it was funny. And that he was faster than me at it.
<Makes note next to BabyBoy1’s name> Possible sadist…fast crawler...

Boy8 was ready for school on time. He can sleep inside some more! 
Ignoring his glacial slowness this morning was a good move by me, a rare splodge of wisdom, on my part. It saved a fight.
It was bloody hard not to order him about and tell him he was being a fool.
But I'm glad I refrained.

Of course it was only after I had dropped off Miss5 at school that I noticed my knees and the bottom half of my jeans were covered in breakfast food, and general muck from the crawling.
I like to make a good impression.
<Makes note next to own name> Could possibly sweep more… appearance issues...

(My note book... I also write my poems in it...)