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!).
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17 November 2016

The Wrong Trousers!!!... Or... Running at Birds With Miss5...

Oh how life farts in your face sometimes.
Not very often to be fair. Just sometimes.
Sometimes life gives you a chocolate. Yum yum. Other times it's a fly in the gob.
It's pretty mixed. Other times though. It’s a fart in the face...

Not literally of course.
In this instance. But that does happen too.
I recall it happening a lot growing up with three brothers. And now in my life with three children…

<Is tickling Miss5>
Miss5: <Giggles>
<Throws Miss5 into the air>
Miss5: <Does double twist, pike, ‘Use the Force’ pose>
Miss5: <Lands tummy down>
<Is smug about the awesome throw> <Goes to pick her up again>
[Sound similar to QE2 coming into dock occurs]
<Gets fart in face> <Passes out>
Miss5: <Lays a blanket on my foot>
[Later…]
<Awakes in hospital and is being treated for gassing / chemical warfare>

(‘Does that help?’
Well... it filters out the smell at least…
'So no?'
<Nods>)

The night before.
Despite the heaviest of weekends. I dragged myself out to Stretching and Falling class. I turn up, I stretch, I fall over a lot. It's a good class. I heard there's other names for it, but whatevs.
For a change. I travelled light. No credit cards. No knife. No torch. No coat. No Jumper (which was dumb in the UK mid-November). Just me in trackie-bottoms. A stretchy top (not that kind). My keys and my phone.
And a bottle of water as falling over stretching is thirsty work

<Does stretching in class>
<Feels good about stretching> <Feels a bit like a warrior>
<Falls over>
<Feels less warriory>

The next morning.
Miss5 and Boy9 troop in first thing. It's not quite 6:30am but it's not worth the 6:28am argument. Besides any talking and angry clock showing is done on Mrs. Amazing's side of the bed. My side is reserved solely for those pretending to be fast asleep that need extra sleep.
6:30am finally happens. Mrs. Amazing rises and officially starts the morning.
Internally I celebrate the start of a new day, it's possibilities and all I might achieve and strive for today. Externally I pretend to dead, moreso.
Then Mrs. Amazing drops a bombshell…
[THUD]
Mrs. Amazing: 'I’ve started reading DC comics and I’m starting to think the Green Lantern is a well thought out and insightful character’
Mrs. Amazing: 'I've gotta catch a train at 8am'
<Is far away, dreaming happily>
Mrs. Amazing: 'So I'll be leaving early'
<Sits up> Shiiiiiiiit!!! Craaaap!!!!

Which means I've got to get…
BabyBoy2 and Miss5 filled with breakfast. Ready for school. And then walk / fly / glide / beam them to school. Then get myself to work.
Which is all fine. I can do that easy. But I've thirty minutes less help from Mrs. Amazing to do it.
Even I know I have to get up, instantly, and get cracking!

Miss5 convinces me to make pancakes.
Which is dumb on my part. Pancakes take longer. They just do.
I'm still in bed and my first decision of the day. Is to make breakfast take longer. Than it needed to...
Brainzilla: <Claps> ‘Bra-vo’
<Giggles> Bra!
Brainzilla: ‘He he... <Whispers>... Idiot...’
What?
Brainzilla: ‘Gridiot…. An old friend… Just popped into my head...”
Called Gridiot?
Brainzilla: ‘Yep’ <Whistles off>

(What do you mean you’ve changed your mind?
<Sits> <Starts eatin’> My Mam Moutragged! <Shakes fork>
Mass the Molden Myrup mill ma? <Eats more>...)

BabyBoy2 and Miss5 happily bounce downstairs.
Delighted to be having pancakes. Mainly due to the amount of Golden Syrup those both have. But hey! They eat the pancakes. It's win-win.
I put high energy music on. Rock obv. And prepare to cook pancakes faster than the speed of sound.
We three have to leave at 8am. It is now 7am. Somehow it's taken me thirty minutes to get downstairs.
Mrs. Amazing says goodbye through modern dance and smoke signals and Boy9 is dragged along behind her. Leaving just me in charge...
[The house explodes]

Miss5 asks to help make pancakes.
Whilst making batter I explain that we are in a rush and if she could not help that would be great and faster all round. Miss5 ignores me and gets a chair so she can reach.
Quickly I get her to stir stuff. It doesn't actually take too long and then she’s off to do something else.
Phew!
Babyboy2’s chair arrives at the counter top. And he bounds up ready to help.
Sigh… Here. BabyBoy2 stirs stuff too. And then runs off leaving a batter trail behind him.
I am so glad they both helped.
I put Fireman Sam on tut tele and plonk them both down. So I can cook in peace whilst dancing to Taylor Swift AC/DC. YEAH!
Which is hard enough in itself without watching for small people under my feet.

Pancakes are served.
And eaten. Well and quickly. Then they are whizzed up to clean teeth and then whizzed back down for more Fireman Sam. Miss5 is handed the remote and instructed to put on lots of Fireman Sam's.
BabyBoy2: 'YAYYYYY! <Sings> Fireman Sam'
Whilst I run about and do everything.
The kitchen is cleared. Laundry is moved along its windy long path to the draws. Dishwasher contents replaced with dirtier versions. Counter top clearer. Bags collected.
I opt for dressing BabyBoy2 and Miss5 in front of the tele. Because it's quicker.
I swear there were moments whilst I dressed them both. When they actually looked away from the screen and saw me.
Maybe I was imaging it.

(The original… Back when Sam was still Welsh… (AND AWESOME))

Then it’s coats.
Shoes. Me doing everything for speed purposes. And we’re out of the door.
Then I run back in and check the cooky-jobby-thingy stove is all off. Again.
Then we are out of the door and off. Only running ten minutes late.
And I am running. Miss5 is scooting. BabyBoy2 happily sat in the buggy shouting and cheering at everything he sees as I pelt him along at break neck speed.
We look like loonies escaped from a film. Moreso.
I've never been prouder.

BabyBoy2 is delivered to Nursery.
He cries when he realises me and Miss5 are leaving him there. His tears rip at my heart and I can't stand it for a moment. We had all been having such fun together and BabyBoy2 just doesn't understand why it has to end. I'm not entirely sure either.
Still. The best thing I can do for him. As Dad. Is pretend I'm fine. Not torn in half.
So I just leave, in that Daddish way, that Dads do so Dad well. Dad.
I sob a little once out of sight...

Miss5: 'Dad? What you doing?'
Solving really hard maths in head. It's making my eyes leak...
Miss5: <Totally buys it> 'Oh. What maths?'
Er... (crap)... er... nineteen plus fifteen?
Miss5: 'That is hard'
Yeah I know... <Does shifty eyes> Look. We literally have to run now...

We run.
Well Miss5 scoots. I run. We still have to get back to the house. Grab Miss5's things.
As we left them at home so we don't have to carry them with us. Then run Miss5 to school. And me to work. There is still a chance we can do all that on time.
Not a big chance. True. But a chance. You gotta believe!
<Runs>

We get home and I run to the door.
In full fluid-motion. Hand in pocket reaching for keys. Hand ready to push keys into little slot. Then step through door. It's all running automatically. I'm not really thinking about what I'm doing. I'm a few steps ahead. Trusting my body will let know if something is wrong.

There's a problem.
Whoop whoop. Hands have set an alarm ringing in my head.
And I stop my face mere millimeters from the door. Narrowly avoiding a good face whack. Hands. Me. I can’t find my house keys.
Where the crap are my house keys?

The keys that I always have on me.
In these jeans. These trousers. The one's I am wearing.
Everyone relies on me having my keys. It's my job. I've always got my keys. It's what I do.
I check my pockets again four, maybe five thousands times and they are definitely not there. Crap!
And then the fart hits my face... And I work it out.
Stretching and Falling class last night. Trackie-bottoms. Travelling light. Keys in trackie-bottoms. In the house.
My smegging keys are in the house.

(<Regrets the home security upgrade...>)

Miss5: 'What's wrong Dad? Can't we get in?'
No! We can't. It's the wrong trousers Gromit Miss5!!! <Does hand thingy>
Miss5: 'But I need my school bag'
Yes <Panic building> And your lunch! CRAPOLLA!
Miss5: <Giggles>

I run through options in my head.
Send her in, but no bag. OK. But no lunch. Bad. Miss5's probably needs to eat.
Maybe I can break in? No. I can't. I don't really either. It's my house.
Has anyone else got a key? I run and ask the neighbours if I gave them a key? No's all round.
Damn it. Damn it.
Who else has a key? Granny! I phone granny.
But she's already walking other grandchildren to school and can't help. Smeg.
But she mentions Grandad may not have left with Boy9 yet? I call.
The phone takes the piss out of me. And rings very slowly at me.
I need to hear a click-pick up from Grandad. Else…
Else I've right stuffed up and I'll be very annoyed with myself...

GitPhone: 'R.... I..... N.............. G'
COMEON!COMEON!COMEON!
GitPhone: 'R.... I..... N.............. G'
ARGHHH! <Explodes>
SituationSaviour: 'Hello?'

The cavalry is on it's way.
With key. Stupid incredibly helpful little metal device that nearly thwarted me in the school run. And eventually we make it too school. Somehow with five minutes to spare.
And I'm not late for work.
Happy days.

But between the phone call and the cavalry arriving.
Me and Miss5 had ten minutes to wait. And nothing to do. Really nothing to do. No toys hanging about. No tele. Nothing to jab or draw with. We couldn't even sit.
Stuck as we were outside the house. Waiting.
It should have been boring. But it wasn't.
Life with Miss5 is never boring...

<Gets off phone>
Miss5: 'So what do we do?'
We just gotta wait...
Miss5: 'Huh....'
Miss5: '...'
...
Miss5: 'See that bird...' <Points at bird on phone line>
Yeah...
Miss5: <Runs, arms outstretched at bird, shouting very loud.. > 'BARGHHHHH!'
What now?

Oh my bacon.
What did she just do? She’s nuts! To my surprise the bird is scared off. I never thought that would work. Miss5 just isn’t big enough to be scary.
Miss5 sees more birds and is already running at them. They are far off. It'll never work.
They fly off too.
Miss5 is shouting and yodelling a little now. Arms right out, kind of flapping.
I don't really know what I am seeing and can't help but start laughing from delight. Miss5 starts laughing too.
I join in with the birds scaring and fail. And I just can't do it as well as her. I am just not free enough. I'm too self concious.
I did think being bigger would make it easier for me. But I am totally wrong. It isn't size that does it.
It's heart. It's passin. It’s commitment to moment. It’s being a loony. It’s beliving you can do it, even wehn you can’t.
This all occurs to me as I watch Miss5 roar past me in another direction after more birds way up high, houses away.
And still managing to scare them off.
I am starkly reminded of how wonderful she is.

Had everything gone to plan this morning.
And it had been fart free. We wouldn’t be running at birds together. Having one of those moments that will make me feel all happy and squishy about Miss5 when I think about it later on. The best moments.
We would have just been on time and that would’ve been lame.
Coz I frikkin’ love that loon girl.


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