He Returnethed…

Boy9 had been away for a week.

With school and most of this mates. And his teachers.

There was no contact with this parents or his siblings all week.

The only news we got was through a blog site one of the teachers wrote.

It was like crack bacon/chocolate to me us.

Mrs. Amazing: ‘I can’t believe you let him go away for a week’

What??? You signed the forms!… <Points figurative and literal finger>

Mrs. Amazing: <Moves finger away>

Mrs. Amazing: ‘Don’t point that at me, I know where that goes…’

Mrs. Amazing: ‘You paid for the trip online!’

You asked me too!

Mrs. Amazing: ‘Right then… It’s a fight you want then…’

<Stress relieving fight happens, think Asterix stylie>

(Ommmm…)

Team Parent (yay!) missed Boy9 whilst he away.

Mrs. Amazing processed her emotions about it pretty normally. Tears. Wistful looks. Shotgunning four bottles of white wine in a row. Tidying his room.

I went through what I assume are normal busy Dad emotions about Boy9.

Day1: Not missing him at all. Isn’t the non-arguing-quiet lovely.

Day2: This is awesome! So easy with just two!

Day3: Why won’t anyone play dead arms with me? Punch contest anyone?

Day4: That’s it I am decorating his room as a surprise when he gets back.

Day5: Decorating is hard. I don't like it. Where's Boy9 to help me?

Day6: HE'S BACK TOMORROW! WOHOOOOO! <Can't sit still>

On the day he got back.

I messed up. Normally I take the time off and make sure I am there.

But this time. I just forgot. Not sure why. Just did.

But Mrs. Amazing, Miss6 and BabyBoy2 all went to collect Boy9 whilst I was still at work.

I got send a picture of him looking exhausted but happy.

All night crazy parties no doubt, lucky.

And there I was sat at work.

My big boy home after being away for seven days.

And I am at work, doing the same thing I normally do, at work.

Playing ninja swears around the office Working…

Is it OK if I go? My son is back? <Big puppy eyes>

Boss: 'But what about all the stuff I need you to do?' <Gestures to stuff>

Can't it wait?

Boss: 'You'd think...'

... Is that a no then?

Boss: 'No'

Er... Is that no-no? Or no-yes?

Boss: 'No-no and yes, no, respectively'

… What's that? <Points at the ceiling>

Boss: 'Wha...'

<Runs>

Suddenly as I sat there designing the a new bat car working.

I wondered what the hell I was doing. My son, who I hadn't seen for seven days was home. In my house waiting to see me. I wanted to hear what he had been up to. What he'd done.

What had been going on. How many awesome things had he done that I'd missed seeing and was now having to wait to find out?

My focus at work that afternoon wasn't awesome I can tell you.

Eventually 5pm ticked into view.

I sent Mrs. Amazing a message. Giggling away at my own funniness. (I do that sometimes).

Tell Boy9 I'll be back in 30 mins and that I'm gonna get him!

It's hard to put italics in text messages. But really I wanted to put 'get'

Still I hope the message would be conveyed with the right emphasis.

(Nothing but the latest tech at work…

... Note the string instead of hammer…)

5:30 clocking off time.

Time to go home. Whistle time. End of the day. Leave-a-rooney. Freedom!

Time to go see Boy9.

I ran out of the office. Which is quite normal. But then I continued to run. Which is less normal.

I was excited to see my boy. Suddenly my legs and feet agreed it was the time to run.

So I did.

It was glorious.

I don't think I've run to see someone so fast since I was young. Wind whistling in my ears.

Every muscle working together to propel myself along as fast as I could. Step after step getting closer to seeing someone I love. Boy9.

It felt amazing and gave me a thrill.

Halfway home my body suddenly remembered it was thirty-no-no and rebelled.

Panting I slowed to a walk...

No, no, body listen up, we've gotta get home darn quick, I wanna see my boy.

Body: 'No chance. Walkies only'

Come on!

Body: 'Nopey-nope'

Owww... <Thigh muscle hurts>

Body: 'There'll be more if you try any more running...

<Limps on>

I ambled home.

Door open. Coat off. Shoes off. Phone down...

BOY9! Where are you?

<Suspicious silence>

Mrs. Amazing was cleaning Miss6 and BabyBoy2 (in the bath).

Boy9 I find curled up on the sofa watching tele. Power Rangers Dino Charge.

Which is fair enough as it's AWESOME and full of cool monsters and swords and kung fu.

What's not to like! I'm glad I can use the cover of Boy9 to watch it.

I was a bit gutted by Boy9's lack of response to me coming home. I'm a sensitive soul.

I suppose I was expecting Boy9 to leap up and be happy to see me.

But the hypnotic powers of the tele had claimed him. And I don't think he even noticed I was there.

Obv. I stood in front of the tele...

Boy9! Yo dude!

Boy9: 'Hey ... er…  Dad' <No movement and more of a get out of the way feel from him>

So I attack him.

Nicely obv.ly. I bundle on top of the little ratbag him. And then bounce him a bit on the sofa.

Despite what a huggy kind of guy I am. I am still a guy and find expressing my happiness to see him through, nice, but strong physical contact. I hug the crap out of him. So he can't breath, a bit.

It's sweet. Promise.

How was it? What did you do? Tell me!

<Tries not to sound so desperate>

And then Boy9 rewards my run home.

He rewards my excitement to see him. He is developing his social skills well. And I am a good dog.

Boy9 pauses the tele (what an age we live)...

Boy9: 'It was amazing!'

<Big smile on his exhausted little face>

And then I get what I wanted.

Boy9 tells me all. I keep asking questions whenever he falters. He's got so much to tell me, but isn't quite sure how to. The questions keep him going. And everything that has happened in the last seven days, without us, comes out.

I hear how he stayed up late. What the mornings were like. What time he got up. Who was naughty. What the disco was like (there's always a disco). The gross bits. The funny bits.

How he ate seventeen rashers of bacon one breakfast. #SoProud

Whom (yes whom) he shared a room with. What he made. Did he actually wash at all? (No).

Are those the same socks you left wearing? (Yes)

Recognise this? <Shows toothbrush>

Boy9: <Shakes head>

It's a high energy conversation.

Boy9 is up on his feet moving about. His hands are waving about as he is excited to tell me things. And show me things. He's trying to describe things I haven't seen, so his hands are very busy.

As we talk we change room three times. We never sit. It's just fast talking.

Boy9 telling me all, me listening.

The strange thing though is the distance.

For the entire time we are talking. He keeps a few meters between us. At one point during the talking I noticed that he was backing off a bit. So I stopped.

But I was just so excited to see him. I couldn't help myself and a few minutes later I was moving closer again. And he backed up again.

That, I realised later, was why we changed room three times.

I have a guess theory on why he did this.

Whilst he was away he was his on his own. He was his own man. Making his own rules. Boy9 out against the world. That sort of thing.

OK there were teachers around giving him rules etc. But everything was pretty much his own choice.

His way.

And then I suddenly burst back into his life. His big (relatively) loud (I am) and strong (relatively) father (genetically).

Boy9 must have adjusted his personal space boundaries whilst he was away. Letting who he wished in. And keeping others out.

Then I charged in and stepped all over his new boundaries. Which obv. I didn't know I was doing.

I thought his boundaries were still where they were when he left.

Well that's my guessing theory anyway.

After he told me all.

Boy9 headed off for a much needed bath.

Later as we watched Power Rangers I could tell his boundaries had shifted again.

He had adjusted to me again. Phew.

(When forgetting your kit is a problem...)

As he didn't mind me sitting next to him whilst we watched the White Power Range separate the evil-him version from himself. Classic plot.

I imagine this boundaries thing is going to happen more and more.

<Sighs>

I must watch out for it and try and give him some more space.

When I can.

(Obv. after I've hugged the crap out of him).

X