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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21 August 2017

Watermelon...

It was a normal work day.
I was sat at my desk, definitely working, like I should and am always doing.
At work. Working. <Shifty eyes>
My Mum, A.K.A. Grandma, the Grandma (the other’s a Grannie), was soon to pick BabyBoy3 up from nursery.
And I would meet them both for lunch.
Everything just like normal, and going like clockwork.
<Rolls eyes>

My phone rang.
[I’m a barbie girl, in a barbie world]
It was my Mum and she had a flat tyre. And was not going to get to BabyBoy3 in time.
Which is bad because if BabyBoy3 stays nursery past 1pm he will turn into pumpkin they will charge us for the rest of the day.
Ain’t they sweet!

Obv. my first thoughts were utter concern for my mother.
Not that my lunch plans were now ruined. And who was going to pick up Miss6 later on.
No. Concerniness for my mother.
Luckily BiggestBrother (I have three bros) had been alerted. And he was whizzing his way to Mum to remove the old tyre. Swear a bit when hit his fingers. And then put the new tyre on.
But when would Grandma be rescued and on her way?
Well no one knew.
No one. <Shakes fist>

Mrs. Amazing was miles away.
Solving crimes, thwarting evil geniuses, flicking naughty people. Normal stuff.
Her help was unlikely. I however work very close to BabyBoy3.
And am just about to take my hour lunch.
Hmm… A solution was starting to form in my head…

[At Boy10’s school]
Pssst… Boy10
Boy10: ‘What? Go away… You’re not meant to be here’
Yeah… what should I do about BabyBoy3?
Boy10: ‘You’re the adult’
I am bloody not!
Boy10: ‘Yes <Sighs> Yes you are… father…’
<Sticks up fingers>
Boy10: ‘Tell work you have to leave, and you have child care problems…’
Of course! Brilliant... Why didn’t you say that before?... Sheesh...
Laters! <Runs>
SchoolMate: ‘Was that? Your Dad?’
Boy10: ‘Nope… Never seen that man before in my life…’

So that’s what I did.
I explained the situation to work. And scarpered.
I am legally responsible for BabyBoy3 and legal stuff is just enough to trump works claim on me. Wooohooo!
Obv. they said I can make the time up later.
WhoooBooo...

I get to nursery.
And I am pretty sure BabyBoy3 will be happy to see me. He had been asking all morning if I would pick him up today. And Obvs. I had said no.
Which had made him cry. A lot. And I felt guilty. But I really could not pick him up.
And here I was, about to pick BabyBoy3 up, just like he wanted.
Life can be a swine cad sometimes.

I have to wait whilst the nice nursery lady gets him.
Non-nursery staff, not even the parents, are not allowed into the nursery.
Which is a shame as it would be nice to see where he plays. But rules are a rules.
And whilst it would be fun to go charging in there knocking nursery workers aside.
I doubt I would get more than a foot, before I got sat on.

I can see BabyBoy3 through the door.
As he is being told I am here to get him. His little face lights up. And my day is made already.
BabyBoy3 runs towards me and I scoop him into my arms. He’s giggling and very happy to see me.
His sun hat comes off his head and he puts it on mine. And I look ridiculous (moreso) with a tiny hat on head. And as my arms are full. I am quite stuck like that.
BabyBoy3 tells everything he has done today. About the Duplo he was playing with. The digger. There are no trains. All the important stuff from his day. NO TRAINS.
The hat is finally removed.
And as if she was waiting for the hat to be removed. The nursery lady starts reading me the sheet of paper she is showing me.
I resist pointing out I can read.

As we walk home.
BabyBoy3 refuses his wobble bike and I have to carry it. Sigh. It's just the right height to be awkward to carry.
I explain what happened to Grandma. And her tyre.
BabyBoy3 doesn't quite understand so I say the tyre exploded.
The rest of the walk home is filled with BabyBoy3’s mad talk about how Grandma’s tyre exploded and blew up lots of houses and we would have to call Fireman Sam.
I had just left work. My head wasn’t quite ready for mad little boy talk yet.
I just let him natter on. Nodding every now and then.
By the time we get home. I am not much clearer on what he is trying to tell me.
And a bit concerned about how many houses BabyBoy3 thinks a tyre will take out.
I'm also hungry.

Which means BabyBoy3 might be hungry too.
BOOM! Dad skills. Empathy. However BabyBoy3 declines anything I offer him. The nursery lady did say, and I read on the sheet, that he hadn't eaten much.
Instead BabyBoy3 rushes off to play with the huge Duplo train he had made this morning.
Not that you are allowed to call it a train. It’s called a campervan.
Despite it being made of train parts, looking like a train, having wheels, and ticking every single smegging box on a ‘Is it a train' form.
I also get told off for making poop-poop noises every time he moves it.
<Chuckles>

(A classic Caravan… NOT train....)

I try BabyBoy3 with some chocolate biscuits.
That’s gotta be a winner. That Mrs. Amazing had made. I have five one myself, and offer him one. Which he takes. And that’s my feed-him job done. Except he doesn’t eat it, and leaves it.
After eating it on his behalf I have an idea what he may eat and like.
And even better, I need a huge knife to cut it up. YAY!
MAHHHAAHAAAAHHAAAA!






Watermelon.
It’s a beautiful fruit isn't. If you open and look inside it really is quite stunning.
It’s also well yum shoved in your face-gob munch-hole too.
As the image shows. I manage to cut it up badly. Not sure how I managed to do it that badly. Could have been the little voice next to my head rabbiting on about his train, ARGHH CARAVAN, that did it.
Who knows. It was BabyBoy3.

(Reet tasty mush filler)

Then in classic Dad fashion.
Food is dumped on the table. No mats. No cutlery. Eat with fingers. And eat quick before I eat it all.
Standard Dad food sharing rules.

I finally relax.
And realise I've got some bonus time with BabyBoy3. And we've nothing to do. Just us two.
But to sit there eating watermelon together. Pips and all. Waiting for me Mum to get there.
He keeps laughing about how Boy10 would eat the skin. That's sooo Boy10.
BabyBoy3 tries it. We both agree it's yukky.
And giggle some more.

BabyBoy3 looks up at me and smiles.
Before grabbing some more watermelon. I wonder why he smiling. But I think I know.
I am still sat there with him. I'm not getting up to tidy anything. I'm not rushing out of the door. I’m not fixing anything. I am just sat there with him.
BabyBoy3 smiles at me again and grabs more watermelon.
I'm on my fifth slice.

I take a rare chance to look at my lovely little boy sat in front of me.
He is utterly scrummy. He’s sat on his knees, on a stool, and even so, he can just see over the table in front of me.
He's really still very tiny. About a quarter of me. Big beautiful blue eyes. Huge head.
There’s bruises on his knees probably from knee slides and general falling over throughout the day. One finger is pissed as a newt plastered as he has a hangnail which he claims Boy10 gave him. (But no one believes him when he says that).
There's snot encrusted around the bottom his nose. It's gross. But I've got used to ignoring that. Can't spend all your time wiping their noses.
His hair is sticking out a little madly. Just like mine.
And BabyBoy3 keeps looking up at me with a huge smile on his face. Whilst munching watermelon. He is such a happy little chap.
What a little angel.

And I realise (guess) why he's so happy.
BabyBoy3 is clearly utterly stoked (happy) his Dad. His main male role model.
Is sat at the table, all proper like. Just with him, eating watermelon, just with him. And we're doing the exact same thing, together. Melon juice everywhere.
It's pretty cool.

I wonder if this will become an early memory for him, of me and him.
It might not. But it felt pretty special.
So it might.
<Blows raspberry at you nay sayers>

(Right! That’s my share…)

Eventually Grandma arrives.
It’s been three years? WTAF? <Moves beard>

Spare tyre fitted.
BiggestBrother new favourite son. The moment BabyBoy3 saw Grandma’s car he hopped down from the table and started doing his Grandma's here dance.
Which I didn’t know he had. Or existed. Or how good it was.
His little fingers in the air and wiggling his whole body about.
BabyBoy3: ‘Grandma's here! Grandma's here! Grandma's here!’
Cute as.

He runs to the front door.
And proper run too. Something you can only do without fear. Thudding away.
I'm only a few steps behind him and open the door for him.
And the first thing he shouts at Grandma in his excitement.
Despite me stood right next to him…

BabyBoy3: ‘Grandma! Daddy's here!!!’
BabyBoy3: <Points>
<I wave>
Grandma: <Waves back>
Bless that little looney.

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