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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Showing posts with label Boy7. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Boy7. Show all posts

9 June 2015

The 3 stages of Peekabo

Stage 1: Lovely sweet, innocent, Peekaboo

I put a cloth over my head (wondering what I can smell).

Where's Daddy?

BabyBoy1 panics
'WHERE THE RUBBER DUCKY HAS DADDY GONE?'
'One minute he's here, then poof, he's gone! He's magic!'
'WITCH WITCH BURN HIM!'

I pull the sick soaked cloth off my head and mentally note to check cloths before putting them on my head. BabyBoy1 erupts in smiles and laughter. Daddy has magically re-appeared.

I'm brilliant. It's brilliant. He's brilliant.
Best game ever!


IMG_20150620_062500.jpg
(Unhappy I had the cloth on my head, I got Boy7 to wear it.
Made me feel loads better)
(Yes, Roses do grow out of his head)


Stage 2: Crap Hide and Seek



Peekaboo has evolved. You can now move and we call it hide and seek.
Miss4 loves hide and seek.

'Daddy come find me!'
I watch Miss4 hide behind the curtain. She sees me watch her hide too, giggling. Her feet are sticking out of the bottom of the curtain. Bless.
The sun is shining behind her perfectly silhouetting her tiny body in the curtain. She is giggling noisily and calling out 'Yooohoooo' to help me out.

Finding her may not be the challenge she imagines it is. (Or Mrs. Amazing has been making comments about my finding and looking skills, again...)


But I make a show of it like a puppet from sesame street.

Where's Miss4? Is she here? <I look under a pen>
More giggles escape from behind the curtain.
Is she here? <I check under my cup of tea, and drink it>
Giggles.
Is she in the chocolate cupboard? <Whilst I'm here...>
Giggles.
Is she behind the kettle? <Makes a round>
Giggles.

Much pretending later I pull the curtain back and 'find' her.
Good game, laughs all around.
And no one nearly has a heart attack.


Stage 3: Ninja skills


It's no longer peekaboo. All the fun and innocence of the original game has gone. It's not even joyful hide and seek. Boy7 has ramped up peekaboo to the extreme. It's now comes with a warning, it's Ninja Attack. (Great game).

I've had a long day at work. I'm tired and I just want to sit down with a gallon of tea, eat chocolate until I need tummy settlers and watch comedies. But no, the house monster needs feeding and it wants dirty laundry.
Not paying attention I open the airing cupboard to get all the laundry out of the laundry bin, unaware that Boy7 is currently playing 'Peekaboo' with me.

It turns out that Boy7 started playing the moment I got in the door. Where ever he is, he hasn't made any tell tale sounds. He is in stealth mode, utterly silent, awaiting his prey.
Oh and everyone else is in on it. 
The gits.

Where's Boy7?
I ask innocently looking away from the laundry bin.
I look back just as Boy7 explodes out of the laundry bin shouting.
'BOO'!

Ekkkkk! (This is an ancient battle cry I learnt from a well hard warrior, it may sound (look) like a girls scream to you. But it is actually an ancient warrior battle cry, I swear) (Tits).


Everyone laughs at Boy7's brilliant 'Peekaboo'.




Deepbreath!... Deepbreath!... Deepbreath!... Heart racing...
Breath... Breath...
Potential heart attack... Pride in shatters... Must avenge... Not dying... Be cool... Be cool... Don't punch him...

I lean against the banister for a moment, to clear the spots before my eyes, and then finally join in the laughing (Whilst silently plotting revenge).
Still, he keeps me young...



19 May 2015

It's As Though He's Trying To Communicate...

The fault is mine. I am the communication bottleneck, I'm the adult, he, despite his volume, is only little. My clarifying clear clarity clearly isn't clear enough.

Maybe I should use semaphore and stand there waving huge flags at Boy7. He couldn't claim he didn't hear me then. Might be a bit slow, and we'd both have to learn semaphore and I am pretty busy already...


(Says: I've had an accident, bring toilet paper)

… maybe not.


I can’t be that hard to talk to him, I seem to know what to say, just my mouth has other ideas sometimes...


Breakfast example:


What I should say: 

Dude. It’s breakfast time, yes, Yay! Could you possibly put the Lego down, yes out of your mouth too. Then please could you join us at the table, we would love hear your hopes and aspirations for the day, you've got a clear window of my attention whilst I eat. Come on mate! 
<ruffles hair> (his, not mine)

Ahhhh... Wouldn't that be lovely. I really feel that if cups of tea could be relay-handed to me as I stagger downstairs, this defo could happen, I could do this, I believe, I want tea...


What I actually say: 
Sit down and eat your breakfast.

OK, possibly a bit grumpy, bit short. Maybe not. POV and all that. But hell it's morning and my nice voice only starts working from 10 o'clock onwards, on good days. And let's not forget that it's breakfast, we have done this before, once or twice...


What he seems to hear: 
JUMP ON THE SOFA! JUMP ON THE WHITE* SOFA RIGHT NOW! I ORDER YOU! 
I know normally you're not allowed to do that, but screw that rule, I just want you to go for it. 
Yes, shoes DO make it BETTER!
Oh! and I would consider it a personal favour to me, please, if you could scream like a banshee at the same time. 
Thanks mate.

See! Somewhere, and I am struggling to spot it myself, we are failing communicate. Flags really could be the right approach to this.



Bedtime example:


What I hope I would say: 
Night night mate. Thank you for today, for being in it with me. 
Being part of your world and life as you grow up enriches my life more than you can ever know. Tomorrow is a fresh day , so let's go get it ready with a good night's sleep behind us.
<Whispers all echoey 'I believe in you' as I shut the door>

Urgh.  Just urghhhh. <vomits through own eyeballs>


What I actually say: 
Night mate, get some sleep, you look like cra... tired. 
<turns off light>

What he seems to hear:
Before I leave the room, while I am still watching you and we have eye contact. I want you to look straight into my disbelieving eyes and get out of your bed and start playing Lego!
Just start playing right in the middle of the floor as though the last thirty minutes of story reading, calming down and chatting didn't happen.
Then either ignore me, or act indignant as hell when I ask what in the name of Optimus Prime’s gear stick you are doing.

What I bloody well should say:
Night mate, I've electrified the floor. 
If you step on it whilst the lights are off you will receive a small electrical shock which will hurt.
I've also wired your Lego up to the mains. Do you know what happens when you run current through plastic? It heats up. And then melts.
Oh and this here...
<taps wall> 
... WebCam, we can see you. 
And this here... 
<taps cage> 
... Siberian Timber wolf, will attack anything that moves. Night!
<walks off whistling>

Ahhhh problem solved!
(Stop looking at his weapon)

We didn't know, we just didn't know ...

<breaks down in tears>
A white sofa seemed such a good choice at the time, the pretty lady said it washed clean, she had an accent, she thought our baby was cute, she pressed me close to her, she flicked her hair, said it matched the wallpaper, I am married to her...
<Blubs>
... I would have chosen black… 
<voice cracks> 
chosen blaaaaack….