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 Boy8. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Boy8. Show all posts

1 July 2016

My Scooter Shame...

I was doing so well that day.
I had put extra effort into spending fun time with Boy8, and was cashing in on it.
Then I did something dumb... Again.

<Bangs head against screen> Why do I do these things! <Bang bang>
<Misses screen and headbutts cup of tea>
OH NO! <Stands and gets tea all over croutch>
Arghghh!!! HOT!!!
<Sits back on spillage> <Accepts wetness>
Why? <To world in general>
Why?
Brainzilla: 'Because you're a lemon'
Ta. Uh-huh... <Nods>.. well... at least... I go well with sugar...
Brainzilla: <Gives me a look. Somehow>

I was rocking the Dadding (real word).
At least by my own definitions I was. I was home from work a grand total of ten minutes. In that time I bounced BabyBoy1 around, listened to Miss5's endless stories, and told Boy8 the good news. Rather drive to his laser sword fighting club. We we're scooting.
Hooray was the Boy8 response.
Nice.

(Yeah, yeah, nice Luckdragon…
But can we make this story quick they open in fifteen minutes?)

Boy8's Cow and Goat racing club isn't far from our house.
I enjoy taking him. But I bloody hate having to get the car out, drive there, wait in traffic, tight road, no you go, no go on, park, wait in traffic, drive back, traffic, traffic, no you go, no go on, OH! Please! Just drive!, you go, park.
It's a fifteen minute round trip of fun. I can walk it in ten.
I like driving. BROOOOOMMMM and all that. But this is a short, annoying, painful journey.
So once the weather was better, the plan was to walk / cycle / scoot.
And the other day I finally remembered the weather was finally good. Enough.

The scoot was great fun.
I have my own scooter it’s got flame all over it. But scooting on your own as adult is always a bit weird. You get looks.
Scooting with your kids gets you smiles and cheeky comments.
A police woman called that journey 'that's one way to exercise'.
That kind of thing.

Boy8 is a fast scooter now.
I can just about keep up. It's definitely easier to scoot at eight. As at 30-Lots I constantly worry I am going fall off and explode into a fireball look a right muppet. I might even hurt myself. Ow. Or break something. OW!
Boy8 worries not.
Any kerb above 2cm is a potential terrible crash for me.
Boy8 does tricks over kerbs.

The drop off was uneventful.
Except one of Boy8 mates, that I know, appeared.
I jokingly pretended to slam his face into a table. Classic Dad humour.
As I had no idea what to say to actually say to him and wanted to be cool.
It's was laughs all round.

I left and tried to coolly unfold my scooter and scoot off.
It fell apart in my hands, and clattered to the floor. Bums.
I fight the urge to just run and hide. And Instead I put my scooter, now called Brutus, back together and scoot off.
Then because I'm now scooting on my own, sans le Garcon8, someone shouts at me as I pass...

ScooterAgeist: 'Aren't you too old to be scooting?'
Not yet! <Sticks up fingers> <Tries to look cool but is wobbling a lot>

I get home hot and sweaty.
Needing to wash. My leg hurts from balancing on one leg, and I'm very hungry.
Still Dad win!
Scooted Boy8 to his club which he loved! And didn't use the car.
#DadWin.

Well that’s me tale done... you can all go now...
Yes, you too, madam at the back... with the beard... <Squints> Oh hi Mum! <Waves>
<Claps> Shooo shooo <More clapping> Go home!
Brainzilla: 'Tell them what you did next'
I don't want to... <Picks at the wall>
Brainzilla: 'Tell THEM!' <Shakes fist>
NO!
Brainzilla: 'You leave me no choice...'
<Slaps self> HEY! Stop that! OW!  <Slaps self> Fine. I'll tell...

Later.
As my old man knee was hurting. I took my bike to pick up Boy8.
I felt nice to on my bike. Safer.
I had, like a genius, left his scooter at the club.
It’s hard to carry anything when you scoot or cycle. Let alone a scooter.
So I grabbed tut scooter and found Boy8.
He was happy, had a good time, was ready to go.
But his mate. The one from earlier. The one I know.
He was there too...

Mate: Is that your scooter?
Boy8: Yeah... <BatEgo sensors activated>
Mate: That’s a baby’s scooter <Rhymes it with YOU SUCK>

The little [INSERT OWN WORD]...
I watched Boy8 visibly shrink from that dig. It was horrible.
He was so happy and full of confidence one moment. The next deflated like a balloon at a hedgehog wrestling party (common our way).
I stay calm and answer on behalf of my stunned, and hurt son...

OH JUST PISS OFF! JUST PISS RIGHT OFF! YA TWONK!
What a mean thing to say! Fooooor shame
Ohh! That's one less Christmas I've gotta write next year! <Is fuming>
WAHHHHH!!! I’m telling!
I’m Batmam...
Face? Meet fist!
Just a small town girl… living in a LONELY world...
No it’s not (ZING! In your FACE!)
<I am ignored>
Mate: Where’s your trick wheel? That is a babies scooter...

(‘No. That’s not my scooter…’)


We say sweary BYE to his mate.
I pick up Boy8's crest which has fallen to the floor. There’s some mud on it, a bit of gum. But, quick polish, <Spits>, and it’s basically fine.
By the time we are outside, he has bounced back. Knowing he’s got a fun scoot home with his Dad ahead of him.

I point at my bike.
Boy8’s joy is diminished a bit. I know he was enjoying watch me shriek do battle cries at every kerb we had to cross. I no such troubles on my bicycle.
And now he will be trying to keep up with me.
<Grins>

I am just about to hop on me bike.
When Boy8’s swine mate runs over… TO BE MEAN AGAIN!
WTAF!

Mate: 'My scooter is way better than yours'

Again I have to watch all the fight and confidence sucked out of Boy8.
He seems to have no defence for this. It’s horrible. I hate it. He needs to learn some defence against the Dark Arts.
I am also not so passive this time...

You talkin’ to me?
Mate: ‘No’
You talkin’ to me?
Mate: ‘Er… What’s your Dad doing?’
You talkin’ to me?
Boy8: ‘Dunno… But that’s his De Niro impression...’
Mate: ‘How do you know? It doesn’t sound or look like De Nero in any way shape or form’
Boy8: ‘He gets all squinty, puts his head to the side and waves his hands about a lot’
Mate: ‘Oh. My Dad too!’

That would have been better to be honest.
Than what I actually did.
Because instead of showing Boy8 that you simply ignore gits people like this.
I engaged. I squared up to an eight year for a battle of sass and mean-ness.
I can honestly say, I felt I could get a win here…

Oh! And where’s your scooter?
Mate: ‘Its…;
<Interrupts> Well I don’t think you have one….
Or is it a babies one? Is why you haven’t got it? <Nods his answer for him>
Is it? I bet it’s a girls one, a pink one… <Smirky ‘you suck’ smile>
<Me and Boy8 scoot and cycle off with dignity>
<Mate left looking gutted>

I hate me for most of this.
And I apologise for the sexist girl and pink comment. That was, and is, wrong.
It shows how much I had lost track of what I was doing. That I felt the need to use stupid sexist stereotypes to out-sass this boy. I am very sorry for what I said.
But I wasn’t sorry immediately…

Immediately I felt good!
A win! The effect my comments had on Boy8 was fantastic. He was suddenly ten feet tall.
His Dad had just mushed into the ground, verbally, a rival.
His Dad had just duffed up a bully for him, verbally.
Of course Boy8 felt good.

We headed off.
And everything kept re-sinking in.
I realised that another parent may have heard me.
Crap.
And without context, what on earth was I doing? Being mean to an eight year old for fun? For kicks?
Crap.
<Hangs head>
Even with the context it’s not great behaviour..

A car passed us on the way out.
It was the mate’s Dad. I like him. His wife too. They are nice. I chat with them.
What if the mate tells on the mean adult (that’s me)? What if he’s in tears right now?
Crap! How do I ever face them again!
OMFB! WHAT HAVE I DONE!

I’m quite quiet on the way home.
I’m thinking. Me and Boy8 still have fun though. But less than we should have had.
We get home, Boy8 eats his bedtime cereal (don’t ask), gets ready for bed, argues about brushing his teeth again, as the first time was utter rubbish, he eventually grumps off to do it again, actually does a good job, he reads, I read. We chat about what happened. He goes to bed.
And I am left, alone, to ponder on what I did.

Take it away Eric... (Karekoe version for singalongness)

My mistake become obvious.
I defended my boy to much. Someone attacked him (verbally) and I leapt in all guns blazing and blaring, and then throwing them when I was out of bullets.
I used all my years, and knowledge, to attack back. And I've some years now.
At an eight year old.

Eww.

I confessed all to Mrs. Amazing later that night.
She laughed with me I think. She eased my worries and pointed out that if his parents were cross I could say what a smegger their child he had been. Fair point.
I felt a lot better.

I’m still furious with myself for the sexist comments.
I really am. I am sorry Miss5, that was a big slip up. I’m sorry Mrs. Amazing. Sorry Mum.
Sorry to all women everywhere. I used your sex as an insult. That was crap.
It won’t happen again.

I spoke to Boy8 about it all.
Before he went to sleep. I asked him what he should do next time. When someone is being mean like that. He said, and I quote…

Boy8: ‘Yeah you say…’ <Does me being mean voice>
Boy8: ‘Where’s your scooter then?’ <Is all pointy, like I was>
Boy8: ‘Do you even have one? I bet you don’t’ <Does me mean face>
Boy8: ‘A babies one? Is why you haven’t got it? Your baby's… got it…?!?... er...’
Boy8: ‘And it’s pink!.. .and… and…erm…’
Boy8: ‘What did you say next Dad?’
<Is appalled with self and Boy8 memory>

Smeg.
We spent a long time chatting. To undo all that crap I had put in his head.
I explained why and how we should ignore braggards, because they suck.
And more importantly, much more,  I explained why my sexist comments were so damn wrong. I didn’t fancy it up or deflect at all.
I made it clear that I, ME, had behaved badly and I was sorry to the universe.

I saw the mates parents the next day. They said nothing.
I choose not to bring it up, or will mention it ever, ever, ever.
EVER.

X


26 June 2016

KABOOOOMMMMMMMMM!

Thunder and lightning.
It is a little bit frightening isn't it?
And no I'm not being a wuss. You go stand outside in a storm holding a metal plate and then tell me how brave you are...

Mrs. Amazing: ‘What on earth are you doing?’
<Is cold and wet> I'm proving a point!!!
Mrs. Amazing: ‘You have nothing to prove! We all know you're an idiot!’
Mrs. Amazing: ‘To who?’
The internet! About how a storm is scary even for big tough men like me!
Mrs. Amazing: <Rolls eyes> ‘... But you’re not big and tough? Oh...’
Mrs. Amazing: ‘Are those Miss5's Thomas the tank Engine slippers?’
Yes! My feet were getting wet!
[KABOOOMMMMM]
Oh crap! That was close... <Is scared>
Mrs. Amazing: ‘Have fun!’ <Closes door and draws curtains>

(In his later years, Superman, forgets himself and playfully kicks a stone at a tree…)

There was a storm last night.
Stormwise in the UK we don't get enormous and life threatening storms very often. I think the last big storm was some thirty years ago and is spoken about, akin to an urban legend, by those old enough to remember it.
Which annoyingly includes me…

Did I ever tell you about the Great Storm of 87'?
Boy8: ‘87 what?’
1987 - the year. The Great Storm of 87!
Boy8: ‘We’re you alive then? Was there Vikings?’
<Feels old>
Yes. Eric the Bloody Frickin’ Nutter was my name. I was a florist..

I remember that storm because it fell (yes, fell) so many trees there was no electricity or school for two weeks. We played board games and card games by candlelight each night.
Best two weeks ever.

Last nights storm though, wasn't a big storm.
But it was loud. It was loud enough to wake me and I slept through the Great, but terrible because there was a lot of destruction, so great only in a size kind of way, Storm of '87.

[KABOOOOOM]

Team Parents (yay!) we're knackered.
For a change. Normally Mrs. Amazing would be out of bed watching nature show off and I’d be trying very hard, but failing, to get to sleep with Mrs. Amazing telling me all about the storm.
But not this time. We were both so knackered and just laid and listened to the storm.

[KABOOOOOM]

However a storm is different with kids.
Elsewhere in the house are Boy8, Miss5 and BabyBoy2. Who we’ve already spent two hours convincing to go to sleep.
And Mrs. Nature, Gaia, old Mrs. KABOOOOM-BZZZZZ-SPLAT-ARGGHH, is trying to wake them all up.
It's quite annoying.

Miss5 is the first up.
Which is fair enough. Miss5 had come that day feeling poorly, with a headache. It was so likely that she was going to be first up, Team Parents (yay!) hadn't even put a bet on it...

Which monkey do you think will be up first?
Mrs. Amazing: ‘Bubbles Miss5. She wakes at this time of night anyway...’ <Looks sad about it>
Does she?
Mrs. Amazing: ‘Yes. Captain Sleep-through-anything’
General, thank you. General Sleep-through-anything. I got promoted.
You know you can wake me, don’t you? I'm cool with it
Mrs. Amazing: ‘Yes, but that, in itself, can be harder and take longer than just putting Miss5 back to bed myself’
<Shrugs shoulder> It's 'cause I’m innocent, and work so hard every day
<Both laugh>

(Don’t look at me like that… You know why I’m wearing the mask…)

My money is on Boy8 to be first in.
He loves not-sleeping. He loves talking at us in the middle of the night.
You'll notice how BabyBoy2 isn't even an out-runner here. A combination of being solidly asleep like only the tiny can be, being trapped in a cage cot, and being awesome. Mean that unless there's a particularly big thunder crash that sets off car alarms.
BabyBoy2 isn't likely to wake.
It's an innocent thing I am sure.

[KABOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM-OMMMMMMMM]

Miss5 darts in.
I owe you £5. Damn it.
Miss5: 'Mummy I'm scar...'

And it feels like nature is taking the piss a little here. Poor Miss5.
As Miss5 already sounds scared and is rushing in to get a cuddle so she can feel safe. What she doesn't need right now is...

[KABOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM-MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM-MMMMMMMMMMMMM]
Miss5: '.... ekkkkkkk!’ <Dives into bed and hides>

Team Parents (yay!) do their best to calm Miss5.
Poor thing is shaking.

[KABOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM-MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM-MMMMMMMMMMMMM]

Boy8 walks in.
He does not look scared, and frankly I just think he is just cashing in on the being up fun. But I can’t prove it.
I sit up in bed ready to grab him and then send him back to bed. It’s easier to head them off at the pass. My plan half works as we hug, but he then outmaneuvers me and curls up on my pillow, right behind me..
I am now stuck sitting up.

Come on! Move... I am soooo tired! <Lamely swats at Boy8 trying to get him to move>
There's nothing to be scared of, the storm is probably gon...

[KABOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM-MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM-MMMMMMMMMMMMM]

Fine.
I shove Boy8 across so I can lay down.
And us four lay in bed counting how many seconds between the lightning flashes and thunder

[KABOOOOM!]

When it gets to nineteen seconds Boy8 agrees to go back to bed.
The storm has passed. I get my spot back in bed. It so much easier to sleep without someone the exact heat of the sun, and kicky, next to me. YAY!
Mrs. Amazing envies my ample adult space in the bed copies my lead and suggests Miss5 head back to bed.
Miss5 is less than keen.

Team Parents (yay!) have a quick discussion.
Somehow, I am dramatically out voted and find myself, a short time later in Miss5's bed trying to explain to her why she should stay in bed.
Why the storm is nothing to worry about as it’s passed by.
And why it’s still thundering, although it’s gone.
I explain it pretty well I think. Static electricity, basic atmospheric pressure theory, clouds, moisture.
You know, weathery stuff.
I am clear, factual and concise. I avoid mentioning about the raw power and the deathy-side of electricity too. It’s not so great for the sleeping I guess.
Miss5 disagrees with my ‘theory’ and instead presents her own madness

Miss5: ‘No Daddy. The thunder is when the clouds drive into each other’
Miss5: <Does hand actions> ‘CRASH! That’s the thunder!’
No. That's wrong. Is it?
Miss5: ‘Uh-huh... And the rumble afterwards is the sound of the clouds falling down to the ground’
Wrongo! Er…

I don’t like Miss5 to misunderstand stuff. I like to correct.
But it’s late. I'm very tired….

Erm… well… <Is debating with self>

I’ve done well so far. But I bet I side into more deathy-stuff and scare the bejesus out of her correcting her theory. Lightning zaps. BOOM. That side...

...Er…
Miss5: <Getting impatient...>

I am really tired. Whatever... <Throws up arms>

Yes Miss5. That's exactly right...
Miss5: <Smiles with satisfaction>
… now go to sleep...
Miss5: <Rolls over happy and ready to sleep> 'Night Daddy'
Night <Heart fills with joy and love>... Zzz

[Fifteen minutes later]
<Wakes and sneaks out of Miss5's bed like a crap ninja>
<Sneaks back into my own bed> ... Ahhhhh <Is loving the sheets>
Mrs. Amazing: '... Zzz...zzz...zzz...'
<Gives Mrs. Amazing a look> <Bounces the bed a bit>
Mrs. Amazing: ‘Zzz... ZzzT!’ <Snoring stops>
... Ahhhhh ... <Snuggles down>
[It starts to piss down with rain... finally]
<Thinks of the Cat shut outside. In the rain. Is cool with it>
<Sleeps like a baby…>


(left to right: Duck, Cloud Captain (the inspiration for Miss5’s meteorological knowledge), Derek Griffiths (the Cloud Captain!, frickin’ SUPERTED!!!!), Sarah)