Twisted Tights...

It wasn't as the third pair of Miss6's tights flew past my head.

Or the skirt.

Nor was it after I growled at her 'You're going to school even if I have to drag you naked!!!'

No.

It wasn't even after I shut her door and stomped downstairs. Fuming.

It was a few moments later when the sound of Miss6 screaming and kicking, something, in her room came floating through the ceiling.

That was when I realised that we're going to be a little late for school today.

Of course I wouldn't drag Miss6 to school naked.

Let's make clear. That's an empty threat. We're in the UK! It's brass monkeys (cold) out here. Naked is no option.

Plus my goal is just to get her to school. Not publicly humiliate her naked.

That will always be an empty threat. Which is fine.

Even empty threats have their place. They can add colour and interest to what your shouting saying. Gives it rhythm.

'You're going to school even if I have to drag you...'

Just doesn't work as well.

Add back in the 'naked'...

'You're going to school even if I have to drag you' <Does big arms> 'NAKED!!!'

And there's the drama!

Lovely.

(Are you sure it’s show and tell today?

… And it’s definitely planes…?)

But the dragging bit.

Oh I meant that. Not like a prisoner Obv. I'm not trying to hurt her.

Miss6 is still pretty small. I'll just pick her up and tuck her under my arm.

Which is the best way as all the pointy and kicky bits are away from me then...

OtherDad: 'Morning!'

Morning!

OtherDad: 'Trouble with the daughter this morning' <Glances at wriggling Miss6 under my arm>

Miss6: <In the key of shouting> 'POO POOOOOOO'

Yeah... Not sure what the problem is... Just couldn't get her dressed this mornin’... <Shakes head le ruefully>

OtherDad: 'Enough breakfast?'

Yeah

OtherDad: 'Sleep enough?'

Well enough... for her...

OtherDad: 'Did you threaten to drag her screaming?'

<Smiles> How did you know?

OtherDad: 'Haha! Well... At least she's doing her part'

Miss6: 'ARGHHHHH POOO POOO'

Miss6 has to go to school.

Miss6 has no choice. There maybe the illusion of choice sometimes. But there isn't really a choice here. Which does it make it easier to enforce. She is going.

For many reasons:

a) It's the law in the UK (unless she's sick, and grumpy doesn't count as sick, it's annoying, but it does not count as sick)

b) I've got work. They are very not cool with Miss6 sitting with me all day. And they don't pay me if I don't go, which I still totally disagree with. How would we afford my new Nintendo Switch food if I missed work?

c) She can't be left alone. An adult must be with her, again lawy stuff. And Mrs. Amazing has already gone to work.

d) I don't trust her with the chocolate cupboard at all.

The problem was itchy tights.

Which I totally understand and sympathise with (socks for me, tights bit not so much).

I am going through an particularly long winded and challenging season of annoying-twisting-sock struggle myself...

<Is holding it together in meeting>

SomeBossTypeBloke: 'Blahy blahy blah-blah...'

<Right sock has definitely twisted>

SomeBossTypeBloke: '... blahblahy! blahy... large turnover'

Brainzilla: 'OH GOOD BACON AND CHEESE! DO SOMETHING! IT HURTS! IT HURTS! UNTWIST IT NOW!'

<Adjusts sock>

SomeBossTypeBloke: <Sees> '... blahblahy... those are some bright socks!'

<Glances at socks> Suppose! Look they've got a funny face on them! <Points>

<Whole room looks at my socks, and the funny face>

SomeBossTypeBloke: '... blah blahy blahgoogapopoga net profit ...'

<Reflects on impression given to colleagues>

<Is sure they think I'm cool>

<Re-twists sock>

(Prone to being very smeggers twisty)

So really.

I know her pain. It's probably something she's got from me anyway. It's could even be the same pain. Maybe there's some way of seeing it as a positive. But I've no idea how.

<Un-twists barsteward sock>

Anyhoo...

BabyBoy2 is mostly dressed.

And I'm ready. So having left Miss6 to dress herself. I wisely check to see how Miss6 is getting on. As yesterday she had got distracted by very important Lego building.

That was a rush...

You're not ready! <Is starting to panic>

Miss6: 'But I made this' <Shows mad awesome Lego thingy>

Very nice... We need to leave the house in less than two minutes...

Miss6: <Still in jammies> 'OK...' <Carries on building Lego>

... I'll help you... <Rolls up sleeves>

[Three minutes fifty seconds later]

[Is awarded new dressing, cleaning, and day preparing records for a parent with a Miss6]

Now we need to run you fools...

<Legs it with buggy and Miss6 scooting>

But that was yesterday.

Today I have allowed more time. And I have found Miss6 sat on the floor. Tights half on.

Hair impressively enormous.

Sobbing a little (don't panic she sobs a lot).

Would you like some help? <Best nice Dad voice>

Miss6: <A bit sobby> '...yes'

It all started so well.

I was mega ready to be understanding and sympathetic about her twisted tights issues. I was ready to go through many pairs with her. We had time.

But what I wasn't cool with. Was the anger and the kicking.

Which grew with each attempt at putting on the tights. Her favourite pair obv. were in the laundry. And that was the pair she really, really, wanted. My patience started disappearing like chocolate in the chocolate cupboard. Alarmingly quickly.

It's very hard helping someone do something tricky and awkward. Who, just as we are about to finish, has a right ol’ paddy and takes everything off again. Screaming and kicking. Then declares they are not going to school.

As it is pooey.

Hey now! <Removes tights from head> You want my help? I am here to hel...

Miss6: <Blows raspberry at me> 'POOEY!'

But if you keep kicking me...

Miss6: <Is kicky>

Ow... ow... Stop that!

OW! FINE!

And that's where this tale started.

Me stomping off. A barrage of tights trailing behind me.

My 'I will drag you' still ringing in the air.

I left because I was losing it.

My calm. I stood outside of her room and quickly took stock of myself. I was furious.

And if I went back in I would continue to be furious and end up fighting Miss6 into her clothes. In tears (not mine). And I hate doing that.

Always feels like a fail....

Brainzilla: 'Because it is!'

Who's side are you on?

Brainzilla: 'The dark side Mine, and caffeine!'

<Whispers> Twonk...

Instead I leave Miss6.

We've got time. And I need to calm down.

BabyBoy2 is down stairs watching Paw Patrol. He moves up to let me sit and then wriggles round to sit on me anyway. My Nick fury seeps away as I sit with someone that finds Paw Patrol so exciting they have to shout at the tele.

It's nice to have someone so happy just to have you there. I calm quickly.

Then head into the kitchen to finish off getting all the bags and gubbins ready for them both.

When I come back.

Miss6 is sat there watching Paw Patrol. DRESSED. Tights on.

She apologises and we hug. I mention that if someone wants and tries to help you, it is not super cool to kick them and shout at them and throw clothes at them.

Miss6 nods. And we are friends again. All is forgiven (me, I do the forgiving).

I detangle the hair beast that has attacked her head since last night.

Whilst pondering on how to approach the final hurdle we have before we leave.

Her shoes.

A very common tight twister and Miss6 irritator. I explain to Miss6 my current twisted sock issues. And what I do to help it. And would she like to try that with me. I get a little nod of yes.

On the first attempt. The first shoe comes off again, angrily, despite my help.

But I give her my stern face.

Miss6 makes a good choice. She asks me to help her again.

I pull her tights super tight around her foot and then put the shoe on like I am defusing a bomb, so it affects none of the fabric.

Miss6 gives me the all clear. The tights are not twisted and I tighten the shoe around the tights.

'To lock it in place'. Which Miss6 totally buys.

(And that should keep them in place!

You wanna wee? … Oh… Now what was that combination...)

We leave a little late.

And have to leg it through town again. Me pushing the buggy as fast as it can cope.

BabyBoy2 cheering and whooping away at the speed. Miss6 scooting for all she's worth alongside me.

And I do all this with a smile on my face for two reasons:

1. It's really fun. Weeee!

2. Because when Miss6 had driven me utterly crazy, and I was about to explode.

I didn't walk back into the room filled with explosives with a flame thrower lit match like normal.

Instead I blew out the match...

[KER-BOOM!]

Brainzilla: 'What was that?'

Metaphorical explosion...we’re fine...

Brainzilla: 'Nice!'

<Swaggers off>

<Stops to adjust socks>

<Forgets I was swaggering and skips instead>

X

I Hope That's Chocolate Cake (Potty Training III: The Search for Clean Pants)

I get back to work.

I sit at my desk and flick on my monitor. Then regret flicking it as i've hurt my finger.

I glance down and, silly me, there's chocolate cake on my trousers.

Man. I hope it's chocolate cake.

(One for me and myself...)

I did just eat a very yummy chocolate cake.

Which gives me some comfort. Whilst I was busy battling ninja pygmies at work Mrs. Amazing, the brave soul, got Boy9 and Miss5 to make cupcakes at home.

Winner for everyone.

Except the state of the kitchen.

And the large amount of washing up left.

And the slight confusion over how much cocoa needed go in. The cupcakes had a good 500% extra cocoa in them. Yum.

And Boy9 eating as much butter and sugar as he can as he cooks. (Seriously who eats butter like that?)

And probably germ wise the cakes are on the chemical warfare side. I don't doubt there's a few Boy9 boogies in the mix. And of course Miss5 would have been licking her fingers and then putting them back almost constantly as well. Ew.

But it's fine. The cakes are baked, the germs probably die, or run away of something. No one has ever died from kid-made cakes.

I think.

Anyway.

The cakes were warm and very hella yummy. Nothing beats an activity with the kids that results in pudding.

Top marks Mrs. Amazing you genius.

However.

My concern over whether it's chocolate cake or not is that BabyBoy2 is also learning to use the potty at the moment. Well to be fair he knows how to use it. You just sit. Easy.

We've even had 'successes' already. But he needs to learn WHEN to use the potty, and when to carry on playing and being awesome.

From the message I got Mrs. Amazing I felt it had been going pretty darn well so far...

One poo and two wees in potty!

Brilliant! Well done BabyBoy2.

One wee on sofa and two in pants… Oh.... Not so awesome.

Because fitting the entire sofa in the washing machine is pretty difficult…

What? The covers come off the cushions?

Mrs. Amazing: <Nods>

What an age we live in... <Looks wistful>

This is Team Parent (yay!)’s third child to train up to use the potty.

We're no experts. But we've got experience now. And that counts for a lot.

Mrs. Amazing: ‘Potties go the other way up’

I see… Thank you…. <Swears internally>

We have a method that works (for us) and it should work again.

We go for huge congratulations and cheering on any success. I for my part tend to throw said child about a bit in the air for a bit. Really reinforces our joy at a success.

There's no crossness over poo and wee everywhere 'mistakes', instead it’s 'Oh well's and 'It doesn't matter' and ‘We can buy a new one’ and ‘How did it get up there?’.

And of course chocolate buttons.

You gotta have chocolate buttons. Every 'success' gets a button. Which if you're only two is awesome as buttons are pretty big when you're two!

This kind of carrot stick would work just fine on me too. Hell I'd do most things for a chocolate button or ten.

But I won't do that.

Mrs. Amazing: 'It's time for work!'

No chance! <Sticks fingers in ears> LAAAALAAALAAAALAAAAA

Mrs. Amazing: <Unbuttons top>

<IS SHOUTING AS FINGERS IN EARS> NO WAY! YOU'RE NOT TRICKING ME THAT WAY AGAIN!

THAT'S HOW WE ENDED WITH THESE CURTAINS <Points>

<Hides under duvet>

Mrs. Amazing: <Wiggles a packet of chocolate buttons under that duvet>

<Packet is taken>

<Munching sounds are heard>

FINE! <Emerges from duvet> I'll got to work... <Grumbles>

But there better be more buttons when I get back...

Mrs. Amazing: <Kisses me goodbye>

We've been a bit unfair on BaybyBoy2.

He was ready a while back. He was doing all the classic signs.

Pointing at his nappy and saying 'Pooo'.

He seemed to know when a poo was coming.

He was demanding to sit on the toilet seat like everyone else.

And the last final, subtle clue, was that he sat on the potty and used it a few times.

Subtle, child specific, subtle clues that only the actual parents could pick up on.

He was ready.

But we made him wait. Despite conditions being perfect. It’s summertime (which is essential). One of Team Parents (yay!) was going to be about him 24-7. (Not me).

The only thing stopping us is that we had a holiday booked. And we know from sad, sad experience that nothing can ruin your holiday fun quite so much as having to carry about someone's poo.

Or having to clean after them all the time.

Doesn't really blend with the drinking relaxing holiday goal we aim for.

So Team Parents (yay!) took the slightly selfish decision to wait.

Sorry BabyBoy2. #WouldDoItAgainInAHeartbeat

Anyhoo...

I got home for lunch to find Miss5 and BabyBoy2 hanging about in their pants.

Or in Miss5's case knicknocks. BabyBoy2 had on little green y-fronts and looked hella cute. And suddenly very grown up. It's amazing how old you can suddenly look with no nappies on. It really aged him.

Lunch was the normal fun: Stop poking me, stop poking your brother, eat the food you have, no you can't get down, no you still can't get down, no that doesn't count as a mouth full, stop that your mouth is full, no, still doesn't count, why have you got down? Again? Don't you like food? You must eat.

ARHGHGGHGHGHGH EAT SOMETHING! PLEASE!

<Represses rage>

Midway through lunch BabyBoy2 popped down from the table.

Mrs. Amazing was on him like a hawk. I have you now <Twiddles with dials>

And BabyBoy2 was whisked to the potty.

Right near where we eat of course.

It's a beautiful and magical time in a family's life.

BabyBoy2 wee’d in the potty.

Success! Me and Miss5 cheer and holler from the table. (She’s an great big sister).

We clap and generally make sure BabyBoy2 feels very happy for a wee in the potty.

Which is a bit weird if you think about it. Because if that happened when I went for a we...

<Is weeing when doors opens>

Mrs. Amazing: 'Well done you!' <Claps>

Go away... <To rhyme with sod off>

<Miss5 appears>

Miss5: 'Well done Daddy' <Pats my back>

<Boy9 appears> <With camera>

[Click]

Hand that to me RIGHT NOW...

Boy9: 'It's already uploading.... backing up on the cloud... It's on the the internet... and...'

<Is finishing very quickly> Give that here!!! ...

<Stumbles and has a zipper related incident>

Mrs. Amazing: 'Oooooo.... We'll just leave you shall we...'

<Weeps>

<They all leave> <Miss5 returns and lays a blanket on my foot, then skips off>

That would be weird wouldn't it?

Still. That's what we're doing for BabyBoy2.

Every wee and poo gets a thunderous round of applause and praise from us.

Especially Boy9 who will use any excuse to get down from the table.

He gives a BabyBoy2 a pat on the back. And is then sent back to his chair by the power of my angry eyes.

Everyone gets a chocolate cup cake for pudding.

Except Boy9 who hasn't eaten enough to warrant a cake. Ha ha. Then I head back to work that internet won't surf itself. As I leave BabyBoy2 sides up to me and says 'weee'.

I know to do and leap (figuratively) into action.

HELLLLLLLLP <Runs about in circles>

I move quickly and efficiently. Pants down (BabyBoy2's).

Plonk boy on potty... Wait.

It's already too late.

CODE BROWN! I HAVE A CODE BROWN!

I NEED wipes and a crucifix STAT!

Boy9: 'What does Stat mean?'

No idea... Do you have wipes?

Boy9: 'No'

Then why are we still talking?

<Mrs. Amazing arrives with wipes>

I clean up BabyBoy2 whilst he finishes off his business.

We both agree never to talk about it again. I clean myself up which takes a while as basically

I got slimed.

(I feel so funky…)

Pants are sent bin-ward bound.

No much point washing 7000th-hand old pants. BaybyBoy2 is released clean and poo free.

I head to work and as I sit I notice something on my jeans. Chocolate YAY! or poo NOYAY?

I stop myself from doing a taste test.

Despite all that.

And having to clean my trousers in a mens which has no towels at all, and I get bits of toilet paper all over me. I am glad I was home for that. Honestly.

Really.

Not the poo part so much... But being involved with a big step in BaybyBoy2's life.

Yep. I am glad I was there. Wouldn't miss it for all the bacon cake world.

Had I left for work two minutes earlier I would have missed it. It was very close.

(Makes mental note to leave earlier).

And yes, Mrs. Amazing was glad I was able to share in this part of BabyBoy2's life.

Very glad.

Mrs. Amazing: <Sniggers and whispers> 'Welcome to my world'

X