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 late. Show all posts
Showing posts with label late. Show all posts

15 December 2017

They Can Move It When They Want To (We're Rocketeers) ...

When it comes to being on time, there are two types of people in the world.
Those that are late and those that are not.
Time stands above us all and is utterly unsympathetic in it's judgement.
No matter your excuses, reasons, things on fires, line of chicks in the road, unfindable school bags. Time judges everyone the same.
Late or not late.

Of course some people would love to be on time.
Like me. Hardwired into my brain is a need and screaming desire to always be on time for everything. Although added into the mix are the words of wisdom I picked as a young boy. Better to be late, than not ready.
Which when applied to the children means it's better to have to push through the sea of parents heading out of the school, have to go to reception, look guilty, and then be buzzed in, WITH Miss6's school bag in hand. Than be on time.
It's complex.

Being on time does bug me though.
I want to be on time. And I organise myself thusly and I assume left to my own devices I would arrive to most things drunk, in a very gentlemanly,  bit early, way.
However I am no longer on my own. Boy10, Miss6, BabyBoy3 and yes indeed Mrs. Amazing now confuse me, and my on-time abilities.
But hell! I wouldn't have it any other way.
Unless of course that other way was still with all of them.
But on time.

I used to care so much about being on time.
That I used to vent my frustrations on those around me. I am no angel now about it now.
But I have worked hard at it and now I internalise all my rage feelings. A lot more healthy (??).
One of the times that I really learnt just how bad I was.
Was with Boy10, back when he was Boy3. Little tiny Boy3.
Come with me and see...

[We all get into a big box with Time Machine written on it]
Cuppa? Biscuit? No, not those... This won't take long.
<Presses big button>
[Everything goes all wobbly]
We're here! The year is 19852011... TOUCH NOTHING!
<Gives you a stern look>

(From the utterly brilliant, and well worth your time, Calvin and Hobbes)

We lived twenty minutes from nursery.
And our mode of transport was me gasping jogging alongside Boy3 on his wobble bike. Ignoring the teasing comments from strangers as we went.
Boy3 would wobble along as fast as he could and his concentration would allow.
Some days we would get wet in the rain. Others we would meander along in the sun. A few times we stopped at the park and played.
But there was this one time at band camp, one morning, when we were running late.
And I really let it all get to me.

Seems daft looking back now.
And dumb. And mean. I was only going to be late for work. I just wanted Boy3 to go faster. And he wouldn't.
We were running late as Boy3 had taken ages to get ready. We had fought about getting dressed that morning (me making him, not the other way round). So I wasn't in the best moods before we left.
Boy3 had me, well, barking I suppose <Hangs head> at him to go faster all the way there.
Then with nursery in sight. Boy3 decided he was tired and had probably had enough of me verbally chiding him.
Boy3 stopped and refused to move any more.

I'm cringing at myself writing this you know... <Is cringy>

I freaked.
I can't remember what I said. Just that I said a lot and was very cross. So cross people nearby started looking at us.
I remember their looks and it feeling horrid and weird. But their looks got into my head, even as I was still ballin out Boy3.
He started crying.

Yes. I suck I know.
To start with. I thought the strangers understood what was happening and why I was raging at this little boy. And I felt justified in what I was doing. But that stupid thought soon sodded off. As it should have. And was replaced with a much more sensible one.
They weren't looking on understanding what I was doing. They were looking on wondering what the smeg I was doing. And did they need to do anything about an adult that had clearly lost it.
Me.

Eventually I ran out of words and looked at what I had done.
Boy3 in tears. What a bully I was. I hugged him tight and said I was sorry. He was OK, but pretty shaken. His Dad had been pretty mean to him.
<Sad face>

Later Mrs. Amazing passed on what Boy3 had said to her about it all...

Boy3: 'He was just SOOO cross as me!!!'

Crap.
Now there's a memory that twists like a knife in my heart everytime I think it. Prat.
A Dad low.

<Claps> RIGHT! You've seen enough!!! Field trip over!
Everyone back in the time machine <Claps more>
Put that down! ... Mint anyone?
<Hits big red button>
[Nothing happens]
<Kicks time machine>
[Everything goes all wobbly]
We're back! 2017!
Does anyone have a frequent time travel card that needs stamping?

But why do we fall over?
So we can learn to get back up (thank you Batman). I learnt from that horrible mistake.
That has never happened again. Maybe a few cross words sometimes about lateness.
But never that bad again.
I now have a little switch in my head that goes off. -A mate installed it, can’t go near electricity pylons now <Twitches>.
It's the 'You're getting too stressed about this' switch. And I know now when that switch goes off, I must stop. Being on time isn't that important. It's not worth upsetting anyone I love about it. Enemies fine obvs.
But loved ones. Nopey. Now. I just accept the lateness.
It is surprisingly liberating.

However Boy10 (who was Boy3 obvs.).
Gets stressed out when he is late. And it's all my fault. He's learnt that from me.
Which now I think about it, I got from my Father, sigh. <Actually sighs>
I do my best to teach Boy10 my new way. But undoing things like that can take a long time.
I'll keep working at it.

ANYhooooo...
<Brushes past shames off>

I was awoken by Mrs. Amazing calling me.
Apparently it was 8:10am and shouldn't we have left by now? Yes, yes we should have.
This particular morning me, Miss6 and BabyBoy3 all needed to leave, that's LEAVE, the house at 8:10am. Else Miss6 would be late for school and I'll be late for work.
It doesn't really matter if BabyBoy3 is late for nursery, but he may miss second breakfast, and that would be bad.
I leap out of bed.

(We did BabyBoy3 get a cloak from?
Mrs. Amazing: ‘It’s Miss6’s frozen cape’
Ahhh….

Put clothes on.
Raced downstairs and apologised to Mrs. Amazing for not getting up. As she had done everything this morning so far.
We somehow managed to leave at 8:25. In those fifteen minutes I managed to neck a cold tea, make Miss6's lunch, clean down the surfaces in the kitchen, flush the toilet that someone had left a poo in, cleared out BabyBoy3's potty which also had a poo in it (yuk), got myself ready (I clearly spend a lot of time on my appearance), said yo to the three ratbags, listened to two rocking tunes, and then forget my hat, despite the rain.
Mrs. Amazing very sweetly had Miss6 and BabyBoy3 ready by the door in hats and gloves ready to walk in the rain.
Lateness was seriously calling.

Lateness: 'Oy baldy!'
What? Oh look, sorry, but I am rushing... I can't talk!
Lateness: 'But I have free cake?!'
Really? … No no, I don't want to be late! No thanks!
Lateness: 'Bacon?'
... er... No!
Lateness: 'Bacon! Cake! A whole mountain of chocolate and a lovely cup of tea?'
... I do need another cuppa... <Walks over to lateness>
Lateness: 'SUCKER!' <Runs>
Damn it! <Is now late>

It was raining when we got outside.
No scooters due to rain. So they had to run. And I had to encourage them to do so. But without getting wound up and stressed out. Quite a challenge.
But I've learnt my lessons over the years and after the tenth time of asking BabyBoy3 to get a move on. We had only gone ten yards.
My switch flipped and I caught myself.
I just accepted we were going to be late. Miss6 for school - sorry Mrs. Amazing -
and me for work.
#SorryNotSorry.

And then Miss6 and BabyBoy3 amazed me.
The second I stopped berating them. The moment I chilled out and just let them be.
They solved the problem all on their own.
It started when Miss6 walked up behind BabyBoy3 and tapped him on the back...

Miss6: 'There! Now you've got your rocket pack on'
BabyBoy3: <Smiles>
BabyBoy3: <Quickly rushes round and taps Miss6's back> 'You got yure rocket pack on!'

And then they both whooshed off pretending to fly.
At full running speed. I joined in. Very happy with the amazing speed they suddenly had.
When Miss6 stopped me and pointed out that I didn't have my rocket pack on so I couldn't fly yet.
Are you kidding me?
But without a pause, Miss6 tapped my back and I was rocket pack ready.
Off we all flew!
Looking like nutters.

(YEAH!!! And I bet I looked exactly that cool too...)

For the rest of the journey they rocketed along.
Even up the little hill which normally knackers out BabyBoy3. Whoosh they went.
We did all have to stop for fuel a few times. Which involved someone else standing next to you, touching you and then saying glug-glug. There were oil stops too. But they were all brief.
But the speed they whooshed at was incredible. Miss6 and BabyBoy3, which is more surprising, rocketed (ran) all the way to nursery. That’s a long way for a three year old.
They went faster than they ever had on scooters or bikes.

Even I couldn't miss that lesson.
Right there in my face, all up in my grill. Being taught to me by Miss6 and BabyBoy3 and all their years of experience. You want kids to move faster?
Let them put on their imaginary rocket packs! And whoosh!
Oh! And stop being a stressy twatonk.
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23 March 2017

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>
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