Packing With Boy9 (Not Guns)...

Packing is hard.

It's an annoying job most of the time. Requires thinking things through (urhg) and planning ahead (urghghghgh).

<Flicks keyboard> <Hurts finger>

But it's even harder when the packie (Boy9) that you're doing everything for helping doesn't actually want to get involved.

Boy9 was off on an overnight hike.

They would be hiking 5 miles (oooo) and then coming back to a hall. Erecting <Giggles> tents, fish and chip supper, and then lots of not going to sleep all night. Brilliant.

Oh and probably a huge camp fire and some slightly naughty sing-songs. You know the ones with squishing things, and spaghetti everywhere and she was only a girl from Dunkirk but for a curly wurly she'd lift up her....

Great fun.

I'd go if they let me not do the walking bit.

Miss6 and Mrs. Amazing also have a thing to attend.

Team Parent (yay!) have planned to go to Miss6's thingy and then nip over the road to drop off Boy9, then back to Miss6's thingy. Brilliant.

However Miss6 and Mrs. Amazing have a flower display to make. Quickly.

So they are engaged in that.

Which leaves me to help Boy9 get everything packed, for one night away, in less than two hours. Without me stuffing his head in his sleeping bag any conflict or upset feelings. Omm.

And of course BabyBoy2 is running between the two groups trying to get someone to play with him...

BabyBoy2: <Drops lots of toy cars in front of me>

Sorry Dude... We've gotta get Boy9 packed.

Boy9: <Instantly starts playing with BabyBoy2>

No! You've got to pack! You leave in less than two hours...

Boy9: <Gives me a grumpy look>

BabyBoy2 please go play with your Lego in your room.

<Saddest little, bottom lip wobbling, face stomps off, arms full of cars>

<Feels like the meanest evilest person ever> <It passes quickly>

(... and that’s the not-allowed list…)

I have a list.

They have given us a kit list. Brilliant. And it's sensible. It says no expensive stuff. Great. No Sweets. Mine. Good.

Basically it says: Bring the stuff you need. And don't bring all this other stuff, in detail, that causes fights or they always lose.

I like their kit lists.

It occurs to me I am normally the Team Parent (yay!) elected official to help Boy9 pack. Which could well be because of my skills, abilities and general awesomeness for the job. Or it could be that Boy9 makes this no fun whatsoever a little less than fun, and Mrs. Amazing keeps dodging a bullet.

It's hard to say because Mrs. Amazing will read this.

I tell Boy9 to dress in his hiking clothes.

Plastic trousers. Warm top. No jeans.

The list says very clearly no jeans. They get wet and stay wet. No jeans.

The plasticy trousers we have for Boy9 are designed for this activity. This night. This moment. Thousands of pounds of development went into designing trousers for a nine year old to wear on a hike. The results of which are...

the trousers I asking Boy9 to put on...

<Choir voice>Ahhh ahhhh ahhhh <Hands trousers to Boy, with slight reverence>

Boy9: ‘Can't I wear my jeans?’

No. It says no jeans <Points to the kit list, both places, where it says no jeans>

<Boy9 studies the hiking trousers for a moment>

Boy9: 'They're too cold. I'll wear my jeans'

No.

No jeans <Breathes>

We have a circular discussion about his trousers for a while.

Me using logic, reason, advice, care, and a lot patience. Boy9 the opposite....

<Breaths and rubs face>

We discuss some more and Boy9 is getting annoyed. Which Mrs. Amazing hears from Miss6's room, and suggests Boy9 wear his footy under trousers. So he won't be cold. Good compromise. I am happy.

Boy9 agrees.

However.

Twenty minutes have passed. We still have nothing ready to pack. Boy9 is still in pyjamas.

And pyjamas are the first thing on the list, of thirty. And he is actually wearing them.

We've an hour forty to pack one nine year old, for one night, for a hike.

It's going to be bloody tight.

BabyBoy2 comes back in.

Bored. I suggest he plays with his wooden trains. He's up for that. But I have to go get them down for him. Fine.

I pass Boy9 the list and tell ask tell him to carry on without me. Remove the jammies and put on the hiking trousers. I'll be right back.

Of course I have to get BabyBoy2 going with his track. So actually it's ten minutes.

I rush back to Boy9 to see what he's done in that time.

Still in jammies.

I manage my anger. File it away for another day. Save it for the Beiber forums.

I have already told myself that we are going to do this packing. And I am not going to get cross with Boy9.

Not once.

[Mission impossible music starts playing]

Boy9 needs support at the moment for stuff unrelated to packing. He does not need me coming down on him like a ton of heat seeking bricks (they exist). My calmness surprises him.

I am not cross. I am calm and steady.

It confuses Boy9.

I point at what he needs to get, what I am off into the loft to get, and he heads off to get it.

+10 calm points to me.

(<Weeps uncontrollably>

<Mutters something about costume malfunction>)

A few minutes later.

We meet back in his room. He is now wearing his footy under trousers and the hiking trousers. Yay!

And not jammies. I smell test then and gag and put them in the packing pile.

I've come back with stuff from the loft. That goes in the packing pile too.

We repeat this until the list is done.

At one point. I have to sit him down and ask, rhetorically, why he thinks me helping him pack means he does nothing, and why is he lying on the floor, when he should be packing?

But he takes that well.

He even heads off to wash his plate and cutlery.

As we get to the end of the list.

It becomes painfully obvious he needs the big hold-all from the loft. Which I had failed to bring down last time. Muttering. I climb back up, battle the spiders away, and get the hold-all.

Then before we actually pack. I remember his hay fever tablets and head off to get them.

When I get back Boy9 has packed.

What? Hang on!

I'm glad he did something helpful. I am.

But also I really wanted to check things off the list as we packed. As I am sure I got pretty muddled half way through, and I've missed a few things.

Still I don't want to undo his packing. Laziness For his sake. So as I call out stuff on the list. He points to where it is in the bag.

That's a lot of trust from me. He could have filled the whole bag with comics for all I know.

It goes well and I am believing him until we get to suntan lotion. When Boy9 pauses and then smiles. I am confused.

Boy9 opens a draw by his bed and pulls out the suntan lotion. And packs it.

You see why I wanted to check stuff off the list and visually see it go in the bag?

At least he owned up.

I say nothing.

Then we are all off into the car.

Flower display ready. Apparently the theme was misread. But it looks cracking anyway. Miss6 is very pleased with it.

BabyBoy2 has his rucksack with him, because he likes it.

And all of Boy9's stuff is in the boot. I put it there myself.

We park up where we are going to drop Boy9 off. And are about to head off to Miss6's thingy.

When I notice what is on his legs…

(I FEEL… and I think it goes without saying…

<Gives angry look>

That Hulk-buster legs are inappropriate for a hike…

...School is fine...)

Where are your Hiking trousers?

Boy9: <Looks like a rabbit caught in headlights>

Are you JUST wearing the footy under trousers??? ??? ???? ????

Are you joking me!!!

(Not the greatest line I know, but I was managing a lot of ‘feelings’ at that moment)

<Starts headbutting the car>

I close the door and breath.

More breathing. I elect to drive Boy9 back and get the trousers. Mrs. Amazing, Miss6 and BabyBoy2 head off to Miss6's thingy. The hike organiser arrives and wants to chat.

I remove my embedded head from the car and pull myself together for adult talking.

We chat. We talk about suitable trousers. We make sure Boy9 hears.

The organiser gets what is going on, and helpfully leans into the car and says that under trousers are a no no for hiking. Doesn't Boy9 have any plastic hiking trousers?

I nearly hug him. Excellent non-parent backup.

Thank you.

The journey back home is in silence.

No rocking tunes. I am working out what to say to Boy9. I am furious.

I keep thinking all the way to the house. About what I want to say. How to say it and what effect I want.

When we get to the house with thirty minutes left before the hike leaves.

Boy9 heads upstairs and starts playing Scalextric. I can hear it from downstairs.

It is definitely not the sound of someone putting on trousers quickly.

Those sounds are quite different.

I have a lot of options.

Go ballistic at him. Shout. Nag. Grump. Poke him in the ribs. Eat his Lego. Lots.

But I choose calm town and, I think, make the right choice.

The natural consequences choice: If he takes too long, they will go without him.

It's now Boy9's choice.

So I head off to the kitchen and make myself a sandwich. I'm starving.

And then sit on the sofa and play games on my phone.

And just wait.

Eventually Boy9 comes down.

Hiking trousers on. Scowl on his face. Beaten and he knows it, by a master tactician.

And very much unhappy about it.

I try to talk to him about it. But he argues and is rude, and I've had enough.

Talking is stopped.

Instead I tell Boy9 what I expect to happen.

1. I expect an apology. So does Miss6 and Mrs. Amazing. BabyBoy2 cares not.

2. That scowl needs to disappear.

(Now go apologise to the other athlete…

…shake hands…

...and hug…

...now Tango!... Argentine!)

By the time he's dropped off for the hike.

With only ten minutes to spare. All apologies have been given. The scowl has been removed and Boy9 is definately trying to make some slight amends.

Albeit a bit grumpily and reluctantly. Still he is trying.

Before Boy9 leaves he gets the crap hugged out of him by everyone, and he's off.

Hopefully to have lots of fun.

And Team Parent (yay!) now just get to wait.

And see what mood Boy9 is in after a night of hiking, not sleeping, hanging with his mates, being rude, growing up, having fun.

Totes looking forward to picking him up!

<Isn't>

X

He Returnethed…

Boy9 had been away for a week.

With school and most of this mates. And his teachers.

There was no contact with this parents or his siblings all week.

The only news we got was through a blog site one of the teachers wrote.

It was like crack bacon/chocolate to me us.

Mrs. Amazing: ‘I can’t believe you let him go away for a week’

What??? You signed the forms!… <Points figurative and literal finger>

Mrs. Amazing: <Moves finger away>

Mrs. Amazing: ‘Don’t point that at me, I know where that goes…’

Mrs. Amazing: ‘You paid for the trip online!’

You asked me too!

Mrs. Amazing: ‘Right then… It’s a fight you want then…’

<Stress relieving fight happens, think Asterix stylie>

(Ommmm…)

Team Parent (yay!) missed Boy9 whilst he away.

Mrs. Amazing processed her emotions about it pretty normally. Tears. Wistful looks. Shotgunning four bottles of white wine in a row. Tidying his room.

I went through what I assume are normal busy Dad emotions about Boy9.

Day1: Not missing him at all. Isn’t the non-arguing-quiet lovely.

Day2: This is awesome! So easy with just two!

Day3: Why won’t anyone play dead arms with me? Punch contest anyone?

Day4: That’s it I am decorating his room as a surprise when he gets back.

Day5: Decorating is hard. I don't like it. Where's Boy9 to help me?

Day6: HE'S BACK TOMORROW! WOHOOOOO! <Can't sit still>

On the day he got back.

I messed up. Normally I take the time off and make sure I am there.

But this time. I just forgot. Not sure why. Just did.

But Mrs. Amazing, Miss6 and BabyBoy2 all went to collect Boy9 whilst I was still at work.

I got send a picture of him looking exhausted but happy.

All night crazy parties no doubt, lucky.

And there I was sat at work.

My big boy home after being away for seven days.

And I am at work, doing the same thing I normally do, at work.

Playing ninja swears around the office Working…

Is it OK if I go? My son is back? <Big puppy eyes>

Boss: 'But what about all the stuff I need you to do?' <Gestures to stuff>

Can't it wait?

Boss: 'You'd think...'

... Is that a no then?

Boss: 'No'

Er... Is that no-no? Or no-yes?

Boss: 'No-no and yes, no, respectively'

… What's that? <Points at the ceiling>

Boss: 'Wha...'

<Runs>

Suddenly as I sat there designing the a new bat car working.

I wondered what the hell I was doing. My son, who I hadn't seen for seven days was home. In my house waiting to see me. I wanted to hear what he had been up to. What he'd done.

What had been going on. How many awesome things had he done that I'd missed seeing and was now having to wait to find out?

My focus at work that afternoon wasn't awesome I can tell you.

Eventually 5pm ticked into view.

I sent Mrs. Amazing a message. Giggling away at my own funniness. (I do that sometimes).

Tell Boy9 I'll be back in 30 mins and that I'm gonna get him!

It's hard to put italics in text messages. But really I wanted to put 'get'

Still I hope the message would be conveyed with the right emphasis.

(Nothing but the latest tech at work…

... Note the string instead of hammer…)

5:30 clocking off time.

Time to go home. Whistle time. End of the day. Leave-a-rooney. Freedom!

Time to go see Boy9.

I ran out of the office. Which is quite normal. But then I continued to run. Which is less normal.

I was excited to see my boy. Suddenly my legs and feet agreed it was the time to run.

So I did.

It was glorious.

I don't think I've run to see someone so fast since I was young. Wind whistling in my ears.

Every muscle working together to propel myself along as fast as I could. Step after step getting closer to seeing someone I love. Boy9.

It felt amazing and gave me a thrill.

Halfway home my body suddenly remembered it was thirty-no-no and rebelled.

Panting I slowed to a walk...

No, no, body listen up, we've gotta get home darn quick, I wanna see my boy.

Body: 'No chance. Walkies only'

Come on!

Body: 'Nopey-nope'

Owww... <Thigh muscle hurts>

Body: 'There'll be more if you try any more running...

<Limps on>

I ambled home.

Door open. Coat off. Shoes off. Phone down...

BOY9! Where are you?

<Suspicious silence>

Mrs. Amazing was cleaning Miss6 and BabyBoy2 (in the bath).

Boy9 I find curled up on the sofa watching tele. Power Rangers Dino Charge.

Which is fair enough as it's AWESOME and full of cool monsters and swords and kung fu.

What's not to like! I'm glad I can use the cover of Boy9 to watch it.

I was a bit gutted by Boy9's lack of response to me coming home. I'm a sensitive soul.

I suppose I was expecting Boy9 to leap up and be happy to see me.

But the hypnotic powers of the tele had claimed him. And I don't think he even noticed I was there.

Obv. I stood in front of the tele...

Boy9! Yo dude!

Boy9: 'Hey ... er…  Dad' <No movement and more of a get out of the way feel from him>

So I attack him.

Nicely obv.ly. I bundle on top of the little ratbag him. And then bounce him a bit on the sofa.

Despite what a huggy kind of guy I am. I am still a guy and find expressing my happiness to see him through, nice, but strong physical contact. I hug the crap out of him. So he can't breath, a bit.

It's sweet. Promise.

How was it? What did you do? Tell me!

<Tries not to sound so desperate>

And then Boy9 rewards my run home.

He rewards my excitement to see him. He is developing his social skills well. And I am a good dog.

Boy9 pauses the tele (what an age we live)...

Boy9: 'It was amazing!'

<Big smile on his exhausted little face>

And then I get what I wanted.

Boy9 tells me all. I keep asking questions whenever he falters. He's got so much to tell me, but isn't quite sure how to. The questions keep him going. And everything that has happened in the last seven days, without us, comes out.

I hear how he stayed up late. What the mornings were like. What time he got up. Who was naughty. What the disco was like (there's always a disco). The gross bits. The funny bits.

How he ate seventeen rashers of bacon one breakfast. #SoProud

Whom (yes whom) he shared a room with. What he made. Did he actually wash at all? (No).

Are those the same socks you left wearing? (Yes)

Recognise this? <Shows toothbrush>

Boy9: <Shakes head>

It's a high energy conversation.

Boy9 is up on his feet moving about. His hands are waving about as he is excited to tell me things. And show me things. He's trying to describe things I haven't seen, so his hands are very busy.

As we talk we change room three times. We never sit. It's just fast talking.

Boy9 telling me all, me listening.

The strange thing though is the distance.

For the entire time we are talking. He keeps a few meters between us. At one point during the talking I noticed that he was backing off a bit. So I stopped.

But I was just so excited to see him. I couldn't help myself and a few minutes later I was moving closer again. And he backed up again.

That, I realised later, was why we changed room three times.

I have a guess theory on why he did this.

Whilst he was away he was his on his own. He was his own man. Making his own rules. Boy9 out against the world. That sort of thing.

OK there were teachers around giving him rules etc. But everything was pretty much his own choice.

His way.

And then I suddenly burst back into his life. His big (relatively) loud (I am) and strong (relatively) father (genetically).

Boy9 must have adjusted his personal space boundaries whilst he was away. Letting who he wished in. And keeping others out.

Then I charged in and stepped all over his new boundaries. Which obv. I didn't know I was doing.

I thought his boundaries were still where they were when he left.

Well that's my guessing theory anyway.

After he told me all.

Boy9 headed off for a much needed bath.

Later as we watched Power Rangers I could tell his boundaries had shifted again.

He had adjusted to me again. Phew.

(When forgetting your kit is a problem...)

As he didn't mind me sitting next to him whilst we watched the White Power Range separate the evil-him version from himself. Classic plot.

I imagine this boundaries thing is going to happen more and more.

<Sighs>

I must watch out for it and try and give him some more space.

When I can.

(Obv. after I've hugged the crap out of him).

X