Big Brother to the Rescue...

I find myself packing for camp with Boy9 again.

But this time I am prepared.

Patience set to maximum. Tolerance turned up to eleven.

I am ready for Boy9...

Right, you need two pairs of socks

Boy9: 'What?'

Socks. Two pairs. No not those on your feet... Behind you in the draw

Boy9: <Rummages in socks and pants draw>

Boy9: <Shrugs> 'There's none in there'

There are at least five pairs as I put them there myself... <Gives look>

Boy9: <More rummaging>

[Single sock coming flying through the air]

[Another lands on my head]

[Two more in opposite corners of the room]

We need them here <Points at rucksack>

Boy9: 'Oh...' <Collects all four socks together>

They are all odd?

Boy9: 'That's fine!'

Yeah I don't care if you are wearing odd socks.. I just don't understand how they got separated? I know I put them in, in pairs

Boy9: <Looks suspicious>

Have you been depairing socks that I've put away? Do you actually do that?

Boy9: 'Come on! We need to pack...'

...

Fine. Two pairs of pants...

Boy9: <Shrugs> 'There's none...'

Try again...

[Two pairs of pants land on my head]

...

<Turns tolerance up to twelve>

(BabyBoy3’s current talking and walking volume settings)

Whilst me and Boy9 pack for his trip.

BabyBoy3 is giving Team Parent (yay!) the runaround over bed time.

Miss6 went to bed without fuss and was crashed out in minutes. Bless her littleness.

However I am million percent sure the last thing she said before falling asleep was 'I'm not tired'...

Miss6: 'I'm not tired'

Yeah you are

Mrs. Amazing: 'Yes you are'

Miss6: 'I AM NOT!!! ARHGGHHGGHHGH'

Miss6: <Throws colouring on the floor>

Miss6: <Rages and sulks for ten minutes>

Miss6: <Falls asleep>

BabyBoy3 is also tired.

He keeps walking into things. A classic sign for tiredness and drunkenness. And there's no way he's drunk, on only two shots.

As I leave BabyBoy3's room and say good night, stay in your bed, go straight to sleep, do not pass go, it is bedtime, no running about, no charging up and down the hallway, sleep is what you want and what we want, goto sleep. In my best sleepy time voice obv.

I say it with confidence. Confident that my littlest boy, pooped out, will soon succumb to sleep.

I am a fool.

Mrs. Amazing meanwhile heads out into the night.

Mrs. Amazing: ‘Freedom!!!  Freedom!!!’

As she is off teaching her axe throwing class.

Leaving me Boy9 to help pack for camp and put to sleep.  And BabyBoy3 to convince to sleep. Again.

[Sounds of BabyBoy3 running about, not asleep]

Amazingly the packing goes well.

Boy9 is helpful. I send Boy9 off to find what he needs. Whilst I relax on Boy9's bed playing on my phone. Putting BabyBoy3 back to bed whenever he is running about.

Sometimes taking whatever toy he has found away. Sometimes not.

Putting him back under his sheets. Sometimes on top. I mix it up.

But my focus is on Boy9.

BabyBoy3 can wait. I cannot sit outside of this door and watch Boy9 pack.

There's no telling what Boy9 might pack without supervision.

My plan is simple.

Ignore BabyBoy3 and get Boy9 settled first.

As BabyBoy3 is finding bedtime a brilliant fun game at the moment. And it doesn't really matter what we do. He giggles and laughs about everything. Then gets back up and plays some more.

Take a toy away and he just gets another to play with. Or if you manage to find something that he really, really wants, and take it. Then BabyBoy3 cries a bit, then gets out of bed and goes looking for it. Giggling.

Nope. It's easier to ignore him and then pick him up where ever he has crashed out.

Simples.

Boy9 is ready for bed.

I start reading him a chapter from The Sea of Monsters (An excellent Percy Jackson book). Whilst ignoring any sounds from BabyBoy3's room as he rearranges his toys and furniture.

[Thud-thud-thud]

I glance up and BabyBoy3 is stood at Boy9's door kicking it. Not hard. Just his little leg swinging back and forth.

I get up and BabyBoy3 hears me and runs back to his bed. Hides under his sheets. Giggling.

As he's in bed there's not much for me to do.

I return to Boy9 and continue reading.

[Thud-thud-thud]

Boy9 is giggling and waving back at BabyBoy3. I tell him to stop and not to encourage him.

[Thud-thud-thud]

[Ominous silence]

I glance up from the book expecting to see BabyBoy3 stood in front of me.

But instead all I can see is his little hand reaching into Boy9's room. Under his bookshelves. Then his hand is gone and BabyBoy3 thuds off back to his room...

Boy9: 'He took one of my toys!'

... Did he? Which one?

Boy9: 'Don't know. I want it back'

Do you need it right now? <Frowny face>

Boy9: '... Suppose not'

Right choice...

I continue reading.

Hoping that with stolen treasure BabyBoy3 will now play in his bed and then fall asleep.

[SCRAPE-THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD]

[SCRAPE-THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD]

I stop reading.

The noise is too much and will wake Miss6. And that would be terrible.

I find BabyBoy3 running a stolen toy car along the radiators. He sees me and legs it back to his room. Giggling.

I chase after him and take the toy out of his hands. And then throw it onto a high shelf.

I am quite chanked off by now. My tolerance all used up.

BabyBoy3 cries about the toy. But I ignore him and head back to Boy9.

Leaving BabyBoy3 to wail, ideally, himself to sleep.

It's at this point whilst I am reading to Boy9.

That Boy9 somehow manages to fall over, whilst laying down, on top of me. And elbow me in the face and knock the book out of my hands.

I am not best pleased.

What on earth are you doing???

Boy9: <Shrugs>

Are you listening to me read? Coz that seems to me to be bare minimum you should be doing whilst I read? To you! <Gives look>

Boy9: '...'

And… <Gives big eyes look>

Boy9: '... What?'

<Prompting voice> Sorry Daddy for falling on you, and elbowing you in the face...

Boy9: 'Yeah what you said'

<Gives look> <Is secretly proud>

[Door slamming noise from BabyBoy3]

...

<Anger escalates>

Then the doorbell rang.

I run downstairs. And it's our lovely neighbours come to baby sit. I hadn't told them we didn't need them this week. Crap.

I say a thousand sorries (??) and run back upstairs.

Where I find BabyBoy3 moving a speaker into his room...

BabyBoy3: 'Me music!'

(Things to do rather than going to sleep #678: Move speakers into room)

Very cute and sweet.

But also pretty annoying when he was put to bed an hour ago. I trot him back to bed.

And promise he can show me his music tomorrow.

I finally finish reading to Boy9.

And wish him good night, light off, see you in the morning.

Boy9 goes utterly silly and refuses to go to bed or turn his light off. He lays sideways in his bed with his bum in the air.

My temper is now dangerously close to exploding. I wish Boy9 a gritted good night and just leave and head downstairs.

And then sit on the sofa playing stupid games on my phone.

To calm down.

All my lovely tolerance and patience has been utterly eroded by those two rat bags. I can still hear BabyBoy3 bouncing about in his room. My room. The bathroom.

He's really not got this going to bed thing.

I hear Boy9 get up and go to the toilet.

Which is fine. Except I spent an hour putting him to bed! <Grumbles>

But I am not worried about Boy9. He will go to sleep eventually. He may nip down stairs to see me a few times beforehand. But if he is wise. He will not.

(He was wise).

BabyBoy3 however.

Is now in my room. I can hear his feet thudding about through the ceiling.

I go up and put him back to bed again. I shut his door and then wait five seconds.

I open his door and he has already got out of bed and is playing Lego on the floor.

He sees me and dives back into bed. Giggling.

I try to tell him how disappointed I am, that he hasn't gone to sleep. How it's bad behaviour. How my all of chank is very definitely offed.

I try my best to guilt him into staying in his bed. But it feels utterly wrong.

Ans I can't do it anyway. Because he's three and he doesn’t understand.

BabyBoy3 is still smiling and giggling away at me. His Dad, who he loves, and looks up to.

OMFB! What on earth am I trying to do?

<Is disgusted with self>

So I resort to my old desperate, badly thought out, ways.

I don't really know why. I'd just dodged one bullet. Anyway...

I start taking his toys away. He cries. I ignore him and hide all his toys in my room.

BabyBoy3 chases me back and forth as I take his toys. I put him back to bed.

I'm stressed right out and knowing I am being an idiot. But I can’t stop.

I stomp off downstairs and I can hear BabyBoy3 leave his bed and start moving his toys back to his room. Well into a line towards his room.

I explode (internally).

(Things to do rather than going to sleep #48973: Line up toys)

(Note the train string is in line, the nutter)

It is now nine o'clock in the evening.

I've been putting children to bed for two hours. And I started that the moment I got home from work. I haven't even had a cup of tea.

I sit downstairs and ignore BabyBoy3 for a bit longer. For both of our safety.

Until I crack and am just storming upstairs when the doorbell rings again.

What the [Obsenities] emu-smeg now!!!

I don't recognise the car through the window.

And I am ready to be quite annoyed at whoever is at the door. Should they not have a good reason to be knocking on my door. I rip the door open and it's my BiggestBrother (I have three).

With a smile and a present for me.

My anger dissipates.

It’s lovely to see his smiling face. With present. It's nice to see another adult. It's so see someone that doesn't need putting to bed. It's nice to see someone that needs nothing from me.

BiggestBrother asks how’s it's going.

I'm pretty sure my eye was twitching a lot as I said 'not great'...

A smidge of trouble getting BabyBoy3 to sleep, to be honest...

Hey? You don't fancy having a try do you?

BiggestBrother: ' Yeah alright...!' <Enters house>

And upstairs big brother stomped.

Shoes still on, thudding up the stairs. He's a fair bit bigger in frame than me too. He sounds like at least four or five of me on the stairs (Which reflects more on my size than his).

I hear his deep Dad voice deployed on BabyBoy3. I hear BabyBoy3 firmly being told to go to sleep and stay in bed. Then BiggestBrother thuds back down stairs. He's gotta go.

It's a flying visit.

I wasn't until BiggestBrother turned up.

That I realised just how much help I needed at that moment. I was pretty on the edge of sanity. He was like a big hairy angel to me. And in he swooped. Hairy like.

And BabyBoy3 does know BiggestBrother so he wouldn't have been too scared. But hopefully scared enough to stay in bed this time.

<Crosses fingers>

After BiggestBrother has left.

I head into the kitchen and start baking. I have a cake to make for Boy9.

I’m mentally all over the shop. And baking is good therapy for my stressed and grumpy mind. Some music and much cleaning of chocolate covered spoons later. I am feeling back to myself.

I sneak upstairs and check on BabyBoy3. I'd left it ages as I didn't want to undo any staying-in-bed-ness magic BiggestBrother has worked. I find BabyBoy3 totally asleep, tucked up in bed.

Sleeping like a little snorey angel.

(Things to do rather than going to sleep #52: Place all soft toys on duvet,

on floor, to make sleeping harder)

(... it’s hard to stay cross at such a cutie…

<Manages it>)

Bless.

And thank you BiggestBrother. I needed that.

X

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