Boy9's Death Wish II...

I am not quite sure why boy 9 is trying to get himself killed.

(In a jokey way obv. not actually death, telling off really).

But he was clearly was.

It’s all context this tale.

It’s not what he did. It’s not like when he got blood on the sofa and I swooped in and saved his life from Mrs. Amazing. By using my amazing skill of being able to clean stuff to a reasonable degree.

No, no.

This time what Boy9 did was just something that happens to children a lot.

He broke a toy. It happens.The issue here is when it happened.

When.

<Shakes fist>

Team Parent (yay!) had the busiest of weekends planned.

All day wedding on the Friday.

Next day the wedding breakfast and then BabyBoy3’s birthday BBQ party.

Then a rest day (thank Bacon for that).

And Monday as both the bigs ones had an inset day. We’re off to Legoland (YAY!) 2-for-1 vouchers in hand, to celebrate BabyBoy3’s birthday.

I utterly love Legoland it’s second only to Stripper Disneyland.

(We have to queue to give you money? <Grumbles>)

Team Parents (yay!) plan was so very viable.

Because the Friday was the last day of half term. So theoretically. As long as we let the children rest all of half term week. They would be well rested and unwound by Friday, ready for the busy weekend. Then back to school Tuesday.

See. Very viable and possible.

<Looks wistfully into the distance knowing it was always doomed to failure>

Our spanner in the works.

Was a sick bug. That BabyBoy2 got. Then Miss6. She had a rough day of it to be honest.

I stayed home from work to look after her and watch Disney films all day, and eat sweets and listen to her dry retch all day.

I missed the bug but my tummy rumbled all week. Team Parent (yay!) washed everything the sickies touched, in the hope that Boy9 wouldn’t get it.

As he was the ring bearer for the wedding…

Vico: ’Does anyone have the rings’

Boy9: <Walks up to the front>

Boy9: <Glances at me>

<Gives thumbs up>

Boy9: ‘RARRRRRR!!!! RARRRR!!!! I AM A BEAR!!!’ <Makes himself look big>

Boy9: <Does big paws too> <Then runs off>

<Is proud>

Mrs. Amazing: ‘I am guessing that was your idea... which you thought was hilarious’

<Is crying tears of laughter> I can't breath... Yes!

Mrs. Amazing: <Sighs> ‘Where’s Boy9 run off to?’

The woods just over there…

Mrs. Amazing: ‘Why?’

No idea… <Thinks>

OH! Hang on… I’ll go stop him…

<Runs>

Anyhoo…

Thursday night.

The night before the wedding. I was knackered and had been up since 5:30am as BabyBoy2 and Miss6 are utter, utter smegheads sleep wreckers.

Everyone, EVERYONE was supposed to get an early night. Me included.

As were all going to stay up very late at the wedding dancing.

Until midnight…

[...12th-BONG]

<Turns into pumpkin>

Craaaaaap… Not again!

I threw Miss6 into bed.

Miss6: ‘Ow!’

Mrs. Amazing was on boy bedtime duty (BabyBoy2 and Boy9).

I listened to Miss6 very slowly read a book far too hard for her. Which I was so proud of her for doing. She loves to push herself and learn. But for me it was a bit like having teeth pulled as she struggled with word after word.

Very proud. But in pain.

Afterwards I headed downstairs to bake!

It was my turn to make BabyBoy2’s birthday cake and I guessed I was going to need two chocolate cakes to make his ‘Digger’ cake.

Which may not sound hard. But two cakes takes quite a while, as we’ve only one cake tin.

And that’s a lot concentrating for me.

(Starter, main, and cake for pudding… YUM!)

Anyhoohoo…

The early bedtime plan didn’t go well.

BabyBoy2 took an hour. And his door being held shut until he finally had a big old boo, and then crashed out. Miss6 we thought was asleep till she snuck down for a wee. She was not met with happy faces.

And Boy9 was put to bed as nicely as possible. Early, but with a clear message that he has a big day tomorrow. Please just sleep.

Please.

We saw him again at 8pm.

Team Parent (yay!) hit him with both barrells of frowny faces.

Double beamed him on the stairs as we ate our tea (supper) (not the cups... we drink those).

And back to bed he scarpered.

Hopefully to sleep all night and then lay-in in the morning.

HA!

Mrs. Amazing headed out shopping for booze pre-wedding snacks.

Leaving me happily baking away. Eating cake mix and not once, not twice, but at least nine times being surprised how yuk cocoa powder tastes until you add butter and sugar.

I was just melting what was left of a chocolate bar in the microwave and stirring in butter.

When at 8:30pm Boy9 walked into the room.

Looking very sheepish…

Isn’t that hot...

Oh no... <Looks disappointed at Boy9>

What are you still doing up?...

I am very disappointed!

I was.

I couldn’t believe he was still up. I wasn’t even cross. More shocked and disappointed.

It was lucky Mrs. Amazing wasn’t there. She may have had a few words to say to Boy9 about his still being up.

Normally I would have given Boy9 my own round of words. But I was mid-cooking and wasn’t about to get into to a fight with Boy9.

With cake in the oven…

Boy9: ‘It was an accident’

OMFB! What was?... <Sense of dread rising>

Boy9: ‘I hardly touched it!’

Optimus!<Runs>

<Rubs face and puts down bowl of to be icing>

What on earth has happened? An hour after you were supposed to be fast asleep?

To be fair Boy9 was at least looking sorry.

He knew he been caught. Or at least was very, very close to being in serious trouble.

No YouTube for a month kind of trouble.

I think he was pretty glad it was just me there. I am more of a sucker.

I was busy as well.

Boy9 explained what happened.

His blue stress weird toy he has. Exploded in his room.

And there’s flour everywhere. In his room. Well it looks like flour...

<Swears into hands silently>

I’m basically tempering chocolate at that moment so cannot stop.

I tell Boy9 to go back to bed I’ll be up in a bit.

Which turned out to be a great idea.

As it gave me a chance to cool off. And eat icing.

And it gave Boy9 a chance to reflect on what he had done. And more importantly it gave Boy9 a chance to search his soul and work out what would really make me less mad with him. Boy9 started tidying up his own mess.

Good choice.

Icing made.

I head upstairs to Boy9’s room and find him cleaning the floor with toilet paper.

And there’s 'flour' everywhere. On his bed. Rug. Floor. Books. Clothes…

(It just '''''''magically''''''' exploded)

Boy9: ‘I hardly touched it and it just exploded...’

What with? A sledge hammer?

Boy9: ‘Honest!’

Have you considered a career in politics?

<Gives Boy9 a look…>

Boy9: <Looks away> <Has shifty eyes>

I bought the hoover with me.

Handheld. I use it as quietly as possible so we don’t wake Miss6 and BabyBoy2.

We clean. Boy9 does his best with toilet paper. Which is appreciated.

Boy9 hops back into bed very clearly ready to sleep this time.

I head downstairs with the rug and shake it out And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back in the garden.

I put the rug back in this room and say night.

Boy9: ‘Thanks Dad’ <Hugs me>

Hmmm…

… Don’t worry… I’m sure you’ll break something far worse in the future...

Boy9: ‘Love you!’

Love you too... <Hoovers Boy9’s face for fun>

Night!

<Leaves chuckling>

X

BabyBoy3! And Bye To BabyBoy2 You Were Scrummy!...

It was BabyBoy2's birthday the other day.

And as normal we wheeled out the birthday machine, powered it up, showed BabyBoy2 into it, press the big ‘DO IT’ button, and a few moments later, out popped a brand new and shiney BabyBoy3. Ready to his third year of life.

Crikey.

The birthday machine of course.

Is Team Parent (yay!). It's not really a machine per se...

Oy! Boy9 pass the me main influx pipe and the de-toddler inlet value, please

Boy9: 'What?'

Pardon.

Boy9: 'I said 'what?''

No, no... You are meant to say pardon, not what.

Boy9: 'To what?'

Don't be a smegger you know what I mean!

You don't say what, you say pardon

Boy9: 'To what?... Sorry.. To pardon?'

Are you going to pass me the bits I need or not?

Boy9: 'What?'

<Has a moment dealing with extreme inner fury>

Team Parent (yay!) had got BabyBoy2 (yes, we are talking about the past, so it's BB2, not BB3) a water play table for his birthday.

It was hid in my shed, because that is locked and no one should be in there but me. As that's where all the dangerous stuff is kept.

And sometimes presents.

Team Parent (yay!) had a quick election, which was grossly reported by the media scum, over who was to put the water table together. Apparently I won in a landline victory of 23 votes. Only one vote was counted for Mrs. Amazing.

I have launched an investigation into voting fraud (there’s only two of us) and have put Mrs. Amazing in charge of the investigation.

Thinking the water table construction would easy.

And because I was confident and very possibly more than a little cocky about it. I started work on the water table at 9pm. Already knackered from being up since 5:30am.

And on a sugar high that only cake baking, and icing, and then eating decorating with sweets, can give me.

My confidence was high because I enjoy building stuff and very rarely have problems.

HA! <Rolls eyes at self>

(Digger cake! I personally tested every sweet on it many times… )

The first job was to install the plug for the table.

So that water can stay in. If this bit is wrong, it just becomes a table. So it is very important.

An hour later Mrs. Amazing finds me leaning my entire body weight on all the plastic bits that make up the table, trying to get it to click into place. My knuckles are sore from pressing against plastic really, really hard. And I am very definitely getting tired and fed up.

Mrs. Amazing is sympathetic and after asking why one bit seems wrong. Senses my mood isn’t at its most chatty.

As she leaves I notice a big hole in the table. A big draining type hole. A hole that if I was designing this thingy, is exactly where I would put the plug...

<Slaps own forehead>

Of course.

I put the plug in the wrong hole. I had attached the plug on a bit clearly higher than all the water would be. It might be handy for stopping air flow I suppose. But as a means of trapping water for play purposes. I'd right mucked it up.

Of course all the bits I had since added, where on top of the wrongly placed plug.

I swore and kicked the carpet and wondered what the hell I had even done to deserve this, why WHY!!! ARHGHHGH laughed to myself and angrily calmly fixed my mistake.

Two hours that water table took.

<Growls> <Scares self and hides under sofa>

Still BabyBoy3 loved his water table thingy.

It was great. Pipes everywhere for splashing about. Some excellent plastic fun. Well worth the time, pain and tears. And the mess someone (me) made of my shed.

Bonza.

Team Parent (yay!).

The brave, brave souls. Let Miss6 and Boy9 choose themselves what they wanted to give BabyBoy3. Within budget, reason, and following basic health and safety…

No disintegrations

Boy9: <Shows me idea for BabyBoy2's present>

Hmmm... Nice idea... But no to matches...

Boy9: <Tries again>

Yeah, but no to giant matches…

Boy9: <Tries once again>

No to chainsaws as well… Too expensive...

Boy9 got BabyBoy3 a Paw Patrol pillow.

Which BabyBoy3 loves and sleeps on every night. Great choice.

And Miss6 got him a dinosaur that roars really loud and has red glowing eyes.

Which BabyBoy3 also loves. One happy little boy!

BabyBoy3: 'RARRRRRRRRR!'

(Mid-birthday day sleep…)

Now.

Tradition and a little of can't be bothered to think of a new format dictates that I know write a reasonable length list of why BabyBoy3 is hella awesome.

Obv. without it being too puke inducing and squishy. Coz ewww..

Containing the more interesting, interest+, stuff that only the inner circle knows (us lot).

The stuff you don't, and wouldn't know, unless you'ld met BabyBoy3 or me in the pub, the gossip, the word on the washing line...

1. BabyBoy3 only has one hiding place

When we play hide and seek (which I love). Boy9 always wins as he is ninja imbued with the magic of a thousand ancient masters. Which is a bit annoying.

And me and BabyBoy3 can always be found in the same place, giggling, under the duvet of my bed.

Nothing will sway him. When you hide you hide there. Or you don't hide.

Miss6 is very sweet about it and jokingly finds us every time with a smile.

Boy9 on the other hand is less impressed. How can you be the champion hider-finder, if the hidies, are rubbish and utterly, utterly predictable.

Still. BabyBoy3 giggles away under the duvet with me and that's worth almost everything.

2. BabyBoy3 hates having his hair brushed.

Been this way for about year now. Seems to think it hurts his ears.

Team Parent (yay!) are super careful and work very hard at making sure we don't even go near his ears.

Except when his hair is too mad and has to be tamed.

3. BabyBoy3's W's are still not correct.

And we love it…

BabyBoy3: 'WOOK Daddy! Wook!'

<Doubles over laughing>

BabyBoy3: 'WOOK Daddy!' <Frantic pointing>

<Still laughing>

<Is mown down by Miss6 out of control on her bike>

Ow...

4. BabyBoy3 scoots like the wind.

At some point in the last few months. BabyBoy2 went from slow scooting and stooping constantly. To OMFB! fast scooting. And stopping just every now and then with controlled crashing on purpose.

He is really very quick. But at full speed he stops looking up and puts his head and just goes. Making motorcycle noises obv.

BabyBoy3's driven firmly into Miss6's heels like that so far. And once I have had to sprint, flat out, to get between him and a road. (Which is always my fault I know, but he could at least look where he is going).

A stern chat about looking where you are going followed...

Miss6: 'You should be looking ahead for roads that BabyBoy3 may race into'

<Hangs head in shame>

Miss6: 'You're the Daddy!!!'

Prove it!

Miss6: <Does mad dance/ninja hand-to-hand combat moves, ends with fireball pose>

It's a fair cop...

5. BabyBoy3 cares not about bedtimes and wake up times.

<Weeps>

BabyBoy2 was great at going to bed. Great at staying in bed. A right little angel and Team Parent (yay!) loved him for it. More so.

But BabyBoy3 cares not for our ridiculous bedtime rules and times. Instead he runs in and out his room as much and as fast as possible for hours. Until he crashes out at the top of stairs. And we only find him once we go to bed. As nothing we do seems to stop him, so we just ignore it.

And as for morning wakeups. He cares not for the 6:30am rule (none of them do actually).

But BabyBoy3 really pushes it as he trots in, cars in hand, at 5:30am.

Suns up, BabyBoy3's up - seems to be the rule which Team Parent (yay!) never agreed to and constantly try to change.

(Rather than go to sleep.

BabyBoy3 thought it would be great to line up all his toys.

In Team Parent’s (yay!) room. We disagreed on this…)

6. We no longer have a song.

Which is a bit sad. For two years I sang to that little boy in my arms. And sometimes he sang along with me. And then went down to sleep without fuss.

<Howls a new born baby manly>

But the logistics of BabyBoy3 being in a real bed, and him not letting me in it for a cuddle. Mean his nightly bedtime song has stopped. Else I would be just standing in his room serenading him. While he ran in and out of his room. Which would be weird.

I know. I tried.

However. As I was singing story books to him one night (I don't need to explain myself), Mrs. Amazing noticed that BabyBoy3 was starting to nod off to the singing. So I followed it up with a few numbers, RATM mainly, and off to sleep the little lad went.

There still magic in song for him it seems.

(Or his brain has been carefully programmed over the last two years to go to sleep when I sing).

7. BabyBoy3 will accepts biscuits for most things.

Get in the buggy will ya?

BabyBoy3: 'NOOOOOO'

[Epic struggle over getting buggy happens, I lose]

How about a biscuit?

BabyBoy3: 'Two?' <Shows me two fingers>

Rude. Deal. Two.

BabyBoy3: <Climbs into buggy happily>

<Has a biscuit too>

8. Paw Patrol is his cartoon.

BabyBoy3 loves Octonauts, Sarah & Duck (who doesn't), Shimmer and Shine and Fireman Sam. All cartoons adopted from his bigger siblings.

But Paw Patrol is his. Or as BabyBoy3 says ‘Aw ‘Atrol.

He's the Police dog, Chase. I'm the flying dog, Skye (yes the girl one). Miss6 is the one with a hovercraft, Zuma and Boy9 is Rubble, the one with a bulldozer.

Mrs. Amazing went for the boy, Ryder.

On each mission BabyBoy3 calls out to each of us if we are going on the mission this time, or not. If even if we are not watching.

It's frikkin' cute.

9. BabyBoy3 is a jigsaw expert.

For his age. It's his Grandma that's been training him up on these. Week after week.

And now if left along BabyBoy3 can do surprisingly complex jigsaws all on his own.

I am not talking clear blue sky over a sea view of anything.

But he's good.

10. BabyBoy3 isn't Batman.

Or batboy. Or Bat-BabyBoy3. He won’t have it.

He’ll run about shouting ‘BATMAN! BATMAN! BATMAN!’ at the top of his lungs.

But he isn’t Batman....

Hey! It's Batman!

BabyBoy3: 'Not Batman!' <Says it slowly and clearly> 'I am Baby-Boy-3'

Oh... you have a Batman top on, bat shoes, bat hat, batman toy in your hand...

BabyBoy3: <Slow and now a bit shouty> 'Baby-Boy-3'

OK Batboy...

11. BabyBoy3 is pliant.

BabyBoy2 was super sweet and did most things without fuss or argument.

BabyBoy3 is not the same. Some stuff is still easy to do. But other stuff... Well there's very cute shouting and crossness from him.

BabyBoy3 is starting to enforce his own will on the world. Which mostly fails as BabyBoy3 is still tiny and can easily be picked up.

And as already said, he is susceptible to biscuit bribery just like his Dad.

12. BabyBoy3 is the 2017 winner of 'Loudest Foot Fall in the Whole World'.

How do such tiny feet, make so much noise?...

Where's BabyBoy3?

[From Upstairs] THUD THUD THUD THUD -SMASH

BabyBoy3: 'Oppsie! Oh well… doesn’t matter...'

... THUD THUD THUD THUD

Mrs. Amazing: <Glaces at barely coping ceiling> '... upstairs'

That's him? I thought my dragon had got out...

Mrs. Amazing: 'Your what?'

[Boy9 enters and walks in between us]

Boy9: 'No mum, you mean “Your pardon”’

Boy9: <Gives me a thumbs up and smile>

[Boy9 leaves proud of himself]

<Is frowned at>

…

<Runs>

Happy Birthday my littlest dude.

I know we're heading into threenanger territory now and we're likely to fight more, and argue.

And there will be more grumping, more NO!s, and stomping off coming.

You'll do it too I bet.

But I also know you are going to making me laugh more, you're going to make me play games more. You're going to want more of my time, and of better quality more and more.

We'll build more together. I’ll show a billion more things that you’ll love.

There’s so music I want you to hear!

Basically I'm gonna have to play harder, better and faster than ever before.

I cannot smegging wait!

(Making Eggy-bread (French toast)... he's brilliant at cracking eggs...)

 

Thank you Babyboy2.

You have been utterly scrummy and the sweetest little thing.

My darling littlest boy. <Wipes away tear>

You frikkin' rock, you awesome, happy little dude, you.

X