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.

X

1-0 to BabyBoy3...

I love BabyBoy3.

I really do. With the power and heat of a billion suns. Maybe two billion.

He is an utter dude and the happiest little boy.

I hella love him.

(The cut backs to the fire service have not been exaggerated…)

I love the others too. Obvs.

Loads. But BabyBoy3 is such a jolly chap he's very easy to love. He rocks.

He doesn't grumble much, third child and all that.

He’s mostly very happy with his lot in life. As long as he’s got a toy fire engine nearby, chocolate milk coming. He’s good.

He always wants to play and have fun. Which is a lovely characteristic.

Unless it's bedtime...

<Car lands on sleeping my face>

Dudddde... <Checks Storm Trooper alarm clock>

<Cannot read clock as eyes fused together with sleep, but it's proper dark>

Dude... Go back to bed, until it's morning time...

BabyBoy3: 'Awwwww!' <Stomps off>

[Silence for ten seconds]

[Light goes on in BabyBoy3's room]

BabyBoy3: 'Brrrr POW POW! NRRRRRGGGGGHHH I LIKE THAT! Oooooo. O. O. ... etc'

<Hides head under pillow>

So there's that.

Which is still very cute and lovely really. Just Team Parent (yay!)’s natural need and desire to sleep gets in the way of BabyBoy3's late night play time.

Shame. We could have so much fun if we just didn't need to sleep.

But we do.

<Has a doze>

But there's this other thing BabyBoy3 does.

That I hate. It’s a mix of frightening, hilarious and very annoying. Particularly to me.

As for some reason it presses all my buttons.

BabyBoy3 puts his hands over his eyes. And then starts walking.

Not looking where he is going. <Eye twitches>

He giggles while he's doing it to.

It drives me bandy. He is going to hurt himself and I can’t stand it.

It’s not something he’s got from Boy10 or Miss6. This is all BabyBoy3.

His very own smeggin irritating 'skill' as it were.

And of course because three year old’s are evil geniuses.

BabyBoy3 chooses bed time to do it...

I had read BabyBoy3 his three bedtime books.

The train one he hella loves. Poop-Poop. Then that again. Another. And then because he begged so sweetly and we were having such a good time, and I’m a right sucker. Another (yes that’s four).

BabyBoy3 did promise he would go to bed straight after. No messing about. (Again sucker).

I even sang him a song at the door as I left. His song. With BabyBoy3 all snuggled under his enormous duvet (normal adult sized one, tent sized for him).

As I closed his door and said good night, he even said 'Night night Daddy'

BLESS HIM! <Squeals Has no reaction at all>

And then I headed downstairs to make a cuppa.

Where Mrs. Amazing and Boy10 were watching Simpsons. Without me.

Which I really think is hella unfair. I love The Simpsons.

Daaa da da da daaaa da da da dadadada...

(I empathise more and more with Homer…

<Destroys town with nuclear melt down, again>)

I walk past Mrs. Amazing and Boy10 finger gun shooting them both pew pew.

Planning to come back. And totes sit and laugh a bit. A probably explain some jokes to Boy10, or say every line before it happens, word for word, and then NOT explain a few jokes for Boy10 because he’s only ten. It depends on the series.

My butt was just backing into place (beep beep) when BabyBoy3 appeared at the top of the stairs. Fine. I Billy whizz upstairs and put BabyBoy3 back to bed.

He's cool about it. But I know this little boy and I wait outside his room.

Out he comes. Hands over his eyes.

Giggling.

<Grumbles Sideshow Bob stylie>

<Gets rake in the face>

It's dark. And BabyBoy3 is not looking where he is going. He's giggling. There's stairs nearby.

All in all he has triggered my Dad DANGER-RADAR (I have one, it’s awesome) so I tell him off a bit and then chuck place him back in bed.

Big mistake.

I did it wrong.

I told BabyBoy3 off wrong. What I tried to say was: What you're doing is dangerous. Stop it.

What BabyBoy3 clearly heard was: I LOVE THIS GAME! LET’S PLAY FOR HOURS!!!

For the next thirty minutes.

He followed me around the house. Whilst I was sorting laundry. When I went downstairs to get a cuppa and raid the chocolate cupboard.

As I was telling Mrs. Amazing about the dangerous thing BabyBoy3 is doing.

Wherever I went BabyBoy3 would come giggling along, hands over eyes, crashing into things, hurting himself. Not badly. But there were a few tears.

At one point he had a right ol' boo about how he had hurt his face.

Because he walked into a wall.

My sympathies were low. All out in fact.

I didn't say 'good' because that would be mean.

But I did say 'because you were not looking where you are going you lemon'.

An hour later BabyBoy3 has just banged into me again.

I'm back upstairs finishing off the laundry. He falls and bangs his bum. More tears.

BabyBoy3 is now knackered but still giggling.

My tolerance for this game. This stupid dangerous game.

Has run out. I cannot ignore him anymore.

It's freaking me out watching him clatter into things. I've taken most of the contents of his room away. His table lamp went in the first few minutes. All his toys. His teddies are in my room. In the hopes that removing them would shock him out of this game.

Nothing has worked.

BabyBoy3: <Leaves bedroom, covers eyes, and giggling walks into me>

<Internally> ARGHGGGGHGHGHHHHHH!

<Externally explodes>

I have run out of ideas.

I have nothing else to try. I've ignored him for years, it seems. I've silently put him back to bed like a good bed-returning robot (see here).

I've read him stories. Nothing has worked.

My stress levels are hella high. I'm sure there's more than one vein throbbing on my head.

I am beaten.

I head downstairs.

My little shadow giggling behind me. For reference BabyBoy3 isn't a fool, he doesn't cover his eyes on the stairs. Just when he’s near them.

I stand in front of Mrs. Amazing and explain that whilst I love BabyBoy3 to bits.

If he walks into me one more time, or gets out of bed one more time.

I may throw him out of the window lock him in the shed, not the fun one, the one with all the spiders I may flatten him into a pancake lose my temper.

(Go sit on the naughty step…

...I'll help you up...

Comfy? Good...

[TWANG])

Mrs. Amazing hears me.

She sees the twitching in my eye. Hears the strain in my voice.

And she wisely doesn't laugh too much when BabyBoy3 crashes into me again.

Hands still over his eyes.

I go make a cuppa.

Mrs. Amazing takes BabyBoy3, calmly, back up to bed.

She is back down in five minutes. I've a fresh cuppa and I've very firmly cleaned the kitchen.

Mrs. Amazing reports that BabyBoy3 is fast asleep...

WHAT?

What magic did you do?

What did you do to him. Did you use my convincing hammer?

How did you do that? In five minutes?

TELL ME ENCHANTRESS!

Mrs. Amazing: 'I bopped him with a pillow till he slept'

Mrs. Amazing: 'I just sat with him... then he fell asleep...'

Right...

...

... I didn't try that...

...

Damn it.

X