Crawling... Again?

Well that was weird.

I'm entirely sure how I ended up doing that.

My knees hurt. Fool.

During the normal morning madness.

Mrs. Amazing was busy convincing Miss5, that clothes are actually, very much, an requirement for school, and the UK at the start of march. (It even crap snowed today) (Crap snow is snow that doesn't settle).

Miss5 was slowly relenting and had even consented to having her crazy mane de-tangled.

(If you don’t hear from me every five minutes, start wafting pie smell after me…)

Boy8 was busy getting ready.

Not for school. Oh no. Nothing that obv. 

Why would he get ready for school on a school day through his own free will?

<Screams into cushion>

Despite all of us rushing about to get to work and / or school on time. Boy8 was getting ready for his mate who was coming for tea tonight. He was laying out his toys ready. They were going to have a Nerf war.

Which basically means Boy8 was laying out guns. On his bed.

I had mixed feelings about it.

On the one hand I totally understood his need to prepare and lay out his toys ready for his mate. I put beers in the fridge when a mate is coming round, find the Yahtzee dice, make sure everyone else is either asleep or going out... 

But on the second hand I wasn't too happy that BabyBoy1 was with Boy8 and lots of cocked Nerf guns. BabyBoy1 doesn't understand the danger of guns on any level. 

In an almost comic style BabyBoy1 was inspecting each gun backwards, looking into the barrel.

Boy8 pointed out they weren't loaded. 

Which they were not. I checked.

I said that was good, but it would be better if he didn't cock them either.

He disagreed for the last time.

And on the third, mutated weird ass, hand.

Boy8 was still hanging about in his tiger onesie, miles behind the rest of us getting ready to leave.

As I said mixed feelings: Sort of anger, amazement, murderous rage, fear and a slight tinge of gassiness. But that was probably the pint of sweets I had the night before.

All those feelings mixed together. JOY!

But I was cool. HEY! 

I made my point about the cocking of guns in a mature and grown up fashion.

Dude don't cock the guns, it ain't cool

Boy8: ‘Is’

It is not (ZING!)

‘Is’

Is not times infinity, not come backs, infinity add one, you can't talk until someone says your name, cross your pants, you need the loo, opps you've done a poo (BOOMPOW!)

<Knows he has been beaten> ‘Fine’

<Does victory dance>

(Next time... I'll just show him my mug...)

I played it cool.

Rather than nag or whip cajole Boy8 to get ready. I just left him to it.

He had thirty mins. He had time. Me shouting at him, was just going to annoy me.

I KNOW I am starting to think he likes winding me up.

So me and BabyBoy1 left the armoury Boy8’s room and headed downstairs.

For some reason we started playing with a bouncy ball in the kitchen. Fun mainly.

Looking back it seems a strange choice of toy as BabyBoy1 has just started throwing toys in anger, and for attention. So I doubt my choice of game went down to well in the Mrs. Amazing camp, as she spends most of the day in his delightful company. Whoops.

I fished a bouncy ball out a classic Miss5 treasure bag. There's always one within two metre radius, anywhere in the house.

You just have to know what to look for. A bag of crap.

The weird bit was that BabyBoy1 crawled after the ball.

He's been walking for a while now. So why would he crawl?

He's way faster on foot. Maybe he had just fallen into a crawl and remembered an old skill he had and just on whim thought it would be a laugh.

Then when I started crawling behind, and we giggled, I perpetuated it, and he couldn't stop as it became part of the game.

I like to think it was that, as we had great fun chasing that ball about, in a few stolen morning moments together.

It was nice.

Because if it's not that.

If it’s not by accident lie reason, the it’s pretty likely that BabyBoy1 saw just how much crawling was hurting my knees and he thought it was funny. And that he was faster than me at it.

Hmmm…

<Makes note next to BabyBoy1’s name> Possible sadist…fast crawler...

Boy8 was ready for school on time. He can sleep inside some more! 

Ignoring his glacial slowness this morning was a good move by me, a rare splodge of wisdom, on my part. It saved a fight.

It was bloody hard not to order him about and tell him he was being a fool.

But I'm glad I refrained.

Of course it was only after I had dropped off Miss5 at school that I noticed my knees and the bottom half of my jeans were covered in breakfast food, and general muck from the crawling.

I like to make a good impression.
<Makes note next to own name> Could possibly sweep more… appearance issues...

(My note book... I also write my poems in it...)

Not Being Funny … But What You Said Just Then Was Really Boring...

Boy8 was trying to talk to me.

And I didn't listen.

I am not proud of me.

It doesn't matter how busy I am, how I am feeling, or what level I was just about to complete.

Giving any of the goblins children my time is essential. I have so little when I am not at workington.

It should be a reflex thing.

Boy8: Dad?

<Spins round>

Yes? <Everything in hands flies out from centrifugal effect>

<Knocks over BabyBoy1 as he was too close>

Boy8: Ha ha haaa!!!

Stop doing that <Turns back to very important tower building>

Boy8: Dad!

<Spins round>

Yes! <Wooden block in hand flies out and smacks Boy8 on the noggin>

Hahahaaaaa

When Team Parents (yay!) were looking at schools for Boy8.

A few millenia ago. One of things that I loved about the school he is now at. Was how close the pub was the deputy head, who is now the head.

<Whispers> poison... in the pick and mix

The deputy head was clearly busy, but without fail, no matter what child we passed or saw, not matter what they were doing. This inspirational lady stopped, knew the child's name and listened to what they said.

OVER the adults. Us. HOW DARE SHE!

She stopped us talking, politely, because a child was talking and listened to them first. She still does that as head.

Honestly that impressed me more than anything else we saw.

And they had robot lobsters...

(So kewl! ... and tasty ... Kwasty!)

We did visit another school.

I couldn't help think that the head was an utter dick. He did the opposite with the kids.

He made the kids wait. He didn't know their names, I'm sure he guessed at a few as well.

Dick-head: 'Twatface?'

Child: ‘No’

Dick-head: 'Smell pants?'

Child: ‘No’

You sure?

Dick-head: 'Johnny Snotty-snot Farty Bum Wimple?'

Child: ‘Yes sir?’ <Cries internally>

He probably ran a good school.

As a functional community building, he was probably nailing it. Good for him.

But he made the children wait.

Twonk.

Prioritising kids is not easy to do.

Try doing it with your mates. It's hard to do. Especially down the pub.

Because it's a bit rude isn't it. You are basically saying the child's words are more important than theirs. It doesn't go down well with everyone.

It easy to get wrapped up in our adult world where things (kinda) make sense  so that when a child starts their weird nonsensical talking, it can jar with our grown up thoughts. It's hard and exhausting to switch to another language all the time. 

But... We're adults and whatever we are saying could probably wait.

Unless it's bullet, flying toy, last orders, or they're giving out free Star Wars stuff, related.

‘Dad…’ <Sheepishly paws at ground>

Yep

‘I have something important to tell you’

Is it about your socks?

‘Yes? Yes I am all hairy ears

‘It's hard to say... I've been... I've been worrying about…’

Tannoy: [FREE STAR WARS STUFF! RUN MAN! RUN!]

‘... lately’ <Cough cough>

[Dust cloud appears]

‘Dad? Dad? Are you still here?‘ <Waves arms trying to clear the dust>

‘Where did all this dust come from? I can't see you?’

<Bottom lip wobbles>

(FREEEEEEESTUUUUUFFFFFFFFF!!!!!)

Boy8 tried to talk to me the other morning.

I was making lunches, eating cake, drinking tea, rocking out to music and I'm pretty sure I was trying to pay for something school related on my phone.

In short. I was too wrapped up in whatever I was doing to listen.

Boy8 got cross with me.

Boy8 told me off for not listening. Using his attempt at my voice. It was bloody funny.

Boys had a point.

I hadn't been listening.

I had guessed what he was going to say.

Boy8 had a new plastic collectable toy. Blobs (Whatever...). 1 squid each. And he was very excited about them.

I was not. Which is not really like me. I normally love his toys. 

I’ll play most things, and start collecting them myself.

Just these, Blobs, seemed a bit poor by my standards. I couldn't see the fun.

So I guessed what he was going to say. 

I guessed he was gonna to bore the pants off me about the Blobs.

So I just pretend to listen.

I felt bad.

I still feel a bit bad. It was quite a conscious decision to not listen and just pretend.

I totally didn't get away with it either.

Boy8 stormed off. Chanked right off (annoyed) with me.

Fair play to him.

<Hangs head in shame>

I let him stomp off go.

Then stood there and wondered at what I had just done.

Wondered at what a smegger I had just been.

Wondered at what I needed to do to undo my own icky mess. I realised.

<SIGH>

I went and found him to say sorry, and give him a damn good listening to.

Sorry mate

<Huffily turns away from me>

I am really sorry, I was busy earlier (lie) and didn't listen

But I really want to hear what you have to tell me (true)

I have time to listen now

Please tell what you were going to say

<Huffs a bit more>

Please <Gives him playful arm hits taps>

‘...well… This one is like this, because...’

<I am forgiven>

I am very glad I bothered to undo my mistake.

Boy8 really wanted to tell some stuff. He went on for ages. 

It was really important to him. I have no idea why or how. But it was. To him. Not me.

I listened brilliantly, like a boss, like the best Dad ever undoing his own worst Dad mistake. 

I had to.

Somehow or another, I had pretty much begged him to tell me about his Blobs, so either I had learnt my lesson... or Boy8 is an evil manipulative genius. 

#proud

("Soooo… What’cha wanna do tonight? Board game?")

And truth be told.

Once I started listening for him, instead to what he said .

I really enjoyed it. (lie)

It was even more boring than I could ever have guessed, it was like Chinese water torture, but with words. It was like every 'funny' bit Ant and Dec did this year at the Brits, utter agony…

I barely made it out alive...

Parental Guilt...

I have parental guilt.

Quite a lot it seems. It stems from lack of time.

When Boy8 rocked up was born.

The newly founded Parents Republic of Children (bo!) had time and money flowing out of our ears. We did, looking back. Boy8 had both of us at his beck and call.

When Miss5 descended from on high to grace us with her presence, like sleet. 

The Democratic Union of Parents of Children and Fun (bonza!) still managed to distribute our time, so that Miss5 got all the attention Boy8 got. Not necessarily with both parents at the same time. Which is a shame. But Miss5 at least got the same quantity hours of attention Boy8 would’ve had.

Happy days.

(Miss5's original landing site...)

When BabyBoy1 swaggered on the scene.

Team Parents (yay!) never had a chance. Two does not divide into three. Well it does, but it’s not neat and tidy and there’s messy little bits left over and stuff. Eww.

No matter how hard I try there is no way I can spend as much time as I did with Boy8, or even Miss5, with BabyBoy1.

Which is why I have parental guilt.

And it's worse because I love BabyBoy1 a lot.

He utter rocks and is a class A dude to boot.

He shouts Daddy the loudest when I get home.

He brings me my shoes. Alright not when I want or ask for them, but he does it anyway.

He heard ‘Know Your Enemy’ by Green Day today and started rocking out to it. Then he made sure I saw him rocking out, so I could join in.

The little dude is a dude.

Anyhoo...

Mrs. Amazing (sweetly) shoved a news paper article under my nose t'other day.

‘Read this bit in the middle, you’ll like it’

OK

‘It lists lots of great Dad things, most of which you already do’

REALLY? HELL YEAH, GIVE ME READ NOW!

‘But don’t read the stuff of the left, it will make you mad’

OK

‘Nor this stuff on the right, it’ll make you sweary’

Gotcha. Blinkers on.

The read was nice. I enjoyed my self back patting session, but got many funny looks.

But my takeaway point from the list was this:

Dad’s should spent thirty minutes a day, no screens, focused, sober time, with EACH child.

Shiiiit

Sober

Initially I thought, easy, do that every day no worries.

But then I thought again and realised, pants, actually I don’t.

Some mornings are such a rush I don’t even stop to chat to one child. 

Then when I get home I'm late, they are all going to bed early.

So actually I realised that some days... UH UH nope!

I don’t even manage five minutes with any child.

I am scum.

Yes I know...

It’s just an article and where on earth did that magic thirty minutes come from? Magic land.

What science was behind it? Was it even written by a human?

But... thirty minutes really isn't much. Is it.

I feel that thirty minutes is really the very least I should be doing.

I spend more time doing reading crap super important things on my phone.

So with that in mind, today I made sure I did that. 

I spend thirty minutes with each child, quality time too. I know I did. 

Sunday makes it WAY easier as there's less worky gubbins going on.

But I did it and it felt good. Really good.

I managed to sit down with Boy8, Miss5 and BabyBoy1 all separately and just hang with them.

It was nice.

(Eating pizza still counts as quality time... It does...)

Whoever wrote that list knew that comments like that can hurt. 

Which is rare, they normal have knives. Say for a Dad that spends a lot of time at work, reading things like that could really, really hurt. It can read 'you are failing'.

My parental guilt comes from the same place, and I don’t work crazy hours, or commute miles.

So I appreciate the softening someone felt was needed on the list. 

They said that if thirty minutes seemed impossible, or too hard. 

Then start with ten minutes and build up.

Can you imagine life so busy that you cannot spend ten minutes a day with each of your kids?

No? I can. It happens.

And worse I know some lovely Dads that have to do that 5/7 days a week.

They hate it.

But for me having a value, thirty minutes, in my head removes a lot of my parental guilt.

It’s changed the guilt from:

Brainzilla: ‘YOU NEVER SPEND ENOUGH TIME WITH EACH CHILD!’

I am trying, I've gotta work, I'm busy... a lot

Brainzilla: ‘LAME!’

Brainzilla: ‘THAT WAS NEVER THIRTY MINUTES!’

OH bugger off!

That was twenty four minutes, and yesterday I played snap for three damn hours!

Knob off!

See! 

I prefer that thinking.

Less punishing myself for failing to achieve an unquantified impossible task. Never knowing when I am close, or indeed succeed. 

More a realistic achievable goal.

They’re better they are. Cuddlier.

So Boy8, big moment coming up!

Boy8: ‘I know!'

We have played draughts (checkers) together for years, and not once have you beaten me

‘I did once...’

Didn't count, you had more pieces <Frowns>

<Mutters> ‘still won’

ANYway. Today, in less than two moves, and unless something happens to distract me

You are guaranteed to win this game of draughts

I have no choice of moves, and you cannot fail to choose the right moves.

Excited?

<Cannot talk from excitement>

My move <Takes move>

<Boy8 takes move at the speed of light>

Just picking up my piece… 

For my second move...

About to put it down...

<Little eyes watching and waiting>

Nearly there....

[BEEP][BEEP][BEEP][BEEP][BEEP][BEEP][BEEP]

OOOOO! Bad luck, you’re thirty minutes are up

Game discounted, the bell has been rung, last orders

<Boy8 weeps off>

<Miss5 arrives>

So Miss5... you've got one thousand and eight hundred seconds of my time

Make it count!

<Miss5 starts laying squares of fabric around the room>

(Oh no! I keep drinking my having to pieces! CHEERS! I mean… Your go... Hic <Grins>)