I WANT TO WATCH THE SUNSET! ARGHHH!

Stupid clocks.

Stupid daylight savings time (UK).

It was hard enough to get Miss5 asleep when it was dark. It's bloody near impossible with the sun bursting through her window, at bedtime.

<Grumbles>

The clocks had gone back.

And it was my turn to put Miss5 to bed.

Team Parent (yay!) rotate who is putting which child to bed each night. You either get the boys (Boy8 and BabyBoy1) or just Miss5.

(Are those jelly beans?)

BabyBoy1 goes to bed first as he's the littlest.

The other parent then drags sweetly carries Miss5 up to bed to start her bedtime.

Then when BabyBoy1 is half naked in his cot, thrown every single toy out, singing as loudly as he can, and banging the sides of the cot against the wall fast asleep, the first parent gets into a blazing row with Boy8 about how every night we go through this ridiculous charade, WHY! WHY! WHY! You know damn well what time it is, and it's his bedtime.

We maximise two parents attempting to get three children to sleep. It works well.

I think.

You would think the parent doing two bedtimes would always be last down stairs.

HA! You would think that <Tuts>...

Miss5 is the hardest to get to sleep at the moment.

Presently it requires magic, voodoo spells, luck, being very strong with the force and a hammer patience.

Like I said, they had messed with the clocks again, forwards, backwards, whatever.

It's the one where Team Parent (yay!) get one hour less sleep, but struggle to go to bed, and the hell hounds kids just wake up when they normally do anyway. yay.

And come evening time we are suddenly trying to convince the children it's bed time, in broad daylight.

Great plan.

Miss5 is having trouble staying in bed at the moment.

Her normal bedtime is two stories. One she reads, one the parent with the teeny tiny straw in hand reads. And maybe a bit of Where's Wally if it's me. Because I'm always on the hunt for that bugger. Teeth are normally brushed without problem and Miss5 is mostly very sweet to put to bed. We giggle and laugh through the books, talk about the day that has gone...

What did you have for lunch?

Miss5: 'Nothing pie' <Giggles>

Haha... Anything to drink?

Miss5: 'Nothing juice' <Giggles>

Haha... And pudding?

Miss5: 'Nothing crumble' <Giggles>

Haha!

(Mrs. Amazing had already told me she had pasta, water and custard, so no worries there)

Miss5: 'Dad?'

Yep <Starts tucking her in>

Miss5: 'What did you do at work?'

Nothing Lots of good, hard, money making work, I am a valuable member of the team... just like normal <Does shifty eyes>

Miss5: 'Haha!' <Giggles>

I kiss Miss5 good night and optimistically turn to leave the room.

The sofa and the chocolate cupboard are calling me from downstairs, and I really want to hear and embrace their calls.

But as I get to Miss5's door, she's standing right behind me.

Back to bed <Happy voice> You need your sleep!

Miss5: 'No' <Not happy voice>

<Puts Miss5 back to bed, gets to door, but Miss5 is behind me>

Back to bed <Normal voice> let's not play this game again... for your own safety

Miss5: 'No'

<Puts Miss5 back to bed>

<Rushes to door, and leaves>

<Door opens right behind me, it's Miss5>

ARHGHGGHGH you scared the crap out of me, I thought it was one your teddies come to life and walking about...

<Annoyed voice> Back to bed

Miss5: 'No'

<Puts Miss5 back to bed>

That continued. A lot.

My voice went from 'Happy' all the way down to 'Bloody furious and annoyed' and 'How the smeg am I playing this game again, it sucks!', three whole levels.

I had been home from work a grand total of fifteen minutes, less the story time, before this all kicked off. I haven't even had a cuppa, or second cuppa, or thirdies.

I had only once stolen self-shared chocolate from the kids chocolate stash.

I was not ready for Miss5's brilliant psychological warfare. I knew it too. I knew I was going to lose this one.

Damn it.

(Behind this dam of self control, is the sea of pent up anger and frustration...)

I tried to be calm.

I did. But with each time I put her back into bed, my anger was bloomed rose.

Her door is almost next to her bed. It was taking me longer to put the covers on her, than it was taking her to get out of the bed. If I ran off and escaped, she came and found me, just like work do.

I had to stop letting her walk back to bed, because she was refusing to walk.

So I started ‘helping’ her towards her bed. Nice shoving basically. Not hard, she's still tiny. But clearly.

I could feel the wrongness in what I am doing. It wasn't the right solution.

But it’s hard to stop.

Miss5 breaks the cycle for me. yay.

She starts becoming kicky with the covers. The small amount of control I had over the situation has gone. It's too much for me and my tempter. So before I throw her to the moon…

I leave Miss5 kicking her sheets off her bed and go and make my dinner.

Like a hungry champion does. Yeah.

Mrs. Amazing is going out.

I see her and she utterly sympathises as last night Miss5 treated her to the same. She totally feels my pain and frustration and she is right behind me, and Team Parent (yay!).

But she's also off OUT to shark wrestling club, and I'm on my own.

Smeg.

Miss5 comes and finds me downstairs. yay.

I am cooking my tea. I am using the grill to make yum burgers, with cheese, onions and all the trimmings. I turn the grill off and risk ruining my entire meal to carry a kicking, screaming, little girl up to bed and dump her on her bed.

She is up and behind me before I get to the door.

That is fine and expected. I am calm.

ARGHGGHGHGHGHGHGHGHG <Lots of fist shaking>

(She was too fast for me...)

Mrs. Amazing's advice was just wear her down, just keep putting her back to bed.

Just keep swimming, just keep swimming…

So that is what I do. Over and over.

It did occur to me that I should count how many times I put that little girl back to bed. It would have been a great thing to put here. Right now. NOW! BAM! NUMBER.

But I lost count.

I lost count because my entire focus was on staying calm.

I accepted the horribleness of the situation and just plodded back and forth, from door to bed, from bed to door, avoiding the kicks. Ignoring the futility of it all, and just reinforcing that Miss5, was indeed, going to bed.

I plod.

I'm bored as sin and showing it. I want to make sure that every time Miss5 sees my face, she sees I am not having fun. I am unhappy doing this. This suuuuuucks.

She cares not. She's five.

However plodding and trudging and being quite switched off about it all, is helping me stay calm at the irritating situation I find myself in: Walking back and forth between the door and the bed. 

I feel like I'm drinking alcohol free wine (??) or eating low fat mayo. It’s utterly pointless.

I'm sure, that had I been watching what was going on, I'd be in tears of laughter.

Well I'm in tears...

Miss5 doesn't like my plodding.

She starts asking me questions, whilst I shuttle her back to bed, again and again.

Dad can I do this? Can I do that?

I don't answer. Which I find really hard not to do. I like answering.

I don't answer because I can't. I am just about holding my frustration inside.

The trudgery and plodding has now become my shield, and to engage with Miss5 now, in any kind of verbal battle will disastrous for both of us.

If I drop my shield now...  

She’ll see the chocolate stain on my top

Well. I can't.

I know that if this was the start of the evening.

I'd talk to her, I'd take this moment and turn it around by making her laugh and giggle and bedtime would be fine. Fun even.

But it's not the start of the evening. It's been forty minutes of pain and horror.

I'm hungry and I know my burger and trimmings are down stairs, half cooked, getting cold under the off grill.

Eventually I manage to leave the room and Miss5 stays put.

But only because she's in tears of frustration.

She's also been screaming at me for ages. My ears hurt.

She demanded I answer her, she demanded I go away, leave, naff off, get mummy, get her cake, everything, nothing…

The last few screams were her demanding to watch the sun set. Over and over.

Miss5: <In the pitch of scream> 'I WANT TO SEE THE SUNSET DADDY'

Miss5: <In the pitch of scream> 'I WANT TO SEE THE SUNSET DADDY'

Miss5: <In the pitch of scream> 'I WANT TO SEE THE SUNSET DADDY'

...

Stupid clocks.

(‘I LOVE THE COLOURS AND THE SENSE OF PEACE THAT A SUNSET GIVES ME’

Ok… Miss Shouty...)

That's a weird thing to have screamed at you.

But the screaming and tears have finally taken their toll on Miss5 and she's stopped getting out of bed. It was probably only five or ten minutes after that she was fast asleep.

She was so tired.

Little pain in the butt love

I limped downstairs.

Not because my leg or foot hurt. I was limping in my heart and head. They were hurting.

I cannot cope with that much emotion and anger thrown at me, for so long. Eventually it got in. Shield or not.

I am so very glad that I didn't get cross.

Sadly though.

My burger was as crap-cooked as I had feared it would be.

I'm not sure how all the crapness got in, it was looking pretty awesome until I went upstairs. 

But in it did get.

Miss5 slept all night.

And no 6am appearances for a change. Silver lining and all that.

When she did come in though she knew what she had to do straight away. She came over and flicked my ear to me and gave me a huge hug and a kiss. And said sorry for being a spawn of satan rat-bag.

Obviously I had already forgiven her. Mid crap-burger that happened. But the hug and kiss reminded me how much I loved her. 

A lot.

Right! You are now, officially, off my bad list <Adjusts list>

Miss5: ‘Yay!’

And back on my good list <Adjusts other list>

Miss5: ‘Yay!’

Right beneath... Pie!!! <Nods to indicate the honour>

Miss5: ‘Yay! Thanks Dad!’ <Fist pumps the air> ‘ABOVE PIE! Yeah!’

Broccoli pie that is…

<Boy8 barges in>

Boy8: 'Hey? Am I on that list?'

<Mrs. Amazing barges in>

Mrs. Amazing: 'Yeah me too? HEY! What's that at the top??? R2...'

<Eats the good and the bad list>

Nweed <Sprays paper at everyone> 

to knlow <Sprays more paper> 

nonly  

<Runs>

Death Comes in Threes (apparently)...

What a week.

First David Bowie, then Alan Rickman. And then someone else passed and there was a little less media coverage about it. But Boy8 felt it just the same.

Bad news does seem to come in threes.

I got the news as I walked in the door the other night.

(From work you understand, we don’t play evening door games, I was returning from work...)

(I probably didn't need to clarify that...)

(Or that...)

'Did you get my message?'

Yes! Shocking, shocking news

I can hardly believe it <Takes of Bat-Cowl after hard day at work>

It's brilliant though, obv.

'Er... What now?'

You send me a message saying you were going to a mad-crazy-hardcore fitness club?

That’s great, I’m happy for you!

<Removes balled up socks from trousers>

'...' <Gives me a look>

'I sent another message after that'

Didn't get it? Did it say you’ve make cake?

'Boy8's hamster has died'

Noooo!

Shiiiiit Ohhhhh...

Where is he? <Rubs off black eye liner>

'Left him in his cage'

Not the hamster

'In our bed… watching cartoons'

I feel a bit cheated to be honest.

I know it's not the hamsters fault for keeling over. These things happen.

Two years was all I was hoping to get out of the little furry guy. A sad faced Boy8 was always going to happen. But he only lasted 18 days. That’s a bit smegging brief isn’t it.

I’ve had hangovers last longer than that.

Team Parents (yay!) did panic for a bit and wonder if we had done something wrong.

Away from Boy8 we had a rapid discussion and stock check of the last few days of the hamsters life...

'Did you feed him last night?'

Yes. Did he have enough water?

'Yes. I think so. How was the bowl last night?'

Empty. But we refilled

Was the Cat in the room doing his Smaug impression?

'No. I don't think he's noticed the hamster'

'Phew. Then not out fault'

Thank chocolate!!

Wait... Did you leave the radio on Boy8's room?

'Yes, why?'

There was a live Justin Bieber gig on

'Oh no! Death by Bieber'

<Both piss ourselves laughing>

The trail of Team Parents (yay!) was brief.

And a bit weird how we put ourselves on trial, quickly put ourselves in the docks, prosecuted ourselves, and found ourselves innocent. Yay!

In fact as the trial showed, there wasn't any blame to given. The cause of death seemed to be of natural causes. Which is good news. For us.

Harder though to explain to an eight year old boy who did nothing but love his hamster, that it’s just one of those things..

Poor Boy8.

He was sad.

He had big puffy red eyes and he was suffering from the same leaky eye problem I get near at the end of most Disney movies. Especially 'Tinker Bell and the Legend of the NeverBeast' when K.T. Tunstall starts to sing '1000 years'. I mean seriously, does the damn DVD player start spraying out of pepper mist or something...

Why-y-y won't they see Gr-gr-gruff again? <Blinks rapidly due to the pepper in the air>

Miss4: 'Because he has to sleep for a thousand years' <Has a heart of stone>

<Sniffs> That's a l-l-l-l-ong time <Holds back tears>

'Oh come on Dad, we've seen this loads of times...'

<Fast-forwards the sad bit for me>

'Better?'

<Drunks tea and blows nose on Miss4's sleeve>

Nes

(Heart breaker)

Boy8 was so sad.

He was so sad that Miss4 noticed how sad he was. She leant her head into his, child close, and asked what was making him sad. Very sweet.

BabyBoy1 didn't notice. He's too little for that. But for Miss4 to notice and worry about her big brother shows just how much Boy8 was feeling the loss.

Poor dude.

Mrs. Amazing put Boy8 into our bed with some cartoons to watch.

Just his little head was visible over the covers as, like us all, he was hiding from the big nasty world under a duvet, whilst watching TV.

He was in my bed so I just got in, fully dressed and hugged the crap out of him. I figure a full Dad hug can last a good 30-40 seconds, he can hold his breath that long, I'm sure.

I stop the hug early, as he’s clearly unable to breath, and mentally prepare myself for the talking bit. You know the talking bit where I help him process his feelings of loss and sadness over his poor departed hamster.

But no words come.

It is weird that I have nothing to say to Boy8.

I can normally talk crap wisness anytime. But I found it quite hard to pull up heartfelt words for a hamster that's only been about for 18 days.

In the global conglomerate, that is, Team Parents (yay!), I tend to do the death talks and related subjects. I know the ways of the Dark side. Either by volunteering, or by losing at thumb wars.

I have a pretty good line in 'death' chats and comforting words. Largely based on the teachings of the Lion King and Bruce Lee movies. Oh and some Karmic / Buddist / Jedi philosophy thrown in for good measure as well.

But really it's Mufasa. (Go on, say it again... Mufasa).

(Bit bloody foggy today! Can 'ardly see the dark lands… Where you must never go...)

Words finally come and I eventually manage to comfort Boy8.

Still he appeared downstairs three times that night, upset. Mrs. Amazing had gone out and I had been tasked with dismantling the cage and preping the hamster for the funeral. I stuffed up the box he came in with sawdust, and gaffing taped it closed.

It felt apt.

Boy8’s first appearance downstairs took a lot of hugs and talking, and I got Boy8 to picture something happy about his hamster to think about.

The second took a huge hug and, as it was getting late, a mild message of stop crying and remember the happy times. Don’t milk it. The crying time has is now done, go to sleep.

The third time he showed what had been bothering him. He sided over to the cage, clearly wanting to see his hamster once more.

So I ignored him a bit and carried on cleaning, when Boy8 said ...

'HE MOVED'

No he didn't... mate <Mentally checks, yeah he definitely was dead>

'HE MOVED AGAIN!'

<Takes off C3-PO washing up gloves and comes over>

<Just a little worried / excited>

‘He's alive!’

I don't think he is <Opens the cage and pokes the hamster>

<We both wait expectantly>

<Shakes head in a sorry way>

I can see that Boy8 is still not convinced.

I realise that I need to convince him right now. This needs to be clear in his head, that the hamster is very much dead. I don't won't him worrying tomorrow morning after we bury it, it's still alive. Or diving him onto the grave and tearing at the ground. Or worse still, never forgiving me for burying his hamster, that he thought was alive, but wasn’t. All bad stuff.

I consider doing the parrot sketch for Boy8, but with a hamster.

I poke the hamster again, good and hard. To be very sure.

The hope in Boy8’s face disappears.

Sorry dude

<More eye duct malfunctions from Boy8>

<Hugs>

We held the funeral the next morning.

Before school. So we all had to get up a bit earlier and go faster. Which obviously meant we were running even more late than normal. But still, we all got outside for the funereal, eventually.

I had pre-dug the hole. By coming out at 7am in the dark and cold and digging.

When we all came out later it was clearly too shallow and I had to dig it again with everyone watching. I did my best to maintain the dignity of the moment.

AH EWW WORM EWWW! MUD ON my R2-D2 onsie! URGHHH

Mrs. Amazing held BabyBoy1.

Who was a bit confused why we were all outside. But he was happy enough.

Miss4 stood next to Mrs. Amazing and the three of them stood on the path and watched me and Boy8 lay the hamster to rest.

I asked Boy8 to say a few words.

But I have no idea what he said. I was too busy trying to think of what I was going to say next. The pressure was immense.

I managed to blabber some stuff about how we all come from atoms, and we’re all parts of each other. But then realised that I was maybe heading towards a horrific image of a rotting hamster with plants growing out of its head. So I changed tack.

And maybe panicked a little. I don’t think it was the best passing speech. I definitely said ‘Circle of life’ a few times, with hand movements, and cringed inwardly at myself, but no one else seemed to notice, so that was cool.

Mufasa

I said goodbye to the hamster from us all and started covering him with earth.

The mud was in huge lumps, and now I realise why at proper funerals they have nice fine mud to pour on. I had to chop the mud up a bit and pat it down a bit just to fill the hole.

The mud was very stuck together and after a while I got quite stuck into it my spade work. With everyone else looking on.

When a horrible thought flashed into my head, that all of a sudden I was just gardening. That felt weird.

I stopped with the spade, jammed it into the earth like a Dad should.

I hugged Boy8 and started walking him back inside.

(That should do it…)

However…

As we walked I glanced over at Mrs. Amazing and she had a big grin on her face.

Oh no I thought, she had the same gardening thought as I had. I was never going to live this down. I can’t even do a hamster funeral without turning it into a comedy sketch.

But it turned out that it wasn't the gardening. No.

It seems that during the service, BabyBoy1 had gotten bored. And sweet, but bored, BabyBoy1 had started leaning over in Mrs. Amazings arms and then, very slowly, and very gently starting stretching out his little index finger… to poke Miss4 in the head. A few times.

I'm glad I didn't notice that. I would have cracked up.

The hamster was called Dynamite and he was proper loved by Boy8.

If only for a short time.

Bye bye Dynamite.

<Salutes>