6 Weeks Summer Holiday...

'Are you going to work today?' asks Boy8 over breakfast.

I've got clean pants on, I'm wearing my best ThunderCats t-shirt, of course I'm bloody going to work.

I grunt a yes back at Boy8.

He knows damn well I am going to work. He just likes to torture me, what a Beiber.

'I'm not going to school today'

I know

<eye starts twitching>

'I don't have to go to school for 6 whole weeks'

I know. Summer hols, yay.

<snaps metal spoon in half>

'Don't you have 6 weeks off work for the summer?'

No. Daddies tend to still work through the summer.

'Do you?'

Yes.

<Shuts dishwasher, hard>

'Mummy doesn't have to work through the summer'

No, no, she doesn't.

<Gives Mrs. Amazing a look>

<Gets 'Sod right off, I've got 3 lunatics to look after, for 6 weeks, on my own. Whilst you swan about at work, eating biscuits and drinking your hot cups of tea, having grown up chats. It may not be called work what I do, but 'Turkish Delight' damn it's hard work' look>

Mrs. Amazing really can speak volumes with a single look. Her 'that goes in the dishwasher, not where you have just put it’ look is quite famous round our way.

(Off to work I go)

I don't begrudge Boy8 his time off, I'm just well jell.

He needs it. He really does.

Over the last few weeks, coming up to the end of term, you could see his energy levels plummeting.

The bags under his eyes kept getting bigger, no matter how early he was put to bed (He's a midnight 8pm Lego builder), he still seemed knackered.

I don't mind the school pushing him, you can only get stronger by being pushed, but it's hard to watch sometimes.

Mostly. Boy8 has managed to keep it together at school, learning stuff, like he should.

Good work boy, have a Wine gum!

<picks one>

Dude! ... Not a black one... It's not graduation day….

<picks another>

Green is fine.

However at home his keeping it together has been less 'effective' shall we say (WE SAY).

We get the emotional fall out from school.

But that’s part of our job as Team Parent (yay). We understand that, when he's away from home he behaves, so he doesn't have to when he gets home.

Hang on... That can't be right can it?

<Mrs. Amazing nods sagely>

Oh...

Can't it be the other way round? <Asks thymely>

'No' <Shakes head parsley>

I would love to tell you that I've done my bit by managing to be more empathetic, supportive, understanding and loving over this tiring time for him. But it would be a lie.

Summer holidays used to be the best thing in the world that I LOVED!!! 

And now they're not. They're something that happens to other people. 

They don’t directly affect me, I still go to work.

When did that happen?

Poop.

The traffic is lighter I suppose. yay! #livingthedream

(Traffic during summer hols... But why?)

Before I leave Mrs. Amazing tells me their plans for the day:
'Mooch about for the morning, some board games, film maybe'

'Followed by a picnic at a national park in the afternoon, with some friends'

That sounds like fun, tell me all about it when I get back from work.

<Fights back tears>

But really...  don't tell me. I don't want to hear how much fun you've all had, whilst I was bored working really hard at work.

Ohhhh fine!
Go on, do tell me, I want to hear really. I love you lot a lot, and I love to hear what you do. If I can’t be there, then hearing about it is definitely better than nothing.

But if you could dial down the glee and fun levels, a warp or two, for me, then that would be good.

When I do get back from work, I ask Miss4 how her day was:

'We had the best time today'

Did you? That sounds fun. What did you do?

'Well the park was awesome, I climbed trees, chased some birds, fed the ducks, then we played a great game with big hammers'

Croquet

<looks confused> 'I didn't sneeze'

The game with the big hammers is called Croquet.

'No, no, that wasn't it, it was Poquet or something like that.

Croquet

'OK' <Ignores me>

'Then we had a yummy picnic, there was all your favourites, pie, crisps, other pie, chocolate, tea, cheesecake, more pie, meats, pies'

<Closes eyes and goes to happy place to stop the tears>

'Guess what we did this morning?'

Flobbed about a bit and then watched a film, whilst playing board games?

'Yep and... we played all your favourite games!'

Oh good...

'Then we watched a film, your favourite!'

Really which one?

'I'd not seen it before… er…. Car Toys… no… er…'

300?

'... no… er… Space… Space Fights!'

Star Wars?

'Yes!'

<Runs weeping out of the room>

Oh good bacon sandwich would I love to be off work for the summer.

Watching Star Wars and eating pies with the kids. Instead of being at work. 

<Boooo>

It truly sucks looking at the lovely weather through a window.

We have air-con at work which means entire heat waves can pass me by. It can rain and I may never notice.

Surely that isn't right, it doesn't feel right.

Surely, I should at least be connected to the real world, enough, to notice when it rains?

But for a change I am not alone in this. Miss4 is in the same boat as me, good. Nursery is not term time, and she's still got to go in on her normal nursery days.

She may be less eloquent than me (just), but she manages to convey her thoughts on this better than I can.

Nursery today, you ready?

'Poo poo' <Blows raspberry>

I hear ya, I hear ya...

Alice... if you would play us out... ta....

If You're Going to Start Leaving on Time...

'If you're going to start leaving on time, you need to warn me...'

That's what Mrs. Amazing just said to me 

<bang> My Mind!

She wasn't even taking the piss.

She was a bit panicked because I had just declared that I was leaving for work (with the normal flames, trumpets and dancing girls that accompany my announcements). And Mrs. Amazing's concern was that, as I was leaving early she still had BabyBoy1 to get ready, Miss4 who was in a particularly fighty mood, and Boy8, recently recovered from illness, now behaving like an utter arse boy full of pent up energy and nerves, ready for school.

And there's me sodding off 15 mins early, coat on, Spider-man lunch box under my arm, bat socks on, R2-D2 beanie on head, ready for work.

(I like to look as professional as I am)

'I'm not ready!'

She adds passing BabyBoy1 back to me, then running off to brush her teeth, apply make-up and generally achieve the impossible of making herself more beautiful.

(+1 Brownie point)

(-1 Brownie points for being cheesy)

(-1 Brownie points for still not understanding the brownie point system)

(Damn it)

I accept my on-time leaving isn't going to happen and start throwing children into the car.

Make sure you tuck your arms and legs in!!!

<Throws child>

Sorry... My bad...Strong wind today!

But what Mrs. Amazing said kept rattling around in Brainzilla. Like a pea in a bucket.

'If you're going to start leaving on time, you need to warn me...'

Er... If? IF I am going to start leaving on time?

HOW VERY DARE YOU!!!

I'll have you know that... that, that last week...

<Thinks>

... at least twice... then there was that time last year...

She has a point. Getting to work on time is not something I am good at. I once was 15 mins late to a laundrette job and I only lived across the road, 2 mins away.

However, I'm never late when we go to the ice cream shop, or the toy shop, or the pub.

I'm normally early for the pub and early nights, I'm first there (oh grow up).

But fair point to Mrs. Amazing. 

Me leaving on time could be considered surprising. Still... bit cheeky.

However, my personal indignation aside, what Mrs. Amazing said shows that something has changed in our lives that my crystal ball failed to mention.

<Smash opps!>

We have become crap with time.

KER-RAP.

Example 1:

'If you are going to start leaving on time...'

I should always leave on time. That is the time I should be leaving, it is when I should be shoved out of the door. Every day without fail.

We both know what time that is, we both know it is not flexible, so why the hell can't we do it?

That's just weird.

Example 2:

Boy8's clock is generally anywhere between 5 and 30 mins fast, because he loves to wake up as early as possible (OH GOD WHY! PLEASE STOP IT!).

Wake up time is 6:30. Yet that seems to be too late for him. He tries to cheat and puts his clock forward. Which means we have this great fun conversation:

Piss off Go away Boy8, it's only 6 am in the clucking morning.

'My clock says it's 6:30'

Let me see...

I trudge through the house to his room. We see, it is.

I walk all the way back to get my phone which is off.

I can't turn on the tele as that would wake Mrs. Amazing (who isn't just pretending to be fast asleep, she's gone for pretending to be dead and is has covered herself entirely with the covers).

We wait while my phone boots up... 

He smiles at me. 

I do not smile back.

<Beep>  

Phone is alive and the time on my clock clearly says 6:05.

I show him and then push him back to bed.

I trudge back to bed. Now fully awake. Arse.

Might as well go play Lego with him.

Miss4 joins me.

(That’s weird… I get all red and cross when it’s NOT OK to wake!)

Example 3:

Not one clock in the house says the same time. Not one and we have lots.

It is utterly possible to time travel in our house.

Kitchen to Sitting Room <KABOOM> You gain 10 mins

Toilet to Bedroom <KABOOM> This small walk seems to take 6 minutes(!)

A full lap of the house <KABOOM> can take 47 mins is you go clockwise, or <KABOOM> -34 mins if you go anti-clockwise.

(I don't care if that doesn't make sense chronically) (+1 big word point).

Example 4:

It has become impossible to be on time. And we really, really, try to be.

Despite all our best efforts we, as a family, are late when we go places.

Be there at 3?

Sure, no problem, we'll even leave early.

Except it never works.

Because someone needs: 
a poo, a wee, shoes on, shoes off, had a huge paddy over their shoes being on, their mobile, my mobile, milk, heated milk, spare clothes, the one sheet of paper I was fricking taking somewhere, a jumper/hat/sunglasses/goggles, music that doesn't suck, music that the kids like, music that isn't full of swears, music that IS full of swears, a teddy, all the flipping teddies, my teddy, the cat was in the car, the cat was supposed to be in the car we’re going to the vets, the baby, nappy bag, nappy bag with nappies in... It goes on.

See KER-RAP!

So please forgive us if we are late and it affects your life. However we don’t really have the time to give a crap what you think, and we probably won't apologise, coz we’re busy. Just be glad we all made in one piece, alive .

Boyish Behaviour

'He's such a boy' says Mrs. Amazing about BabyBoy1.

I pick him up and check.

Yep, that's a boy.

He may be related to a bear or an elephant. But defo a boy. #proud

BabyBoy1 was throwing himself about on my (our) bed. In a boyish way apparently!

Which as far I can tell means either 'with no concern for life or bodily harm' or 'like an idiot' or 'is going grrrrrr or zooooom' or drunk.

Miss4 is sat next to the bed, sorting and resorting her little bag of hair clips. Calmly and quietly. Which is definitely not boyish behaviour.

Boy8 then leaps on the bed with us all and a three way bundle-wrestling match occurs. Me vs Boy8 vs BabyBoy1. Of course I help BabyBoy1 join in so he doesn’t get flattened or broken. Whilst Boy8 does his best to knock me off the bed, so he can laugh about it.

I suppose one day he will achieve it, and I’ll be hurt (both physically and mentally), but being cautious of that, sounds a lot like planning ahead to me. Smeg pants to that!

Go on, try and push me off the bed.

<Boy8 pushes with all his might, I don’t move an inch>

Ha ha haha ha!

As long as he doesn’t grow stronger and bigger, annually, I’ll be fine.

Miss4 wants to join in the bundle-wrestling match, and she does join in. But in her own way. She waits until we are all pretty stationary and then leans against me. More bundle lessons for her needed.

Good times though. Good bundle times.

I note that Mrs. Amazing didn't join in the bundling at all (wuss!) and that she probably has a good point about behaving in a boyish way, it seems.

Despite being only 1, BabyBoy1, is already behaving in a way that could be described as boyish. He understood the main principles of bundling instantly, hurt the others, avoid pain yourself.

(Some ladies love a good bundle/fight)

But how? Odds are high he is copying me and Boy8, who is also copying me (THE PRESSURE!) <buckles>

But then there are two girls in the house too.

BabyBoy1 has two boys to learn from, and two girls. So really he should be 50/50 - able to wrestle whilst sorting hair clips, a valuable skill.

But he isn't. As I watch him bash his head on the bars of the bed, again. He is definitely behaving in a boyish way. Like me and Boy8 he finds hurting himself a bit, pretty bloody funny. And is prone to doing it again and again.

Miss4 didn't do this! She would sit nicely and safely and if she did hurt her head, wouldn't do it again (Weirdo).

Boy8 of course is all about the head bashing.

But how, is it built in? Is it his genes? Does everyone in his life thrust this behaviour on him?

I pick him up and ask him.

Natute? Nurture? Or Environment?

'<face slap>'

Hmmmm Nature?

'<face slap>'

Nurture?

'<face slap>'

En...

'<face slap>'

You're not a product of any outwards influences, genetics, or upbringing? You're your own person with your own destiny and it's more a conscious decision on your part on how to behave, rather than anything I'm trying to attribute it to.

'<thinks>'

'<eye poke>'

Fair enough. Thanks.

So there you have it from the mouth of babes, well my babe.

However... just what the hell is considered Boyish behaviour? Farting, picking your nose, bum jokes? (Can’t be, Miss4 loves all of those). Frankly, I don’t know.

So instead of any real definition of ‘Boyish Behaviour’  I present some things me and Boy8 do that the girls don’t normally join in with.

Liking a challenge / Competitive behaviour

Boy8 loves a good a challenge.

Can you ride your bike around the garden 15 times before the Cricket highlights finish?

'OKAY! OnYourMarksGetSETGO!'

<Smug Dad relaxes into sofa>

'Finished!'

That was quick. Are you sure you did them all?

'Maybe you better watch me?'

Well played Boy8 <golf claps>

Oh he's learning quick <Flicks off tele>

I was at a adult party the other night, true there were 5 kids there, but none of them were mine, so that counts as an adult party.

A board game came out and the two boys there were set the challenge of how many press ups could they do in 30 seconds. After they had finished, someone (me) suggested the men repeat the competition. My winning arms and chest hurt for days after that. Worth it.

Ball love

Boys seems to love their balls. And who would blame them, balls are great. Who doesn't love the feeling of their own ball in their hand, or indeed if you have two, holding your own two balls in your hand. (Oh grow up Mrs. Amazing).

I am talking about round balls, rubber balls, bouncy balls - A spherical object used for play - Not testicles.

In the interest of, and with apologies to, science I conducted a scientific experiment with my kids to see who enjoys balls the most (Mrs. Amazing was not there so stop me, obv).

I throw ball to Boy8.

He throws it back at my head as hard as he can.

DUDE!... <Is shocked>

Great throw!

I throw the ball to BabyBoy1.

He crawls off after it. He tries to eat it, he pushes it along. There is real love there between BabyBoy1 and the ball. I have to fight BabyBoy1 to retrieve the ball and it is hard fought, but I win eventually. #StillGotIt

I throw the ball to Miss4.

She wasn't looking and it hits her in the face. Cross, she grabs the ball and runs off to hide it.

She comes back a few minutes later, tongue out at me, and then sits down where she had been before and continues playing Duplo.

Where'd you put our ball?

<Blows a raspberry at me>

We never did find that ball.

<sniffs>

Dead arm contest

Wanna have a Dead Arm Contest?

'YEAH! What's that?'

We punch each other in the arm as hard as we can!

'COOOL! Me first!'

Oh yeah! good one, I thought my arm was literally going to fall off, it definitely didn't feel like a butterfly had farted on my arm.

My turn… <winds up>

(It became quite a tourist attraction)

We find him some miles away. Unhurt. Bit of a bruise on the arm, and a little bit shocked.

You OK?

'YEAH! My turn!'

Great game.

Miss4? Do you want to play?

<Doesn't dignify question with answer, and leaves room>

Put a peg on your face

'LOOK DAD <winces from peg on nose>'

Brilliant, try this <pegs eyelid and regrets it, but fakes a smile>

'YES! Pass me the peg... OWWWW'

Bravo boy, bravo.

Isn't it hard to breath though?

'Mo mits mot. Moesn't meven murt'

The funny thing is no matter how fun we make this game look Mrs. Amazing and Miss4 refuse to join in. BabyBoy1 is so keen he almost tears the strap off his high chair to join in. But the girls, not so much.

Guess we know who the winners in this game are!

(Clue: It's not the people with pegs on their faces).