The Sleep Strikes Back

Did that just happen?

Did I really just do that?

Am I dreaming?

Am I that drunk?

Did I manage to put BabyBoy1 down to sleep and then leave him ALONE! to finish putting himself to sleep?

(There may be troubles ahead... But while there's chocolate and wine...)

I only sang him one song. Not the normal rock opera medley, with actions, he's used to.

I didn't rock him in my arms him as per the Team Parent (yay!) agreement of two days ago.

I did everything I am meant to do and he's just gone to sleep.

Just like that.

Must buy a lottery ticket later.

AND… Even better, Boy8 and Miss4 are fast asleep too.

And it didn't take the normal two-hour long pitch battle, hug-sing-rock-ignore-a-thon.

No chasing the buggers back to bed.

No teddy removal.

No sobbing by me.

No freeze rays.

Back pats all round, especially for me, can't wait for Mrs. Amazing to get back so I can brag share my achievement with her.

<High fives self>

Clap

<Feels a prat>

But whilst I am half way through my ‘Nailed-Bed-Time' dance Miss4 utterly ruins my magic moment.

By standing in her doorway, not asleep, hands on hips, and knickers on her head.

'Where's Mummy?'

Gone out, go back to bed
<Stifles laugh>

And take those knickers off your head

'No!' <adopts pissed off, I ain't sleeping, NO WAY pose>

No, no, no, I don't want to fight.

Miss4 wants to fight, she is looking for the fight. She loves the fight.

Fights with her take ages and end up with Miss4 in tears, half of her toys in the hallway and me grumpily eating my tea after the watershed.

No, let's not fight tonight, think man think!

Wait I can still hear the car!!! YES! That will derail this fight!

Quick let's go wave goodbye to Mummy!
(Genius).

Miss4 runs off to my bedroom to wave.

I grab the now crying BabyBoy1 (damn it) and join her.

Miss4 waves furiously to the escaping Mrs. Amazing. Despite having had at least five gazillion goodbye hugs earlier, and having had spent the entire day with her. Miss4 still feels the need to wave like an ocean goodbye.

Also Miss4 still has her knickers on her head.

I've accepted them, and frankly she's rocking the look.

I consider getting my boxer shorts and joining in... maybe not. Public street and all that, maintain at least some dignity.

Mrs. Amazing mimes 'I Love You' to Miss4 from the car.

Miss4 mimes back 'Brain, Nipple, Point'.

Close enough.

Suddenly I get a film-jà vu. I've seen this moment of real life before in a movie: ‘The Empire Strikes Back’. You may have heard of it.

The end scene where Chewie (big hairy fella) and Lando (Apollo, Billy Dee) head off to rescue Han Solo (Indiana Jones) who’s frozen in carbonite (ice), leaving Leia (Carrie Fisher), Luke (Luke), R2-D2 (awesome robot) and C-3PO (gold annoying robot) waving goodbye.

Which means Mrs. Amazing can choose to be either Lando, or Chewie. I feel she would choose Lando in heartbeat, if she gave a crap.

Boy8 has to be Han as he's still fast asleep, or is at least playing Lego quietly enough that I can't hear him.

Miss4 has to be Leia; stroppy headstrong princess, perfect match.

BabyBoy1 is essentially R2-D2 anyway. 'Beep beep', 'Gah gah', practically the same. Both are slow to move and hilarious.

The cat walks into room, he's orange, which is pretty close to goldy-yellow, and he's pretty annoying and always in the way. There's my C3-PO!

Which leaves me Luke. Damn it. Why can't I ever be Han!

I am still wondering if being Luke is a good or bad thing, when Miss4 slips off the window ledge, and lands heavily on my foot.

Mahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Clearly with that wuss battle cry, I now have to be Chewie.

But Chewie should be in the Falcon (car) with Lando (Mrs. Amazing).

I considering leaving Leia (Miss4) in charge and then legging it with Lando. 

<Gets in car>

'What the hell are you doing?'
Coming with you!

'Have you left all the kids alone?'

Yes... Nooooo... Leia's there

But forget that Lando! Let’s go save Han! PUNCH IT!!!

<Gets punched and pushed out of car>
'Go look after your children'
'Love you!'

But obviously I didn't leave all the children alone, and Lando (Mrs. Amazing) starts the engine and squeals away.

Leia will never know the POWER she very, very nearly had.

R2-D2 beeps and whistles and makes me smile. He’s awesome.

(And this film-jà vu must be from some crap plot-changing un-special edition that I haven't seen and does not exist). #HanShotFirst #Good #HopeItHurt

(Wait… Come back! He’s asleep in his room... Just down the hall...)

(Nearly) Miss4's First Day At School

It was Miss4’s first day at school on Monday.

Well I say ‘day’, but I really mean hour. But that’s not such a snappy title.

It’s supposed to be her ‘home visit’ the school does. Except they do it at school which is a bit weird I think. Not very homey. But best not to focus on things like that.

I arrived home from work ready with plenty of time to help Mrs. Amazing and BabyBoy1. BabyBoy1has to tag along because he’s little, and because Miss4 wants him there. Safety in numbers I think, and also, pretty sweet.

I did have to convince my boss that I should be allowed to have a bit of time off during the day.

Oh go on!

No

Pwease <begs>

No

I’ll work hard all day

You’re meant to work hard all day

I won’t naff about on my phone all day

You’re not meant to be on your phone at all

I’ll stop using your mug

That’s you?

No...

<Does shifty eyes>

It’s Bob

Anyway he relented and I was free to leave.

Of course I fail to think through the timings, and have to run out of the office like it was Friday afternoon, but I made it home in time.

And there she was. Miss4 dressed in her school uniform. New school shoes, new dress. She looked very cute. I was very proud (still am).

(Don’t be fooled… they have knives in the soles, like in that bond movie: Dr. Knifeshoe)

We get to school and go through the mess hall (I believe it may be called something else in modern parlance, but mess hall seems more apt). It’s pretty messy.

The mess hall is a strange place, it full of tiny people. I feel like a giant amongst midgets and they are all staring at us.

<Whispers> Are my flies undone?

‘Shush‘

I haven’t still got my moose hat on have I?

<Checks>

‘Shush and don’t make eye contact… they look hungry...'

I made eye contact!

<We all run>

(DOES ANYONE KNOW WHERE MISS4’S CLASS ROOM IS?)

Each class has a fun and friendly name stuck to the door. We know Miss4 is Wrens. We pass another class rooms labelled ‘Swallows’, I smile at the two ladies inside and refrain from saying the joke in my mind. Best behaviour and all that.

But why Wrens? There are loads of birds in the world. It just seems a bit mean to give these new to school, teeny, illiterate, children a non-phonetic bird name with a silent letter.

Miss4 spell Wren

‘R-E-N’

MehEhhhh! No!

It’s silent W at the start

What? Why? In what reality?

The English reality

<Stands and hums Rule Britannia>

<Mumbles off after first verse, ends up singing American Pie>

I half expect the next class room we pass to be called ‘Mnemonic Gnomes’ but it’s Miss4’s, (W)Rens.

She spots her peg and hangs her cardigan. Team Parent (yay!) secretly eye-high five because Miss4 read her own name. Bugger, no teachers saw.

We meet Miss4’s teacher and T.A. (teaching assistant) and are invited to sit.

Thanks… But where?

<Teacher motions to doll house sized chairs in front of us>

Ha ha good one that’ll be good for my pinky

<Mrs. Amazing sits without fuss>

Oh… you’re serious...

I sit.

Men should not be made to sit on tiny chairs, it’s… well it’s… er… squashed potatoes. Let’s leave it at that. It’s not comfortable.

We park up BabyBoy1 facing us. Mrs. Amazing produces a bottle of milk and three of his favourite books from her sleeves like a magician. How does she do that? It’s like she plans ahead or something. Weirdo.

We all say hi and Miss4 goes off with the T.A. leaving us to answer some questions.

I have a lot of ‘great’ answers to the questions, that I manage to keep in. I am trying to make a good impression for all our sakes. Being hilarious is not what is needed right now:

Can Miss4 dress herself?

Yes but madly, as though colour and pattern mean nothing

She sometimes get tops stuck and then walk into walls, it’s hilarious

Is there anything she doesn't like?

Dog poo

All authority figures

Going to sleep, ever

Not talking

The free ball rule for stump knocking (that may be me)

My stubble

Nothing really... She likes most stuff

<We both smile>

And is there anything she really likes?

Chocolate

Custard

Buttons

Being naked

Talking

We both name books and leave it at that. You want to make a teacher happy, you talk about books. #TopTip

(We have a small collection of books at home most are comics)

Miss4 behaved brilliantly. She was confident enough, but not urgh. The right mix.

She did us proud and was very happy. It was huge relief to us both. Not because we expected her to be bad, but because it’s our little girl and we both want her to be happy, and because sometimes she is like a cat on fire.

BabyBoy1 decides he hasn’t had enough attention and cries out:

‘ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH’

* My book is stuck, can someone be so kind as to help me?

I want to help BabyBoy1, but as I might die getting up out of this match-box sized chair, or become a eunuch. I let Mrs. Amazing sort him out.

Meanwhile Miss4 finds her name badge on the wall, colours something in, and generally is relaxed in her classroom. Good. Boxes all ticked.

We all check out the loos as we leave, I hang about outside girls toilets feeling awkward, like normal.

We leave the school happy, well maybe not BabyBoy1, he probably wondered where the hell he was. But he behaved, so that’s all that counts.

As I walk in the front door and release BabyBoy1 from his mobile cage buggy. It occurs to me I should take a few million more pictures of Miss4 all dressed up, on her first outing to School, looking brilliant.

She's not going to have another first day at school unless she gets expelled.
I turn around, looking for Miss4, hoping to get a few memories digitally frozen.

I am a bit surprised to see her run straight past me, utterly naked, whooping and hollering, free again.

But not that surprised.

Good work Miss4, manage that crazy.

Ironing (ROCK!)

Tonight, me, the iron, some not-flat-enough clothes, and some cricket highlights, got together and PARTIED! *

(* Actual amount of parting was none, I was naffing ironing)

I haven't done any ironing for a while, so I volunteered.

I even insisted a little, I was blind drunk.

I'll do the ironing if you like!

Really? If you don't mind?

No I don't mind, it's been...

<Mrs. Amazing runs>

I'd like to point out that none of the tiny enormous tub of laundry, is mine.

I do not wear shirts or suits to work and ironing spandex never goes well.

Maybe there's the odd shirt in there that's mine. But it's rare.

WEIRD!!! You're wearing a shirt?

I wear shirts! <Mild indignation>

See <Spins to show off shirt>

I have loads of shirts

How many?

Oh loads… <Stalls>

Last count was...

Probably…  about... er.... 3

<Looks for confirmation from Mrs. Amazing>

<Mrs. Amazing shields face with hand and edges out of the room>

(Iron Man… Just like me… Except I've an iron)

Anyway ironing, HELL YEAH!

I start easy. Pillow cases.

A bit of me doesn't want to do pillowcases because it's a bit stupid. They are just going to go under my head as I pass out sleep. But Mrs. Amazing likes them looking nice and I find them a good ironing warm-up.

Oooo a wicket!

<Rewinds>

Next in the small pile of mountainous ironing are some of BabyBoy1's clothes.

BabyBoy1’s clothes are like those scratch and sniff cards, or stickers, that Boy8 gets. You know the one’s? You scratch then and they always smell horrible. And weirdly he always gets them from the library for reading. (Why?)

BabyBoy1’s first top smells of… <Builds tension>…  food.

Ahhh blitzed roast dinner. Nice.

Second smells of milk, fair enough, it's a bib.

Third.... Ewww! REJECT!!!

<Throws clothing into laundry for round two>

<Goes and picks up clothing that missed laundry bin by miles>

Next is Miss4's clothing.

Mrs. Amazing points out that these need name labels ironed in too.

Can't you do it?

'I spent all of last night ironing in name labels'

So you're the house expert?

And now you love doing it?

'You do it' <Slight iron-madness in voice>

OK

How?

I find the labels, I manage to iron the right type on this time, and Miss4's white tops, with frilly collars are done. Result.

Next is her new school skirt.

It's pretty. It's grey, but it's pretty. Because it has, and I believe this is the technical term, pleats. Big pleats.

I am 30Lots and in all that time, I have never, ever, owned any clothing that has, or ever had, pleats. How smeg do you iron these smeggers?

However it's not a problem as they are new and don't need ironing (YES).

I suppose I could ask Mrs. Amazing to show me how, and learn a new skill right here and now, but… you know…

WICKET!

Miss4’s skirt though makes me stop and think.

My little girl is getting bigger is starting to wear clothes that emphasise her femininity.

I imagine how life may be in 12 years time...

Miss18: ‘Ol’ man’

Yes princess

‘I need money’

<Hands over £50>

‘I need money enough to get drunk

<Hands over another £50>

So me and Shazneenian-may can score with boys

<Takes back all the money>

<Mrs. Amazing ‘nods’ me to hand over more>

<Empties wallet>

<Weeps>

(That should be enough for a Mars bar...)

Urgh!!! Why do I do this to myself.

I am sure she'll be a good, studious, sensible, girl, that doesn't spend all her time trying to ‘get’ with boys in the Monastery I will lock her in.

Boy8's clothes now.

His clothes have kevlar weaved into their fabric. It makes them strong enough to withstand all his playing and perpetual knee slides. Why so many knee slides? No one knows.

I pick them up and for the first time ever I notice these are not the slightly comedic trousers that little boys wear. You know the trousers that are really shorts, or the trousers that look like they've come off a doll.

No Boy8’s trousers, look like men’s trousers. He is getting bigger.

I iron my little MAN’s trousers and then it comes to my moment to shine.

This is the bit of ironing I can do well.

<Whispers really, really quietly> Better than Mrs. Amazing

I fold the trousers.

Hell yeah. I fold them good.

I fold them like they are suit trousers, which is something I know how to do, because I wear suits. And another man showed me how to years ago.

Mrs. Amazing pretty much has the monopoly on clothing knowledge in the house, except when it comes to suits. That’s my tiny bit of skill/knowledge.

I’ll show Boy8 how to fold trousers when he’s a bit bigger. I’ll show BabyBoy1 in years to come. And they’re show there kids. Ahhhh the circle of suit life. 

WICKET!

Trousers folded, to suit standards, I smugly continue ironing and grab the next item in the basket.

It’s one of Mrs. Amazing’s dresses.

It’s complex.

There is no actual way to lay it flat to iron it. Bits of it, I think, shouldn't be ironed and should look creased, other bits need to be flatter.

I've no idea what fabric it’s made of either. It could be made of goats cheese for all I know (it is not).

It is utterly impossible.

I recently had two washing failures, in a day. BabyBoy1 is sporting some lovely pink baby grows and one of Mrs. Amazing’s dresses is less white. It didn't go down well.

(... Hmm… I’ll just put the iron on mega-heat and steam and hope)

(... Craaaaaaaap)

So my confidence clothes-wise is knocked and I don’t want to mess up her favourite dress.

My perplexion and reluctance at ironing the dress does not go unnoticed.

‘Leave that one if you want’

I was going to my love

<Sits>

I was going to...

WICKET!