How was your day? (Ommmm)

This tale hurt to write.
Because I'm not sure I did the right thing.

I didn’t get what I wanted, Boy8 didn’t get what he wanted. 
We both lost.

And now he’s snoring away and I'm all alone, and having to live with the consequences of what I choose to do. Bugger.

I just wanted to hear about his day...

Boy8 had an exciting day! He started a new football club (feet skills) and got a new responsibility at school. All things that he loves and I want to hear about.

I missed out on hearing about Miss4’s day as Mrs. Amazing put her to bed, and BabyBoy1 is not so much with the talk-talk-makey-sensey, just yet.

So I was 100% ready to give Boy8 a damn good listening to.

And then what happened?

Really?

No!!!

and then what happened after you put on your shoes this morning?

BabyBoy1 and me have an excellent bedtime. I read him some books, he opens flaps. I lift him to the light switch, he turns off the light delighted with himself (new skill). He eats his toothbrush a bit. I sing him to sleep. He goes to sleep.

He’s brilliant, and asleep in 5 minutes, the awesome little wonderful dude.

I can still hear Mrs. Amazing coaxing Miss4 to sleep as I nicely say to Boy8 it’s bedtime.

He’s had brupper, he’s watched some cartoons, he’s dressed in his tiger-onesie, just gotta brush his teeth.

‘Oh I’m so tired'

Yeah mate, I bet!

I want to hear all about it!

Brush your teeth and I’ll meet you in your bedroom!

(Considering how cheery I sound, I was may have been skipping a bit)

However instead of rushing off to clean his teeth like anyone sane would do, Boy8 refuses to move and buries his face in the sofa.

A fight is brewing, I can practically taste it. Yuk fighty. 
Which would be a shame as I really want to hear about his day. 
My day at work was good enough...

Boss: ‘What are you working on?’

<Opens door a tiny crack and peeks out>

Ohh... Something brilliant and complex... and busy...

‘Can I see?’

Er... No. Not yet

‘I want to see. NOW’

NOOO!

<We struggle>

<The door is opened>

Do you like it?

<Shows off, 1:50 scale, panoramic, 3D model of Pixie Hollow, with moving parts, and all fairy characters, made entirely from stolen company paper-clips and post-it notes>

<Boss has all of his flabber-, well and truly, -gasted>

'You know... This isn't what we pay you to do?'

<Nods and smiles, and then runs>

(Apparently not a real holiday destination... #Gutted)

But Boy8 doesn't care how my day went. He does however want to end it with a big old fight.

I ask him to move, a lot, and I get rude and snarky (oh yes snarky, it’s horrible) back.

Normally he would get the fight he is looking for. Normally I would square up with him toe to toe and let the shouting wars begin (Reigning House Champion).

But not today. No way!

Today I am one with the universe. I am calm like a mountain stream.

I am at peace. Bake off was on last night

I calm myself.

Ommmmmmm

I tell Boy8 to hurry up and head upstairs.

Which is a brilliant ploy that normally works. Because now he's on his own downstairs, with the promise of a story waiting for him upstairs. He just needs to get up and move. And Boy8 loves his bedtime story.

The clock says it's 6:45pm which means he has a whopping 45 minutes to clean his teeth, read a story to me, and then have me read a story to him.

EASY! What could possibly go wrong?

Ten minutes later I am still sat on his bed, waiting for him.

Ommmmmmmmm

He does eventually come upstairs, but I can hear his voice from Miss4’s room. He’s telling Mrs. Amazing a load of whoppers about how I shouted and screamed at him to go to bed, and that's why Mrs. Amazing should do his bedtime. Not mean old Daddy.

The utter, manipulative traitor and stinker.

They grow up so quick <sniffs>

Ommmmmmmmmmmm

Mrs. Amazing spots the lie easily as she didn’t hear any screaming or crying and I have Mrs. Amazing's trust and respect, plus I’m stood in the room saying it’s all lies and pointing at Boy8, with my tongue out at him.

Boy8 says a few more rude, lippy, comments, and is shoved, nicely mind, off to the bathroom whilst I go and wait some more on his bed. I check the internet is still full of cool stuff. It is. Phew.

Ommmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Ten minutes later Boy8 appears in his room and apologises. It seems genuine and he starts to tell me about his day. Great!

Back on track.

Except whilst he is talking his breath wafts over to my nostrils, and I realise he hasn’t done his teeth at all. Whilst gagging.

I suggest, nicely and calmly, he does his teeth again.

His response is 'amateur dramatic' and he calls me names, cries, dives face first into his bed, and tells me how mean I am and what rotten Dad I am. I know, a father’s dental hygiene concern really is the worst.

OmmmmmmmmmmMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

(How the hell did I get up here? Help? I’d like to get down now…)

Five minutes more pass and I go looking for him. He still hasn't done his teeth. I find him doing, well I don't know what he was doing, waiting for me to tell him off I would guess.

In total that's now thirty minutes of faffing, to get one set of teeth clean, Boy8 must be going for his PB. A lot of rudeness, cheek and lip has been thrown at me, but finally, as I stand there watching, he has clean teeth.

Boy8 slumps back into bed and attitude that emanates from this tiny boy could be used to strip paint or my mind.

That's is it. I have had enough.

The foot is down. The die is cast, this ship has sailed, the bottle is empty, the last of the embers is about to burn out, the chocolate wrapper is just an empty wrapper.

No no Boy8. Enough of this madness. 

Boy8 no longer gets his story. He just gets bed. Decision made.

I calmly and nicely explain to Boy8 that he's taken sodding ages too long to get into bed, and that it is now just bedtime, no story.

The tears flow fast and angry (his).

I don my shield of calm and ignore his spear and arrows of hurt and pain. I am still one with the universe and uber calm. I will not engage in his emotional battle, else I'll end up shouting at him.

Calmly I flick the light off and wish him goodnight, and leave.

Ommmmmmmmmmbloodysoddingrarrrrrmmmmm

I leave as far as the stairs (still progress) and continue being calm.

I sit on the stairs and wish Mrs. Amazing goodbye as she’s off to her bazooka classes (she’s a natural apparently).

Miss4 appears from her room, as she needs 75th cuddle goodnight with Mrs. Amazing. But that's fine.

It's still Miss4's first week at school. Emotionally she's all over the place, an extra cuddle won't hurt or set a new prescient, at all.

Me and Miss4 wave Mrs. Amazing off together as she speeds off in the Amazing-mobile (car). Miss4 protests she isn't sleepy at all, and then crashes out asleep in under a minute.

Bless.

Boy8 is still sobbing and wailing from his room. Which I have been ignoring.

Ommmmmmmmmmrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmm

Boy8's volume is rapidly rising as he can tell he is being ignored. However as I am now making sure Miss4 isn't faking and is really asleep, I can't talk to him anyway.

Plus the foot was down.

My attention for Boy8, this evening, has expired, unless he has cake.

Boy8 emerges from his room full of tears, still being rude and pissy, demanding a story, and throwing more insults at me. I stop my eye twitching, and guide him back to bed.

But he won't go.

Fine. It is not fine.

OmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM 
<Deep breath> 
Ommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

I leave him and go down stairs. He's 8, he can put himself to bed.

But he doesn't, instead he follows me, still wailing (yay!).

Dreading the emotional explosion that will surely happen when we get downstairs, and the inevitable battle to get him back upstairs. I do something unexpected.

I turn on the stairs and hug him, hard. We fall up the stairs a bit, as stair hugging is hard to do. 

I wish him goodnight and I leave again (as I'm starving and need to get my dinner on).

As I said, his time and attention with me tonight is done. The hug was a freebie.

I made my decision about his behaviour. I must not let any of his normal tricks and ploys get around me. I must teach him about ‘cause (being a smegger) and effect’ (no story).

The hug worked for about a microsecond. As Boy8 races past me on the stairs and bares my way into the kitchen. Wailing, being rude, crying, demanding. It's a bizarre mix of emotions and would be hilarious to watch, if it wasn't being thrown at me.

I bring my emotional shields up.

(Incoming emotional attack!!! Shields!!!)

I am really, really, really tempted to get my muscles out and force my way past him. I am way bigger than him, it would be easy. But I know that's a bad solution.

He's not tiny any more and can fight back hard enough now, that he can hurt himself. Also it's a bad example.

Gotta think about BabyBoy1 and Miss4 as well. I can't show Boy8 that he should shove through both of them.

But I can't seem to talk him out of my way either,as he's in full blooded emotional excess now and not making much sense.

Ommmmmmmmm <Grinds teeth> Ommmmmmmmm <Cricks neck> Ommmmmmmmm

I manage to  trick him out of the way by pretending to do something else, twirling flaming swords whilst juggling tomotoes. But Boy8 follows me into the kitchen and reaches alpha-level emotional break down and rudeness and name calling and sense bad makingyness.

Shields up maximum, happy place, happy place...

So all the pies are free?

'Yes sir, all free'

And all these ladies?

'They bring you unlimited chocolate for afters'

Amazing

'R2-D2 will be serving you drinks'

<Beep>

'Would sir like some music?'

Yes please

<The Stone Roses starts playing>

<Wipes away tear of joy>

So happy place firmly in mind, shields right up, I ignore Boy8 like a champion and just start making my dinner.
Oooo a (cornish) pasty!

It is all too much for Boy8 he explodes. I am using new and unusual weapons and he doesn't know how to battle me calm. So he goes for the big swear, storm off!

'You're an...'

'...an...'

'... ABSOLUTE IDIOT!'

<Storms off>

<Door to his room slams>

<Wall dent increases>

Nice to know where he is with his swearing. Lame town. Not very far.

He called Mrs. Amazing an 'absolute butt-head' the other day.

Brilliant. What a tilly swat.

Boy8 goes to bed on his own, no story, and I don't see him until the next morning where we hug it right out and are mates again (I laid on-top of him until he told me about his day in great depth, that counts).

But after his dramatic and slightly funny storm off, I am left with huge emotional guilt and weight on my shoulders. The tension in my shoulders is so bad they crack as I roll them. 'Ommm' my reasonably sized butt.

It's already 8pm and I am now knackered, not in the best of moods, ready for booze bed, starving, and not sure I handled all of that very well.

I did my best. But Brainzilla is shouting away at the back of my head:

'YOU DAMN FOOL! That was crappppp!!!'

I am so upset with all the shenanigans that I put a generous sized portion of healthy veg on my plate. What the hell was I thinking? Where's the chips, fried egg and other pie! I just wasn't in my right mind.

Damn healthy food.
<Kicks the sofa and scares the cat>

<Smiles, two-for>

Mrs. Amazing is eventually captured and brought back home, kicking and screaming, and we discuss my evening of fun. She understands and supports my stance on 'no story' and ignoring, as probably the right thing to do. Good.

Validation and support. I needed that.

But being a wise-women (aren't they all) <Shakes head>, and able to see life on an emotional level. Mrs. Amazing adds that Boy8's anger, rudeness, emotions need to be released, either through tears or laughter. Take the anger to tears if you must. But the emotions need to come out as tears or laughter. Always.

'I am quite surprised you didn't just make him laugh it off...'

'You're good at that jester-boy!'

Of course! That would've worked brilliantly, that would have saved me loads of stress and effort...

Oh...

Dammmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmn it

7 Phrases That Have Changed Meaning Since Kids

Phrase 1: You want another drink(booze)?

This used to always be followed by a ‘yes please’. Now I either have to abstain and be sensible (urgh) or it's a rare night off and I drink like a dehydrated camel.

‘You want another drink?’

No thanks I want a lot of drink

‘Oh go on... ’

I can't, I have all three kids tomorrow, on my own

‘You can…’

They get up at 6 ready to play

‘What? AM?’

<Nods>

‘Ooooo that's harsh’

‘You realise it's 4AM?’

Is it?

<Grabs bottle and just starts chugging>

‘Down it you zulu warrior!’

‘Down it you zulu king, king, king...’

<Regrets nothing>

(Just one more beer then..)

Phrase 2: You look tired

This used to mean that one (I know posh or wot!) looked a little tired. It now means that one of us looks like the living dead and probably needs to sleep until the next big bang.

‘You look tired’

Do I?

‘Yeah. You eyes are all puffy’

<Touches eye-suitcases>

‘Your skin is pale and you're yawning all the time’

<Yawns>

‘Plus....’

‘We’re stood in the women's lingerie section and you haven't made a single joke, blushed, suggested anything for me, and you’re not walking funny’

<Yawns>

Yeah, sure, here's some money, get the kids something too


Phrase 3: We’re out of milk

When did milk become so important? Really when? Madness.

[Before kids]

We’re out of milk!

‘Oh no how will we make our tea?’

What about your breakfast muesli?

‘It’s a disaster!’

Beer? Health juice?

‘Yeah'

[After kids]

We’re out of milk! BabyBoy1 needs milk, Miss4 needs milk, Boy8 needs milk

What the hell are they going to live on for the day!

<Runs to the shops and finds last carton of milk being taken>

I'll give you £10 for that last carton of milk

‘£20’

How about... £10 and 24 pence and you can have my Darth Vader key ring fob

‘DEAL!’

<Takes milk>

<Beats seller with milk carton until he gives back Darth Vader key fob>

<Runs>

(Worth a beating)

Phrase 4: You've got something on you

I used to be clean and well presented, enough, when out and about. Now however, if a top only has one milk stain on it, that one’s for weddings.

‘You’ve got something on you’

Have I? <Not even remotely surprised>

If it’s white it’s milk

‘It’s not white’

Creamy white? Could be puke

‘Not creamy white’

Is it greenish? That could be snot and puke and milk all mixed together

‘It’s not green’

‘It’s brown’

Oh that’ll be chocolate, don’t worry

<Wipes fingers and rubs of mark>

<Realises it wasn’t chocolate>

I have to go…

<Leaves scrubbing tongue>


Phrase 5: You want a smoke?

NOOOO!!!!!

Why would you even ask me? In FRONT OF MY KIDS?

I've never smoked. EVER. It's for suckers.

‘You were smoking yesterday’

Ix nay <Does 'Shut Up' eyes>

‘Fine...’

‘… but you still owe me ten smokes for yesterday’

<Panics>

WHO THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU???

PERVERT!

<Punches best friend, since age 4, in the face>

WE ARE LEAVING!

<Leaves with kids>

<Runs back, leans down, and whispers in mates ear>

See you this evening

‘Yeah... OK…’ <rubs face>

One more for appearances

HOW VERY DARE YOU!!!

<Kick kick kick>

Phrase 6: What shall we eat tonight?

I miss being able to eat what I want. It was nice.

<Sobs>

[Before kids]

Italian? Mexican? Japanese

‘Ooo I love sushi’

‘Steak house?’

Nice

‘Chinese? French? Indian?‘

Let’s flip a many sided coin and then eat at all of them

[After kids]

‘Boy8 won’t eat pasta, rice or potatoes, unless they’re chips or roasted’

That rules out Italian and Chinese...

‘Miss4 will only eat vegetables and pasta’

That rules out Steakhouse, and Chinese again

‘BabyBoy1 can’t have anything too spicy or raw‘

And that rules out Japanese and Indian

Pizza?

‘Despite liking all the component parts, Boy8 won’t eat pizza the smegger’

Fish and Chips?

‘They never eat the fish’

So… sandwiches in the park?

‘Again?’

Let’s make it special, let’s have ham AND cheese

‘Deal!’

Phrase 7: Fancy an early night?

‘Fancy an early night?’

DO I? YEAH!!!

<Runs off and comes back with candles, romantic CD (AC/DC’s Back In Black), snacks, and cups of tea>
READY!

‘For what? What’s all that stuff for?’

<Notices Mrs. Amazing has more clothes on to go to bed than a moment>

Er… You said early night…

<Sense of disappointment grows>

‘Yeah… Because I’m so tired, cream-crackered in fact!’

haha <Fake laughs>

<Tosses romantic crap out of the window>

‘Why are you naked?’

I lost my clothes… on the stairs

‘That’s weird...’

Yeah… I thought it would save time… <Mumbles>

‘OK… Night!’

‘Zzzz’

Night

<Sits awake in the darkness>

<Is concerned about the flames coming from outside of the window, but is naked so just goes to sleep>

Sigh…
Stupid lovely children.

(It’ll be fine 'till the morning…)

Dropping Off Miss4 Solo

It's my first drop off with Miss4, on my own today. It's a big day.

There is huge responsibility on my shoulders and if I mess it up, Mrs. Amazing may not talk to me for ages, so there’s pros and cons.
Mrs. Amazing will be on the other side of town throwing Boy8 out of the car at a different school. 

At exactly the same time as when Miss4 needs be at school. (Who thought that up?)

Hence why I am being used. Necessity.

Worryingly Miss4 needs certain stuff with her for school and so far Mrs. Amazing has been organising and preparing the stuff through spells and witchcraft, she plans ahead. I haven’t had much hand in it.

Miss 4 needs:

a) School clothes

She's gotta be dressed. I don’t often forget to dress her, but today she definitely needs to be dressed in school clothes. Mustn't let her trick me that it's dress like a 'pirate-alien-ninja' day, again.

b) Hair taming

She needs something in her hair for control purposes. Some magical device, that I have never used in my life, that can tame the madness. So Miss4 doesn't get nicknamed ‘Cousin Itt' or Hermione by the teachers. 

(That may not be enough...)

c) Book bag

Based on how often I was reminded about it. Miss4 needs her book bag more that she needs oxygen.

Although at present, said book bag, contains no books at all and makes me want to call it...  A BAG!

But even I (yes EVEN I) can see why calling it a book bag is helpful.

Where's Miss4's bag?

<Mrs. Amazings voice comes from upstairs>

'Which one? The small red bag with treasure in it?'

Nope

'My 80's style bag I had when I was little, full of treasure?'

Uh-nuh

'Hair clip bag?'

Hasn't that got treasure in it as well?

'Yes'

Thought so...  and nope

'Dice bag?'

No

'Owl rucksack?'

No, no, not those… The school one!

'She hasn't got a school bag yet!?'

Yes she has, that flat one that's great for carrying paper

'I don’t know which one you…'

'DO YOU MEAN HER BOOK BAG?!!! $%*&"£'

<Stomps downstairs half dressed, curling iron still hair, BabyBoy1 on hip, temperament experimental>

<Gets a look of death>

<Tiny voice>But she doesn't have any books in it yet... <Trails off>

... it can't be a book bag... <Squeeks>

<Points at book bag without looking>

There

Oh...

<Runs>

<Runs back and picks up book bag>

<Runs again>

And most importantly...

d) One non-regular extra item

The bag with Miss4's school shoes in. 

Yeah I know. Why aren't the school shoes on her feet where they should be? To mess with my mind.

Admittedly it confused me to start with.

But then I spotted that Miss4 was stomping about in wellies, and outside watery stuff had been leaking from the sky pillows (rain). So using my deducing deduction skills, I deduct that Miss4 is wearing wellies so she can splash her way safely to school. All the while keeping her school shoes nice.

(Watson... I believe I am on fire... )

Brilliant. Well played Mrs. Amazing.

I just need to make the wellie-shoe swap when we get to school.

Mrs. Amazing pushes Boy8 and BabyBoy1 out of the door towards the car...

'Don't forget this bag' <Points at bag with school shoes in>

<Salutes>

We wave goodbye to and it's time for school. 
I grab her book bag, put a coat on her, tame the hair and grab my stuff too.

Then, in time honoured tradition, I stand outside the front door trying to remember everything I have forgotten.

Miss4 asks what I am doing and I explain.

It's not that my memory is totally rubbish. It just seems to have 'problem' areas. Other bits are fine, good even.

Boy8 is now so used to this quirk. That he now offers a list of the items I most often forget when I leave anywhere with him

'Phone?'

Yep!

'Coat?'

No, no... Yes! Wearing it!

'Miss4? BabyBoy1?'

Got both

'Bags?'

In boot!

'Remembered where the car is?'

Er...

<Pulls out hand drawn map>

<Gets into map>

It's there... <Points to our car>

Yay! Good work Boy8!

<Gives Boy8 friendly dead arm>

Honestly we would be five cars down if it were not for Boy8, and stuck in Brighton.

So I explain all of this to Miss4. Hoping she might also start helping me out when I am leaving anywhere. Miss4 looks at me as though I am quite mad.

Good. She understands perfectly.

However I can't think of anything I've forgotten, so I make to leave...

'Uh oh Daddy'

What?

Is it bandits?

Wolves?

The Stay Puft Marshmallow Man?

'We forgot!'

Did we? What?

'THE SHOE BAG!'

Crap on a stick she is right. Strewth that was a close one!

SEE! Miss4 is helping me already :) Worth opening my bag of crazy at her.

I grab the bag with the school shoes in.

The journey to school is quite uneventful.

We see a squirrel eating nuts in a tree, which is awesome. Some of the nuts fall out of the tree into our looking-up faces. It is also awesome.

We fall out about crossing a road. I think she should cross when I do, safety and all that. Miss4 thinks the big puddle in front of her is far more important and doesn't care if I stand in the middle of the road for ages. Compromises were made. We splashed in the big puddle.

But we make it to school with all the stuff she needs.

The classroom door opens and I am saying goodbye to Miss4 when I realise I still need to swap her school shoes for her wellies!

We sit and swap the wellies for school shoes.

THAT WAS BLOODY CLOSE TO A COMPLETE DISASTER!

Miss4 at school in wellies and no school shoes... it doesn't bare thinking about.

Relieved I will have somewhere to sleep tonight and job done, I wave goodbye, proud of myself I stomp away from school with the bag of wellies.

I even have enough time to drop the wellies back at home before I head off to work in my submarine.

Bright pink sparkly wellies at work doesn't scream professional, unlike Bat socks, and shouting 'Morning Smeggers' every day.

I swagger into work proud of myself and dying to tell someone about my good work. But no one at work would give one, two, or even three figs about wellie-gate. So I just sit down and feel secretly proud of myself.

Well I did.... until I get this message from Mrs. Amazing...

Bugger.