I Think You Are Strong...

I read a few blogs that talk about how to empower daughters. (A Mighty Girl is my fav). 

I read them because I don't ever want Miss4 to feel de-powered or weak.

And Miss4’s my daughter. So I read them

(Like this site on FB and get a daily Mighty Girl story to read...

Better than the normal male centric media bile... )

I hope Miss4 is going to feel strong in her life.

I want her to feel as strong as I do in this world. Which is definitely possible, but something tells me it’s not going to be easy, and it will take a lot of effort and new thinking from me, and of course Team Parents (yay!).

Obviously Mrs. Amazing needs to do her part.

And of course as strong empowered role models go, I can think of no better. I know she will.

But how her main male role model, me, interacts with Miss4 is going to set up her expectations and her empowerment levels on the bloke front. Basically everything I do she will be watching and taking notes. Shiiiiit

How I treat her, Mrs. Amazing, Boy8, BabyBoy1 and weirdly myself. All is being watched and recorded. Sure I know that’s the same for Boy8 and BabyBoy1.

But I feel for Miss4 it’s even more important.

Miss4: ‘Dad? Do all men like Frozen as much as you do?’

Er… <Straightens out purple cape so it flies right>

Yeah sure… Probably… Can we just start?

‘Coz my friend said her Dad doesn't even know the words to Let It Go’?

Well that just dumb

Maybe he was pretending

Right, less talk… You ready?

‘Yep!’ <Takes centre stage, arms aloft>

Go

<Both sing and run> ‘A storm blows…’

I hope Miss turns out strong.

And empowered and not scared of men in her life. Real life Metaphorically speaking I would much rather be sat there, tea in hand, cheering Miss4 on as she throws a rubbish man out of her life herself. Than I do it for her. I’ll would happily do it of course, and enjoy it.

But it would be better if she could do it herself. I'm a bit lazy.

Miss4: ‘What the hell is this?’

Becoming Ex-BoyF: ‘Look. I'm sorry… I wasn't thinking’

‘Damn right you weren't’

‘Did you think I wouldn't find out?’

<Stirs tea, grinning>

‘A bloody Bieber track on your phone?’

<Beats Now Ex-BoyF over the head with phone>

<And pushes him out of the house>

'Don't come back!'

<Wipes proud tear from eye>

OK fine.

I might worrying about stuff that will not happen for a very long time, I hope. But I like to be prepared, and if Miss4 is going to be able to handle her own trash, I need to start her down that path now.

I think.

And this morning I think I did something to help her down that road.

Path. Road. Whatever, I’ll chop and change as we go on, it’ll maybe be a path sometimes, a road, a journey. Just go with it. It’ll be cool, don’t worry

Be cool.

So I think I helped her take her first step towards her destiny (be cool).

I attacked her with two wooden swords, and then let her beat the crap out of me

I think what I did might have made a huge difference to Miss4.

I showed her how to get up to chocolate cupboard, using a broom

I showed her to annoy Boy8 in five seconds

Something I am proud of myself for doing.

Something I want to share with you, because I think I did good.

I told Miss4 I thought she was strong.

Which doesn't sound like much I know.

I know, because I told Mrs. Amazing and she cared as much as when I managed eat all the chocolate, cakes, and pies in house within a day. (I was helping with her diet).

She cared not.

But think it through with me.

I'm Miss4’s Dad. I have proof, she loves Dangermouse. Miss4’s big strong Dad (me).

Yes really me. Big strong. She’s tiny.

Even I can be pretty impressive to a four year old girl.

I lift the heavy stuff in the house. I go out in stupid no matter the weather. I build, I smash, I shout the loudest, dance the hardest, eat the heartiest, and get drunk the drunkerest.

There is strength in this Dad carefully hidden under padding.

So to Miss4, I believe, I am her strength role model.

Mind blowing I know. <Bang> <Ow> <Cries>

And frankly that’s what I think Dad’s are meant to be.

Strong.

AND… kind, sweet, soft, cuddly, funny, emotional, loads of other stuff that you can’t brag to your mates about, loads, and paradoxically not strong at the same time (WTF!). I think the new modern Dad skills need to be applied like a second coat to the original Dad design.

Dad v2 if you like.

Anyway, back to guiding Miss4 on her travels across the seas of life (be cool).

I’ll explain myself better with a very real and not made up at all, example…

(Made up).

Han Frickin' Solo Sir. Ford: So... You had something to show me?

Mr.SoloWouldItBeOkIfMaybeOneDay,IfYouDon'tMindTooMuch,IfItWouldBePossible,ForYouToMaybe… <breathes> ... ToLookOverMyStory,IfYouGetTheChance,PleaseSir <Bows>

<Bows again>

Sir Ford: Sure kid

<Stumbles slightly as nearly faints>

Sir Ford: <Reads first chapter> That's great kid! but don't get cocky

<Flashes dreamboat smile>

<Actually faints and falls embarrassingly onto Sir. Ford>

<Is then pounced on by body guards>

#BestMomentEver

(You 'd like to meet Mrs. Amazing? No... Just no...)

See, nothing beats a good example.

I bet that's all clear now. Job done.

<Dusts off hands>

What? You've no idea what I meant? What has my man crush on Harrison Ford got to do with empowering Miss4? I am only human.

My point was this.

If someone you look up-to, such as Sir. Ford, for a particular trait (Awesomeness), says you are good at something. Well those are kind of comments that can change you. They can resonate within you with far greater power than if they came from say… someone… from any of OneDirection talking about lyrical quality. You know, someone in which you have absolutely no respect for. At all. 
<Grins>

1D Munchkin: ‘I think your song is great, you're voice is nice, I love the lyrics, very clever’

Get. Out. Of. My. House.

<Draws and cocks Nerf guns>

Now...

<Boy8, Miss4, BabyBoy1 appear fully armed as well>

Release the hounds!

<Cat walks by>

So... 

Me and Miss4 were running late for school and trying to get out of the door.

Not that rare an occurrence to be honest. I was talking as always.

I was nicely explaining why she needed to wear a cardigan, a fleece and a big water proof coat over the top.

Don't be a twonk it's bloody cold outside

You have no padding on you

You have to wear a vest, t-shirt, cardy, fleece, hat, gloves, and a coat and that’s for starters...

'I can hardly move!' <Waddles crossly about in star pose>

Hmmm... Good point....

<Thinks>

We can probably squeeze another scarf on then...

The thing is when Miss4 was two, and again <Sighs>, at three, she spent time in hospital with crackles (snot fluid) on her lungs.

Basically she had a cough which went bad. She didn't cough strong enough to clear the gunk out of her little lungs, so it built up. The doctors and nurses (Miss4's saint like saviours and angels, #NHSLove) called them crackles. It is something she will grow out of, has grown out of, thank steak pie. But she needed to be on oxygen in the hospital for a few days. It sucked big time. She is now fine.

And to make sure it never EVER happens again, I wrap her up extremely warm before she leaves the house. ALWAYS!

<Shakes fist>

Which is why Miss4 has to wear so much winter clothes.

It also why the conversation between us, as we were trying to get out of the door, was about how she needed to wear so many tops and stuff, and about how she had got crackles on her lungs. I wasn't really thinking about what I was saying, or where I was going with the conversation. Which is always very dangerous.

Let rhyme! Start with brother clucking runt...

I just wanted her to dress warm.

It wasn't going well.

Miss4 was a bit cross. So my entire goal in talking was to calm the grumpy Miss4 down, and one good way to do that, is just to talk stuff at her...

... and you ended up in hospital...

<Nods, instead of putting on shoes>

... because your little lungs were not strong enough ...

<Nods, instead of putting on coat>

... you got crackles, because your cough was so weak...

<Nods, instead of putting on scarf>

'yeah I'm weak coz I'm so little'

...

<Stops self>

<Stops and brings attention fully onto Miss4, her words echoing in my head>

...

<FINALLY Realises the huge mistake he is making>

No!

<Grabs Miss4 by both shoulders to looks her right in the eye>

NO darling!

You used to be little, but you're big now...

<Has no clear plan> <Is winging it> <Has adopted superman prose for emphasis>

... You've gotten tough...

<Silently curses dodgy grammar>

Err... <Winging it wings falling apart> … Er…

But you're bigger now, you're a tough cookie…

<Brainzilla saves the day and throws up the perfect thing to say>

I think YOU ARE STRONG!

And that was it.

I didn't plan that, I doubt I could do that again either. That was mainly dumb luck.

But telling Miss4 that she was strong, that I thought she was strong, I think had a big effect on her. Well... I say big, in fact it was tiny, it would have been easy to miss it to be honest.

But I saw it.

Her eyes flashed.

Yep. Her eyes. Flashed.

Have you ever watched someone's eyes when they see something amazing, or exciting, or brilliant? When something grabs their insides and pulls them tight. Like when you jump off something high. Like when your first love kisses you. Like when Han Solo passes the light sabre to Ray and says 'You're going to need this'. <Melts>

Like when you lift the biscuit tray up, and underneath there's another full tray.

When stuff like that happens, my eyes, Miss4's eyes and everyone else's eyes, rapidly dilate and expand as though you are pulling that moment into your head through your eyes.

Miss4 did that when I told her she was strong.

BOOM 'king POW!

And that’s how, I feel, I helped guide Miss4 on her quest (and... needing to be cool done) to being strong and empowered..

And more importantly, I meant it.

(How creeped out would be seeing this in your home... That hair!)

Epilogue:

[Mrs. Amazing finds me laying on the sofa at 9:30am]

'Aren't you going to work today'?

I don't have to, my work for today is done <Waves hand dismissively>

'What? Why?'

Did you not hear the Miss4 strong story? <Rhetoric smugness>

'Yeah... I'm just not sure work will agree?'

I think we both know <Pauses> that they will <Smiles and nods>

<Lays down to sleep as work done for the today>

'You know I've got friends coming over?'

Zzz

'You can't sleep there, I'm going to hoover'

Zzz
<Gets hoovered>

Miss4's Master Class on Delaying Tactics...

Getting Miss4 to sleep.

Can take a lot of time, and effort.

When Miss4 was very little she was pretty darn brilliant to put to bed.

Obviously she had her bad nights. Long, long, nights. Who doesn't.

But somehow or another, a very young Miss4 would know when she was ready for bed and start to dip her head to towards the cot, asking to be put down.

Then she would simply go to sleep. I KNOW!

Ahhhh. Happy days. Monday, Tuesday...

Over the last few years though.

She has become a bit of a time vampire. Which if you don’t know, is parent talk for: It take bloody ages for them to do something. And you have to watch.

In our case it was getting her to sleep. And in our case bloody ages meant anywhere between an hour or two.

At one point it was so bad, that the lucky Team Parent (yay!) member would come prepared for a long wait. Mrs. Amazing would have a book to read. I would ponder the existence of the human race, and our place amongst the stars play stupid games on my phone. Just so we had something to do whilst watching someone, not fall asleep, for a long time.

However we have improved.

Team Parent’s (yay!) greatest skill, I believe, is our theme tune ability to regroup and try another tactic.

Which is what we have done with Miss4.

Quite a few times already.

(Drawn by izmiyura and can be found here)

Our current status now is...

Much improved, but still not great. BabyBoy1 goes to sleep quicker, to put it into context.

Boy8 goes to sleep quicker. To double that context and raise you fifty!

At present:

We don’t have to sit in her room anymore! YAY!

We don’t even have to sit outside her door! YAY! Freedom!

But…being upstairs and pootling about is still required. Boooo.

We still have to be ‘around’ as it were.

If we do not maintain a presence, nearby, Miss4 either sings, talks to herself, or plays with her toys in her room, quietly. 

However Miss4 is a sharp cookie, and nothing if not resilient. 

To counter us Miss4 deploys her own, quite habitual, tricks, method and reasons for leaving her bed and not going to sleep. So habitual have Miss4’s time delaying tactics become. That Team Parents (yay!) can now predict what she is going to ask, demand, complain or just talk about, almost instantly. Like magic.

I present to you Miss4’s most common response provoking moves, Her, if you will, master class on delaying tactics...

[Miss4 has been read three books and had a lovely bedtime]

[Miss4 has had all the cuddles any person could ever need]

[Miss4 has been in bed ten, maybe twelve seconds]

[I am on guard duty]

‘Daddy I can’t slee…’

You've only been trying for ten seconds, go to sleep

<Rolls eyes>

‘Daddy I'm scare...’

<Walk in, turns on light, fake checks for anything scary>

Don’t worry your Dad is guarding your door

Ain’t nothing gonna hurt my little girl <Pats hammer on hand>

Night

‘Daddy my wat...’

<Passes Miss4 a fresh tippy cup of water>

<The outside drip free as drips on the plastic are not acceptable>

‘Daddy this bit hur...’

<Holds up three types of plasters>

Where?

My foot <Points>

<Applies plaster to NOTHING>

<Kisses it better>

Night

‘Daddy if I do this with my eyes/nose/ear…’,

Don’t do that

Close those eyes and it will feel better in the morning

‘Daddy I need to tell…

I don't care

No

Please let it not be about colours

‘...you about...’

In the morning, now is sleep time

<Carries on talking anyway>

<Listens, but does not care, and makes conversation noises then endorses the care-lacking>

‘Daddy I need a mummy…’

<I tag in Mrs. Amazing>

<Mrs. Amazing comes in, hugs, kisses, tucks in, leaves>

<We high five and she sets off to do battle with Boy8>

<Rubs hand a bit coz Mrs. Amazing high fives too hard>

‘Daddy this bit is itch ....’

<Produces general, all over body, cream>

This is magic cream and fixes everything

<Applies to indicated area>

Go to sleep

‘Daddy my du…’

<Scuttles in, straightens duvet, tucks it in REAL tight>

<Wonders why I scuttled?>

'Daddy this isn't mi...'

Thank you <Takes item>
Night

‘Daddy what are you play...’

Err... Candy Crush Super Stickman Golf... Chess

<Does shifty eyes>

<Turns off phone>

(Must get a new chair... More comfy...)

I thank you <Bows at the end of the master class>

<Miss4 bows too>

<Notices Miss4 is out of bed>

Where did you come from?… Get. Back. TO BED!

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>