Her First Coach-based Field Trip...

She was so excited.

Her first field trip... in a coach.

Big day, big day.

Miss5 has already been on a field trip.

The local wood looking for bugs. But this one. THIS ONE she gets to go on a coach! She's never been on a coach before. It's very exciting.

And if it doesn't seem exciting to you, then replace the word coach with hover-battle-coach.

There, better now? Good. <Doesn't really care>

(Without the furry dice, the school bus looked a bit crap run-down)

Miss5 and her entire school year are off on a coach to a farm.

Brilliant. Poor you-couldn't-pay-me-enough-to-look-after-ninety-five-year-olds-let-alone-take-them-anywhere teachers.

It's not as though Miss5 hasn't seen a farm before. She's seen farms. We're good like that, they're cheap. Plus we live in the UK <stands>, you can see animals in fields <sits, as is tired> as you drive about.

If you live near fields that is.

As we drive about burning rubber and head banging to Queen.

Team Parents (yay!) point out any animals we see to the children as we pass. Especially if they're fighting, shouting, bickering, punching each other (Boy8 & Miss5), crying, winging, having a massive strop over a sock (Miss5 & BabyBoy1), or bouncing and shaking their car seat (BabyBoy1).

The only time we don't point out the animals is when the screamers children are asleep.

And sometimes we forget there are no kids are in the car and still point them out. Which is always a bit weird.

<Is shocked> What do you mean you don't care about the lambs in the field?

Mrs. Amazing: ‘Shove your [Rude words...] lambs [More rude words...] sideways [Yet more rude words, some new...] with a watermelon’

<Is shocked> ... a) that's disgusting. Kiss your babies with that mouth?

and b) that’s illegal

And c) I doubt it would fit...

Each child reacts to the animals we see in their own unique and fun way...

[All in car cruising heading somewhere]

Look cows!

Miss5: 'Cow. C-OW. That's how you say Cow Daddy. C-OW'

<Mind is blown>

Boy8: <Looks, but is too cool to respond>

BabyBoy1: 'Moooooooo'

[Next field]

Look sheep!

Miss5: 'Sheep. Sh-E-P-P-P. That's how you say Sheep Daddy, did you know it has three sounds Daddy?'

I believe I was aware of syllabatic quantification of the word Sheep, yes Yep

Boy8: <Looks, but is too cool to respond> <Picks nose>

BabyBoy1: 'Baaaaaaaa'

[Next field]

Look Cerberus! <Is not joking>

Miss5: 'Where?'

Boy8: <Looks, but pretends he didn't, as he's too cool to be duped, but has been duped> <Continues to picks nose>

BabyBoy1: 'Woof woof woof'

...

<Team Parent (yay!) give BabyBoy1 a look>

(You found this puppy where?... )
(Image from here)

Anyhoo... the field trip.

There were tears over the Miss5's lunch box.

She has a dinosaur one. It's cool. We've even had practice days (?!) with her lunch box.

I am not 100% sure why, looking back, but I'm sure it seemed reasonable at the time.

I bet there was a really good reason...

Miss5: 'Arghhhh'

OMB! What happened? What happened to your eye?

Miss5: 'Lunchbox in my ey-ey-ey' <Blubs>

How? ... Why? ...

If only we had practiced beforehand… <Rues stuff and shakes fist>

<Both huddle together for safety from the dangers of the world>

Practice was a good idea.

As Miss5 doesn't eat great. She tends to take a lot of prodding, prompting, reminding, re-seating and actual pointing at her food.

So making sure she got the whole 'the food is inside this' idea was a good plan (one of the other Team Parent (yay!) team suggested it, I'm not sure who...).

Miss5 practised at school and ate what she wanted too.

And more importantly everything she went with. She brought back.

We never have enough spoons and Tupperware as it is, Miss5 throwing one away every lunch, will have an impact...

I can't find anything to take my half slice of cake to work in? (!)

... hang on... IDEA! 

I know what I can put it in!!!

<Eats cake>

Miss5 was ready for the field trip.

Skilled in lunch boxes. Wearing a rapidly found hat. Trainers on. Hair in pigtails. Liberally slathered in suntan lotion, as the English sun had finally decided today was the go-time (I still wore my coat). Prep'd about whose Mummy was going to be there. Buddy to sit with, eat and general have a right 'ol laugh down the pub with assigned to/with/at(??).

Miss5 was ready to go.

We broke the news about the lunch box situation before breakfast.

Knowing there may be a strong reaction. Actually Mrs. Amazing did it. I was stirring porridge and just watched as something very small, and seemingly not very significant - a lunch box - took Miss5 from happy YAY!!!! to tears and rage ARGHGHGHGHGH!!!.

It was brief though. It was over very quickly for a change. Mrs. Amazing handled it like the pro she is. Like her namesake, Mrs. Wombat.

She listened to Miss5’s anger, heard her tears, and basically acknowledged all the feelings Miss5 was having, whilst being very clear the answer was no chance.

It made the emotions pass pretty darn quickly.

Nothing beats having someone understand you...

Mrs. Amazing: 'Come now... tell me what's wrong?'

<Sniffs> They called time early at the pub!

Mrs. Amazing: 'O no!' <Hugs me>

<Sniffs and struggles to talk> Yes... I was just getting another pint, two shots, peanuts, pork scratchings and change for the billiard table when they called ti-m-m-m <Blubs>

Mrs. Amazing: 'Poor you. Do you want a can from the tiddly (utility) room instead?'

<Nods and takes a Um-Bongo strong beer>

<And some chocolate>

Lunch boxes were not allowed.

Because of the school. They had asked. Nicely, mind. Nicely.

No lunch boxes be taken on the trip as they didn't want to carry any.

Which may sound a bit lazy strange, until you remember they have ninety children with them today. That's a lot to carry.

And that COULD be forty four identical Elsa lunch boxes, forty four identical Batman lunch boxes, one child without any lunch at all, and Miss5 denying she owned a dinosaur lunch box, and claiming a Batman one. You can see what they are trying to avoid.

Actual bedlam.

No lunch boxes.

Or tupperware in fact. Everything is going in the bin after lunch. Which I am less happy with.

But again. It's a large number of five year olds trying to eat at the same in a strange (to them) location. Anything that makes it easier for the teachers, I'm happy to do. Short of tipping.

I can wrestle with my Green credentials and the schools requirements next field trip.

(Awesome, amazing, amazeballs. In that order)

I dropped off Miss5 at school ready for her trip.

You could smell the parental concern in the air it's like perfumed napalm. Fair enough. Team Parents (yay!) were exactly the same when Boy8 went off on his first field trip. It is hard to let go, and trust other people can look after your little treasure.

Even the really screamy lovely ones.

Boy's first coach-based field trip he came back with a huge cut on his nose.

Apparently we was so excited to be getting onto a coach (really). He fell over running to get his seat. Outside of the coach. Face first into tarmac. On his nose.

Ooooo <Sucks teeth>

No one's fault except Boy8, nothing could have stopped it, Team Parent (yay!) didn't blame the school or teachers at all. Why would we?

A lesson for Boy8 was learnt we felt. And we saved any laughing until later.

He still has a tiny scar there.

However! Team Parents (yay!) are nothing if not brave!

Despite Boy8's near mortal wounding fall, we are happy to let Miss5 go on the coach-based field trip.

Team Parents (yay!) are being carefully to not be over protective of our tiny, delicate, beautiful, little princess girl. Me it's me being overly protective.

She needs to do stuff on her own, explore the world with her friends, without us hanging around.

She doesn't need Team Parent (yay!) all up in her grill and stuff. Looking after her and caring and stuff.

It maybe just a coach ride to us adults, but to Miss5 it's essentially a gap-year travelling around Amsterdam (as it were) with all her mates.

A journey of discovery. On a coach.

<Weeps Sniffs a little>

Hey! Hey! Don't take that bubble wrap off...

<Miss5 continues to remove bubble wrap>

You're not at home now you know!... <Shakes fist>

<Is utterly ignored by Miss5>

<Miss5 Skips off happy>

<Howls Roars like a wounded Lion>

Miss5's highlight of the entire trip?

The main thing Miss5 will remember, the bit she told us about, many times, and everyone that asked.

There was a tap on the coach.

<Mind blown>

His Golden Ticket...

Boy8 called me on the phone at work.

Which is always a shock.

Ahoy-hoy?

Boy8: ‘s’up?’

I was busy working.

Being very busy, in my very busy workyness. Stuff was definitely being done, and to, and at a high standard. Like normal. The status quo.

There is no need for anyone to doubt that or check it.

Anyone... <Glares at the internet>

No way. You are wrong.

Workmate1: 'No. You are the one, that is, wrongo'

You are being a fool

Workmate1: 'No no! DAMN IT! You thoughts of this matter are that of a buffoon!'

Workmate2: 'Yeah, I'm with this guy' <Points>

Workmate2: 'You are King wrong'

Then you are both fools! How can you think that! It's madness! <Big arms>

Workmate1: 'Dude! Lemon Curd is, and will always be, a reasonable flavouring for a cupcake'

Workmate1: 'Cease this anti-curd vendetta you have and accept it as an alternative cupcake flavour to chocolate, vanilla and caramel with oats in' <Slams fist on table>

... NEVER! <Shakes both fists>

Workmate2: <Nods> 'Dude! Let it go!!!'

<Breaks into song>

...

Fine. You are both dead to me now  

<Takes all the cupcakes, leaving the lemon cturds>

<Runs>

(<Pukes into own hand> Boy8? Come here… Let’s shake hands!)

A phone call from Boy8 can mean three things...

1. Bad news
Boy8: 'Dad. There's been a terrible accident'

OMFB! Really? What happened?

Boy8: 'We were playing football in the sitting room’

Yes...

Boy8: 'With the table mats…’

I see... And... <Fears the worst>

Boy8: 'And your...' <deep breath> 'Boba Fett Slave 1 spaceship has...'

Has what? <Stands up>

Boy8: 'Has...'

WHAT HAS HAPPENED???

Boy8: <Long pause> 'It's gone to a galaxy far far away...'

...

<Hangs up in tears>

2. Information request

Boy8: 'Dad?

Yep mate <Is still working a bit>

Boy8: 'I want this movie of a Lion dance in my PowerPoint presentation'

OK <Feels confident>

Boy8: 'But I want it to scroll in, bounce around a bit, spiral, and then project as a 3D hologram onto my face?'

<Feels less confident> <Stops working> <Starts Googling hard>

.. Give a minute... er... You got a pen?

Boy8: 'Crayon?

That'll do... Right first we need some dilithium crystals...

(As the label says ‘Authentic Dilithium Crystals’. That’s just brilliant)

3. Good news!

He's done something awesome and he's phoning to show off share something that means to world to him, with his Dad. Or Mrs. Amazing has put him on the phone and told him to tell me the brilliant stuff he's done.

I don't care which. Both are cool.

It's quite a context shift in my head, switching from work to Dad mode.

It can be quite jarring sometimes. Suddenly I've my sons voice is in my ear, I'm probably still busy talking, I may have said 'shoot' down the receiver and done a pretend gun. I am not in Daddy mode.

Boy8: <Voice that says I am only eight> 'Hallo Dad!'

Ping! Dad mode.

I leave the room and run because he's already getting me to guess what happened this morning. A classic sign it's good news.

I leave the room to make sure I give him my full attention. Boy8 is having a slightly rough time at the mo. A few people in his life that he loves, are moving on. It is rocking his eight year old ship. And pure Dad-focus can calm even the roughest of seas. Or make them worse.

Brainzilla: 'Are you are some kind of emotional tidal dampener now?'

Oh bugger off … Yes, does it suit?

Brainzilla: 'No’

Fur-cough

Team Parents (yay!) have discussed Boy8 at length already.

OK I nodded a lot. But that doesn't mean I wasn't thinking it. Wasn't aware of the problems and extra stresses about to laid onto Boy8 plate. It doesn't mean I hadn't put my mind to it.

But luckily Mrs. Amazing had thought about it, and better yet, she had thought of a plan.

We I nodded both agreed Boy8 was going to be extra emotional and 'challenging' over the next few weeks. So we needed to acknowledge it, prepare for it, and be ready for the storm.

Mrs. Amazing's plan was a classic Mrs. Amazing plan. 

Be extra loving and supportive to him. Like normal. But extra.

Like pie with chips, but with pie on the side, next to more chips.

We discussed it maturely as normal...

Do I have to? <Does big Y arms>

Mrs. Amazing: 'Yes' <Does crossed arms>

Why? <Keeps arms aloft>

Mrs. Amazing: 'Because his confidence could take a hit or two here...'

… Wouldn't that make him less sassy with us? <Is hopeful>

Mrs. Amazing: 'No. It would make him even more sassy!'

That is not possible

Crapbadgers... For that reason then... I'm in...

Mrs. Amazing: 'Good...'

<Looks shifty>

Mrs. Amazing: 'What's wrong?'

Nothing... <Starts backing out of the room>

I've just got to take a few... er... pictures... and banners to take down...

Regarding yesterday's Mario Kart challenge...

<Runs>

(I have you now <Adjusts dials>

<Falcon swoops in> ‘YEEEEHAAA!!!!’)

However talking with Boy8 on the phone is still a bit weird.

It reminds me of talking with relatives the other side of the world as a girl boy, constantly talking at the same time due to the time delay on the line, ruining the flow of conversation and having a lot of you-go, no you-go. Silence. You-go, no you-go... etc.

All the visual clues Boy8 would normally get that indicate someone is still talking and doesn't want to be interrupted: fist shaking, me saying NO, showing him www.zipit.com, gaffing taping his mouth, leaving the room ... you know those micro expressions.

They're missing.

I do love hearing Boy8’s little voice though.

He does sound very eight on the phone. He's normally so big and loud and always moving, it's nice to have him in one place.

Just his little voice.

Of course BabyBoy1 gets the phone every now and then.

But he still gets confused about the lump of plastic in front of him that sounds like his Dad.

He just smiles at it (I've been told). Or if he does talk, it's not towards the receiver at all.

Or he tries to eat the phone.

Or both.

Calls from Miss5 are very hit or miss.

Miss5 is still reluctant to talk on the phone in case it steals her soul. She’s doesn't really see the point. Not a plus for the phone chat-chat.

Sometimes he's really keen, but then changes her mind totally. Or if she does start talking, she tells you something and then she's off to do stuff.

No time to hang about chatting, she's good important colouring stuff to do.

Anyhoo...

Boy8's news was good! (On the phone) Yay!

<Fist pumps> <Hurts arm>

He had been awarded an 'Active Learner', oooo, earned a 'Golden Ticket' for reading, oooOoooOoooo, and got to pet the school dog. All in one day.

Bonza! All big things in Boy8's life, he was very proud of himself. And so he should be.

The equivalent for me would be: an email of thanks at work, winning a trip to the pub in the company raffle (there is no raffle) (the pub is real though), and then an early night with Mrs. Amazing.

That's how good a day he had.

(‘Why’s it got bite marks in it?’

Wasn't me… <Does shifty eyes>)

I made sure I told Boy8 how proud I was of him.

I told him hard he had had (!) to work for this and how brilliant it was.

At least ten times, and in at least twelve different ways. Without swearing or resorting to mine (still on phone). I felt good that I had made him feel special.

He felt good that his Dad cared about what he had done, and was a bit impressed. A win-win situation.

It’s nice to get it right sometimes.

Just before he finally got phone-confused and accidentally hung up on me.

Bless. I took my chance and asked him if I could come to the Chocolate factory with him, just like Grandpa Joe. You know, as Golden Ticket = Chocolate Factory.

He said it wasn't that kind of Golden ticket. It was more likely going to be a cinema showing.

I'm pretty sure I managed to keep my disappointment to myself...

Boy8: 'Dad? You still there?'

<High pitched whimpering and snivelling> <Bass removed, non-directional, opponent confusing, warrior noises being made on purpose>

Boy8: '... I think he's gone or whimpering ...' 
<Hangs up>