Nine? When the smeg did that happen? NINE?!...

Oh my rubber ducky!

Boy8 has transmogrified into Boy9

It was utterly disgusting. I can't believe it.

That's taken ages flown by.

So... how’s it feel being nine? <Gives Boy9 a friendly arm tap>

Boy9: 'Cool' <Punches me back>

ARGGHHHHHH that's my funny body! That hurt... <Runs>

Mrs. Amazing! He hit me!

Is there anything special, that you've learnt along the way, that you want to share?

Boy9: 'No... Why? Why do I have to share?'

You don't have to... <Powerlessly watches the situation escalate>

Boy9: 'Miss5 isn't sharing anything. Why should I share!!!'

Boy9: 'Argghhh!!!' <Storms off>

Boy9: <Slams door but sound is muffled by the door stop>

Boy9: <Hand reaches back in and moves door stop>

Boy9: <Slams door>

[BANG]

(That’s an upside down pancake 9... Only took three goes…)

As it's your birthday Boy9.

And as everyone should hear nice things on their birthday. I want to say want a brilliant big brother Boy9 is.

What a brilliant big brother Boy9 is.

There, nice. Done that <Dusts off hands>

One of Boy9’s most treasured possessions.

After his rubbers (erasers), a sticker from school, his minecraft books, some lint, his Nerf guns and bullets, and his illicit bluetack collection... Is a picture of himself holding Miss5 on the day she was born. That's hella sweet.

I love him dearly for that. Because it's made our life so much easier.

Oh! Don't think that Boy9 and Miss5 don't fight every chance they get.

Because they do. With vengeance*…

(* actually amount of vengeance varies)

Miss5: 'Stop looking at me!'

Boy9: <Is looking at Miss5> 'I'm not... You're looking at me!'

Miss5: 'Stop looking at MEEEE!'

<Sighs and carries on making sandwiches and ignoring those sods lumps of mud>

Miss5: 'ARHGHGHHHHSTOPITSPOTIT!

Boy9: <Is really looking at Miss5>

Miss5: 'ARHGHGHHH!!!'

<Sighs and weeps a little internally>

<Prepares self to resolve this conflict>

<Eats some of Boy9's sandwich>

<Turns and sees Boy9 and Miss5 locked in mutual staring-contest attack>

Boy9 stop being mean to your sister...

Boy9: 'I'm not' <Carries on staring> 'She started it'

... And Miss5 ignore him and stop staring back

Miss5: '... He's still staring!'

S-IIIIIII-GH <Tries not to explode in ball of anger and stress> <Pop>

That’s it… I’m getting the blindfolds...

Boy9 is just as kind with BabyBoy2 as well.

There is an element of Boy9 using BabyBoy2 as an excuse not to help with jobs, or as a distraction, or as a way to ignore me when I am talking, which drives me mad and makes me want to shove a pillow in his ear.

But only an element.

Well done Boy9 and thank you.

Team Parents (yay!) do not give you enough praise and credit for what you do for your siblings. Bad luck.

But know we love you 1.4% more for it.

<Removes pro-Boy9 hat, puts on quite-middling-about-Boy9 hat>

As per my own made up tradition. Rather than basically puke out a list of everything showy offy about about Boy9. Which I could do.

But won’t.

Here's a list of all the stuff you probably don't know about Boy9.

The stuff that really makes him special...

1. Boy9 still gets up early

OH DEAR BACON! What the smeg is wrong with him?

Seriously. Can't he see how tired I am? We are? Isn't he supposed to copy what I do?

Take his lead from his Dad?

I sleep as much as possible, especially in the mornings. Why can't Boy9 copy that?

Everyday, just as the mean ol' sun has jumped into the sky and those rotten birds start screaming ‘Sex! You want sex? Come get sex!’ or whatever they are singing about (it’s sex trust me, and the Cat’s exact location), there's Boy9 wide awake stood next to our bed.

Full of grump energy, bouncing about, happy to start yet another day.

Happy to be alive and ready to embrace the day.

Who on earth has he inherited that from?

[10 years B.C. (Before children)]

Mrs. Amazing: 'MORNING WORLD!' <Leaps out of bed>

Mrs. Amazing: 'What a beautiful day! Tra-la-la-la-laaa' <Skips off happy>

<Pulls duvet over head tighter> <Whispers> Nutter...

For your birthday we let you get up five minutes early.
You were very pleased about it.

You nutter.

2. Boy9's music taste is excellent

It's very similar to mine and that's no accident <Is smug>.

However.

I know what you're thinking. I know. I know. It's not my fault, I was born like this.

One day Boy9 will develop his own music tastes and likes. It will be horrible.

But honestly I want him to. I want to hear what he loves.

Because one day when he will play me something I don't know. Something I haven't heard before, with a smile on his face, the beat bouncing his feet, the lyrics soaring in his mind, one day he'll look at me and say...

BoyTeen: '*What ya fink old man Dad? Rikkin beats snaz?' (* a guess at TeenTalk)

I have no idea what you just said?

BoyTeen: 'It's from Bieber's seventh Greatest Hits album, ya snaz?'

7th? <Falls to knees>

You Maniacs! You  blew it up brought his albums!

Ah, damn you! God damn you all to hell!

<Weeps>

And I'll listen to what he has to play me.

He'll know how important this moment is. I'll know too.

He'll know that it will be his first big chance to stake his claim in my estimation as someone with music taste.

He'll want my approval. He'll want to know that his Dad likes what he is listening to. Even if his Dad doesn't quite get it.

He'll want my thumbs up. It will be a big moment.

I'll let you know how it goes...

You're joking right? This is shiiiiiit isn't good...

BoyTeen: 'Oh wait... Wrong track!'

Oh thank bacon butties! <Wipes brow> Phew!

What was that rubbish? It was terrible!!! Utter urghghhh!!! Was it Westlife?

BoyTeen: 'It says it was a band called Thunderpants?'

<Starts leaving> Never, EVER, EVER, heard of them... <Starts whistling>

BoyTeen: 'Hey... Weren't you in a band called that?

No <Runs>

3. Boy9 can beat most of the family at Draughts (chequers)

Not me, Obv(!).

Boy9 played my Mum at draughts. Over and over it was hilarious.

Having raised four boys herself, Mums competitive edge took over and it became quite the battle. They both fought hard and a clear victor emerged.

However I am too much of gentleman to tell or reveal to all and sundry a ladies losses like that. No no.

I will never tell.

4. Boy9 still sits with the remote in his mouth as he watches tele

I have told him to stop thirteen trillion times.

5. Boy9 has become big

The manure worked.

Sometime in the last five months a giant snuck into our house, at night, and pulled on Boy9's arms and legs. Pulled and pulled until they stretched. As Boy9 now seems to be part-spider part-boy. SpiderBoy!

Also Boy9 has become too heavy to carry upstairs by his ankles.

Which Mrs. Amazing never approved of anyway (wise woman). But Boy9 loved it for some mad reason. If I tried it now it would break me. That's a hard angle to carry a person.

And I doubt your ankles could take your own weight now. You big old sack of potatoes, you.

I can still carry you like a sack of potatoes.

(Mrs. Amazing: ‘Go on… Hit it with a paper…’

Sure

Boy9: ‘OW’

Mrs. Amazing: ‘Huh? A talking spider… Hit again...’

… Sure…

Boy9: ‘OW!’)

6. Boy9 is the house King of scooting

Sigh. This has probably been true for a bit. Maybe years.

Sigh.

Before I would have made loads of arguments of how I can do this, that, and ker-that better than Boy9. So I would still be the fool master.

But it's not true anymore. I have only one skill I do better on the scooter now.

I have better stamina.

And that's a lame claim to fame on a train.

Fastest? Not anymore, he goes off like a bullet.

Best tricks? No chance, I don't bounce.

Most gnarly? Naa...

But stamina! Oo. Yeah. Lame.

Only one thing comes to mind as being a real benefit for having high stamina, and it's definitely not scooting. <Giggles>

Boy9 you are the King of scooters now. Well done.

<Hands over the Silver Scooting crown>

Boy9: 'This crown smells of choc?'

Shhh... <Shakes hands> Well done <Squeezes hand hard>

Boy9: <Walks off happy, but with slightly hurty hand>

Is he gone? <Checks he's gone>

OH CRAP IT! WHY WHY! CRAP IT!

Must practice more! That's it I'm practicing now! YEAH! Check this... woooahhh Ahhh... ARHGGHGGH!

<Crashes badly>

<Limps off>

7. Boy9 is a bit smelly and eww

Shocker I know.

It does seem that boys his age are all the same. A bit gross and disgusting.

Even by my low, low, low standards.

But his yukness reflects well on me. It's nice to not be the most gross in the house anymore. It's like a promotion.

For years, most scummy and smelly, has been my role and I've excelled in it. It's an unseen, and unspoken challenge of living with the opposite sex for the modern man.

Constantly getting looks of 'you're gross' and 'ewww... you're going to eat that?' isn't as easy as it looks.

I feel like the smelly and a bit eww man-torch is being passed on, from father to son...

(Queue the mood music... Press the button... No! Not that one!...)

My son, go forth and be smelly and eww!

Boy9: <Looks proud>

Pick your nose whenever you can.

Boy9: <Is already picking it>

Fart and laugh about it because it's funny and the man-way...

<Miss5 runs in and farts brilliantly>

<We all laugh>

Sorry! Good point Miss5. Fart and laugh about it because it is our family’s-way!

<High fives Miss5>

<Mrs. Amazing shakes her head in despair>

8. The emotion fairy has been and he (oh yes, he) delivered smeg loads

EmotionFairy: 'Where'd you want it?'

You mean where do you want it? We don't want it. Thank you, not today!

EmotionFairy: 'No mate. I've anger, rage, sadness, guilt, jealousy, apathy, greed, rudeness and super-argumentative for a Boy9’

EmotionFairy: 'It’s the summer special!'

<Picks up fairy by collar> We. Don't. Want. It!

[Beep Beep Beep...]

EmotionFairyTruckDriver: 'Mind your backs' <Dumps all emotions from truck on floor>

EmotionFairy: <Grins> 'Too late... Sign here!'

Boy9: 'Oh brilliant!!! Thanks Dad' <Dives into emotions>

[A millisecond passes]

Boy9: 'IHATEYOU!' <Storms off>

EmotionFairy: 'See you next week'

What? NO! We don't want any more! Fur cough!!!

I hear the emotion fairy keeps on delivering.

Weekly. For the next nine years. yay.

Good luck Boy9. Just remember we love you even when Mrs. Amazing is holding me back, and then changes her mind, and then I have to hold her back.

9. Boy9 still scares the crap out of me

I am getting older. At some point healthwise. This has to stop.

Especially as Boy9 is now nine. Nine means his hiding is good. He now has stealth and planning to use. Gone are the days of seeing feet hiding sticking out from under a curtain. Unless it's a decoy.

Now you lie in wait for me… Armed (with a Nerf gun)...

(Photo taken a long time ago in a galaxy far, far our first house)

(N.B. Boy9 isn’t called Bjorn, he’s called Wombat Fury! YEAH!)

I can hardly remember life before Boy9 rocked up.

I think I slept more. Drank more. Ate less chocolate (lie). You were so cute and tiny, and sweet, and lovable, you completely changed Team Parents (yay!) lives. Thank you.

We've had SO much fun with you already.

We can't wait for more.

Sadly though I think, at present, we are the furthest apart we have ever been.

I don't like it and I am trying to fix it. But I think it's a bit you growing up.

A bit I've other monkeys children to train help grow.

I love you Boy9, my big-little boy, more than R2-D2 Optimus Prime. You rock.

Best buds forever despite how flipping annoying you can be at the moment!

X

(P.S. Boy9 don't mention the best buds thing in front of Miss5 or BabyBoy2 or Mrs. Amazing or the Cat I will deny it. Especially the Cat Mrs. Amazing).

My Scooter Shame...

I was doing so well that day.

I had put extra effort into spending fun time with Boy8, and was cashing in on it.

Then I did something dumb... Again.

<Bangs head against screen> Why do I do these things! <Bang bang>

<Misses screen and headbutts cup of tea>

OH NO! <Stands and gets tea all over croutch>

Arghghh!!! HOT!!!

<Sits back on spillage> <Accepts wetness>

Why? <To world in general>

Why?

Brainzilla: 'Because you're a lemon'

Ta. Uh-huh... <Nods>.. well... at least... I go well with sugar...

Brainzilla: <Gives me a look. Somehow>

I was rocking the Dadding (real word).

At least by my own definitions I was. I was home from work a grand total of ten minutes. In that time I bounced BabyBoy1 around, listened to Miss5's endless stories, and told Boy8 the good news. Rather drive to his laser sword fighting club. We we're scooting.

Hooray was the Boy8 response.

Nice.

(Yeah, yeah, nice Luckdragon…

But can we make this story quick they open in fifteen minutes?)

Boy8's Cow and Goat racing club isn't far from our house.

I enjoy taking him. But I bloody hate having to get the car out, drive there, wait in traffic, tight road, no you go, no go on, park, wait in traffic, drive back, traffic, traffic, no you go, no go on, OH! Please! Just drive!, you go, park.

It's a fifteen minute round trip of fun. I can walk it in ten.

I like driving. BROOOOOMMMM and all that. But this is a short, annoying, painful journey.

So once the weather was better, the plan was to walk / cycle / scoot.

And the other day I finally remembered the weather was finally good. Enough.

The scoot was great fun.

I have my own scooter it’s got flame all over it. But scooting on your own as adult is always a bit weird. You get looks.

Scooting with your kids gets you smiles and cheeky comments.

A police woman called that journey 'that's one way to exercise'.

That kind of thing.

Boy8 is a fast scooter now.

I can just about keep up. It's definitely easier to scoot at eight. As at 30-Lots I constantly worry I am going fall off and explode into a fireball look a right muppet. I might even hurt myself. Ow. Or break something. OW!

Boy8 worries not.

Any kerb above 2cm is a potential terrible crash for me.

Boy8 does tricks over kerbs.

The drop off was uneventful.

Except one of Boy8 mates, that I know, appeared.

I jokingly pretended to slam his face into a table. Classic Dad humour.

As I had no idea what to say to actually say to him and wanted to be cool.

It's was laughs all round.

I left and tried to coolly unfold my scooter and scoot off.

It fell apart in my hands, and clattered to the floor. Bums.

I fight the urge to just run and hide. And Instead I put my scooter, now called Brutus, back together and scoot off.

Then because I'm now scooting on my own, sans le Garcon8, someone shouts at me as I pass...

ScooterAgeist: 'Aren't you too old to be scooting?'

Not yet! <Sticks up fingers> <Tries to look cool but is wobbling a lot>

I get home hot and sweaty.

Needing to wash. My leg hurts from balancing on one leg, and I'm very hungry.

Still Dad win!

Scooted Boy8 to his club which he loved! And didn't use the car.

#DadWin.

Well that’s me tale done... you can all go now...

Yes, you too, madam at the back... with the beard... <Squints> Oh hi Mum! <Waves>

<Claps> Shooo shooo <More clapping> Go home!

Brainzilla: 'Tell them what you did next'

I don't want to... <Picks at the wall>

Brainzilla: 'Tell THEM!' <Shakes fist>

NO!

Brainzilla: 'You leave me no choice...'

<Slaps self> HEY! Stop that! OW!  <Slaps self> Fine. I'll tell...

Later.

As my old man knee was hurting. I took my bike to pick up Boy8.

I felt nice to on my bike. Safer.

I had, like a genius, left his scooter at the club.

It’s hard to carry anything when you scoot or cycle. Let alone a scooter.

So I grabbed tut scooter and found Boy8.

He was happy, had a good time, was ready to go.

But his mate. The one from earlier. The one I know.

He was there too...

Mate: Is that your scooter?

Boy8: Yeah... <BatEgo sensors activated>

Mate: That’s a baby’s scooter <Rhymes it with YOU SUCK>

The little [INSERT OWN WORD]...

I watched Boy8 visibly shrink from that dig. It was horrible.

He was so happy and full of confidence one moment. The next deflated like a balloon at a hedgehog wrestling party (common our way).

I stay calm and answer on behalf of my stunned, and hurt son...

OH JUST PISS OFF! JUST PISS RIGHT OFF! YA TWONK!

What a mean thing to say! Fooooor shame

Ohh! That's one less Christmas I've gotta write next year! <Is fuming>

WAHHHHH!!! I’m telling!

I’m Batmam...

Face? Meet fist!

Just a small town girl… living in a LONELY world...

No it’s not (ZING! In your FACE!)

<I am ignored>

Mate: Where’s your trick wheel? That is a babies scooter...

(‘No. That’s not my scooter…’)

We say sweary BYE to his mate.

I pick up Boy8's crest which has fallen to the floor. There’s some mud on it, a bit of gum. But, quick polish, <Spits>, and it’s basically fine.

By the time we are outside, he has bounced back. Knowing he’s got a fun scoot home with his Dad ahead of him.

I point at my bike.

Boy8’s joy is diminished a bit. I know he was enjoying watch me shriek do battle cries at every kerb we had to cross. I no such troubles on my bicycle.

And now he will be trying to keep up with me.

<Grins>

I am just about to hop on me bike.

When Boy8’s swine mate runs over… TO BE MEAN AGAIN!

WTAF!

Mate: 'My scooter is way better than yours'

Again I have to watch all the fight and confidence sucked out of Boy8.

He seems to have no defence for this. It’s horrible. I hate it. He needs to learn some defence against the Dark Arts.

I am also not so passive this time...

You talkin’ to me?

Mate: ‘No’

You talkin’ to me?

Mate: ‘Er… What’s your Dad doing?’

You talkin’ to me?

Boy8: ‘Dunno… But that’s his De Niro impression...’

Mate: ‘How do you know? It doesn’t sound or look like De Nero in any way shape or form’

Boy8: ‘He gets all squinty, puts his head to the side and waves his hands about a lot’

Mate: ‘Oh. My Dad too!’

That would have been better to be honest.

Than what I actually did.

Because instead of showing Boy8 that you simply ignore gits people like this.

I engaged. I squared up to an eight year for a battle of sass and mean-ness.

I can honestly say, I felt I could get a win here…

Oh! And where’s your scooter?

Mate: ‘Its…;

<Interrupts> Well I don’t think you have one….

Or is it a babies one? Is why you haven’t got it? <Nods his answer for him>

Is it? I bet it’s a girls one, a pink one… <Smirky ‘you suck’ smile>

<Me and Boy8 scoot and cycle off with dignity>

<Mate left looking gutted>

I hate me for most of this.

And I apologise for the sexist girl and pink comment. That was, and is, wrong.

It shows how much I had lost track of what I was doing. That I felt the need to use stupid sexist stereotypes to out-sass this boy. I am very sorry for what I said.

But I wasn’t sorry immediately…

Immediately I felt good!

A win! The effect my comments had on Boy8 was fantastic. He was suddenly ten feet tall.

His Dad had just mushed into the ground, verbally, a rival.

His Dad had just duffed up a bully for him, verbally.

Of course Boy8 felt good.

We headed off.

And everything kept re-sinking in.

I realised that another parent may have heard me.

Crap.

And without context, what on earth was I doing? Being mean to an eight year old for fun? For kicks?

Crap.

<Hangs head>

Even with the context it’s not great behaviour..

A car passed us on the way out.

It was the mate’s Dad. I like him. His wife too. They are nice. I chat with them.

What if the mate tells on the mean adult (that’s me)? What if he’s in tears right now?

Crap! How do I ever face them again!

OMFB! WHAT HAVE I DONE!

I’m quite quiet on the way home.

I’m thinking. Me and Boy8 still have fun though. But less than we should have had.

We get home, Boy8 eats his bedtime cereal (don’t ask), gets ready for bed, argues about brushing his teeth again, as the first time was utter rubbish, he eventually grumps off to do it again, actually does a good job, he reads, I read. We chat about what happened. He goes to bed.

And I am left, alone, to ponder on what I did.

Take it away Eric... (Karekoe version for singalongness)

My mistake become obvious.

I defended my boy to much. Someone attacked him (verbally) and I leapt in all guns blazing and blaring, and then throwing them when I was out of bullets.

I used all my years, and knowledge, to attack back. And I've some years now.

At an eight year old.

Eww.

I confessed all to Mrs. Amazing later that night.

She laughed with me I think. She eased my worries and pointed out that if his parents were cross I could say what a smegger their child he had been. Fair point.

I felt a lot better.

I’m still furious with myself for the sexist comments.

I really am. I am sorry Miss5, that was a big slip up. I’m sorry Mrs. Amazing. Sorry Mum.

Sorry to all women everywhere. I used your sex as an insult. That was crap.

It won’t happen again.

I spoke to Boy8 about it all.

Before he went to sleep. I asked him what he should do next time. When someone is being mean like that. He said, and I quote…

Boy8: ‘Yeah you say…’ <Does me being mean voice>

Boy8: ‘Where’s your scooter then?’ <Is all pointy, like I was>

Boy8: ‘Do you even have one? I bet you don’t’ <Does me mean face>

Boy8: ‘A babies one? Is why you haven’t got it? Your baby's… got it…?!?... er...’

Boy8: ‘And it’s pink!.. .and… and…erm…’

Boy8: ‘What did you say next Dad?’

<Is appalled with self and Boy8 memory>

Smeg.

We spent a long time chatting. To undo all that crap I had put in his head.

I explained why and how we should ignore braggards, because they suck.

And more importantly, much more,  I explained why my sexist comments were so damn wrong. I didn’t fancy it up or deflect at all.

I made it clear that I, ME, had behaved badly and I was sorry to the universe.

I saw the mates parents the next day. They said nothing.

I choose not to bring it up, or will mention it ever, ever, ever.

EVER.

X