Nearly the End of Term (Thank Bacon and Cake)...

The awesomeness that is the 'End of Term' is nearly here.

Actually it cannot get here quick enough.

Six long weeks of summer holidays are seriously needed.

Boy9

I'm pretty sure Boy9 is going to explode.

Bang. It's not going to take much. The wrong fork at breakfast. His favourite toy found millimetres in Miss5's room. Dad has eaten all the cake.

That boy is primed and ready to blow...

Mrs. Amazing: 'What are you doing?'

Shhhh <Continues to prod Boy9 with long stick>

Mrs. Amazing: 'ARE YOU DELIBERATELY ANNOYING HIM?'

<Nods>

Mrs. Amazing: 'WITHOUT ME?'

<Nods and loves her even more>

Mrs. Amazing: 'Come on, shove up! My go!'

[Bang]

(... I have never been bowled when using my lucky bat...)

As long as Boy9 is doing something he likes.

He's fine. But ask him to do anything? Ask him to help?

Ask him to push the switch that closes the very doors to hades, so their hoardes and demons won't come into the house and burn everything, and roast us in the eternal fires of oblivion. Ask him to do that?

It’s a long shot.

He's very much like a smeggern over wound toy car.

It kinda works…. But in spits and spots.

Sometimes it goes off like a rocket.

Other times it just makes this annoying noise and doesn't move at all.

But then sometimes you just need to nudge it... a teeny bit... and BROOOOOM off it goes and it scares the crap out of me you at night...

(I may have lost focus on this metaphor).

You know when you see a parent out with an annoying child.

A child being rude, abusive, mean, hitty, shouty, just urghhhhh!

And the seems to just be sitting there, calming talking, letting them behave like that.

And inwardly, you tut them.

Well you shouldn't. You should clap them.

Because any parent that is calm and still managing to reason with the child is doing it right.

I promise.

<Puts hand on R2-D2> Hope to be shot down by frugal laser turret gunners if I'm wrong...

I know.

Because it's what Team Parent (yay!) are currently trying to do with Boy9.

It's exhausting and annoying and we hate it.

But it works. When nothing else does.

School has utterly drained him this year.

Poor loon. Boy9 just needs to be left alone to do whatever he wants. For about a week.

Then he'll be back to himself in no time.

Miss5 however has been running on fumes for ages.

She has given her all to her first year at school.

And it's easy to say like that isn't it. Miss5's done one year at school.

There! Easy wasn't it?

One year. Doesn't seem much? One year.

Easy!!!

(Quick blow it out! That candles gotta last everyone’s teens...)

But that's one year of classes with a teacher for the first time.

One year of needing to be on time, and dressed sanely correctly.

One year being with lemons and fools others around you. Who you may not like.

One year of having to act big, and be on your own all day.

One year of filling your brain with more information than you've ever know. Probably twice over.

One year of having to concentrate for hours and hours.

<Runs off after a butterfly>

...

Missed it... Where was I?

One year of having other adults telling you off.

One year of having of swines other children being mean to you, just coz.

One year of having unfair stuff happening and that's it. It just happens.

One year of a million brilliant and lovely experiences.

One year of having no one pick you up if you cry and hugging you to little bits.

And really someone (me) should always be there doing that.

Can you imagine how hard that change is to adjust too?

Yeah. It's just one year for Miss5... But crikey!

What a year!

Luckily for us.

Miss5 has taken to school like chocolate does to cake (well). But. For every brilliant bit at school… There's been the flip side at home...

The screaming.

The hitting.

The kicking.

The meals at the table where Miss5 isn't at the table at all. Unless you count screaming and kicking the cupboards the other side of the room as being at the table (we do not).

The fights, two damn hours after bedtime, about her wanting to wear a fleece to bed. In an English heat wave (A whopping 30! It was so hot I even questioned whether or not having cups of tea all day was such a good idea) (It was Obv.).

The naked little girl screaming she's too cold to put on pyjamas.

The confused Dad struggling with Miss5's reasoning and grip of thermal dynamics...

Then... But... Then you'll be.... ARHGGHGHG!!! <Brain pain>

WHAT DO YOU WANT??? TELL ME!!! Pleases <Sobs>

<Runs>

Excellent first year of school Miss5.

Now hurry up and finish it so you can rest.

You deserve it, and Team Parent (yay!) need it.

Mrs. Amazing needs the holidays to start too.

Not for herself you understand. But for the inmates children. They are all acting a bit nuts.

Which is driving Mrs. Amazing a bit nuts as well.

She needs a good break, on a beach, in a swimming pool of sparkling white wine, surrounded by rugby players playing volley ball, and piped in Radio 4.

I understand I would be allowed to visit during pre-agreed visiting hours.

The children would not.

I got a message from Mrs. Amazing. A movie and this text…

I feel her pain. There's a lot of thirty seconds in a day.

BabyBoy2

Well there's no school yet for him. But holidays mean no more getting bundled into a hot car forty times a day. No waiting about in playgrounds for grumpy siblings. No dashing about with Mummy on errands all day.

Summer holidays will mean BabyBoy2 gets Miss5 and Boy9 to play with all day. And he loves playing with them so much. He’s gonna love the next six weeks.

And the pace of BabyBoy2's life will slow right down.

Which is what he needs.

BabyBoy2: 'One more?' <Cocks head to the side>

Er...

BabyBoy2: 'PwEEEEEase!' <Gorgeous smile>

Oh OK! One more Octonauts then... But then we better get dressed before it gets dark...

<Both watch Octonauts and love it>

And me?

Well at this time of year I end up working late, and early to make up time so I can go to their sport days. Their open days. Their Hand-Over-Your-Money-We-Want-To-Build-Stuff-At-School days. Their Fifty-Pounds-A-Burger days? And Very-Cheap-Cake days (my fav).

My work days are longer at the moment. But that's fine. And my choice.

I know I am lucky to be able to attend their school things.

Once the holidays start I'll go back to normal hours.

I'm going to miss dropping Miss5 off at school.

A lot. I'm going to be missing that for the next six weeks.

Nothing starts my day off better than a Miss5 chat...

Miss5: ‘... and that's how bees fly!’

You sure?

Miss5: ‘Oh yes. Yep’

But where do they get this ‘rainbow petrol’ from?

Miss5: ‘By flying round all rainbow-colour flowers. Obv.’

Oh… Makes sense… <Is Surprised>

Hang on… <Takes notes>

I’ve also got six weeks of listening to fun.

For the next six weeks I am going to have to hear about all fun the they are going to have.

All the plans the four of them will now make for the next six weeks. Without me.

All the places they will go, the fun they will have. Without me.

All the flobbing about, watching Star Wars, eating cake. Without me.

And I really love watching Star Wars and eating cake. I’m excellent at it.

Stupid male Dad life…

<Grumbles off to work>

<They have cake!>

X

The Immovable Object (me) and the Unstoppable Emotional Force (Boy9)...

Mornings.

They're fun aren't they?

Oh what fun we have some mornings. Giggles, laughs, golden family moments.

Yeah sometimes... not this morning though <Rolls eyes>

This morning.

I find myself hitting the coats in the porch. Ten minutes before I leave for work.

It's my new exercise routine, I call it coatercieFURY. I was wound up.

I am prone to getting wound up. I know.

Which is why I was de-stressing on the coats.

Don't worry. I wasn't flailing my arms about going nuts. It wasn't that bad.

But bad enough that I took, a slightly comical, moment to myself to show a few coats who's boss.

Take that winter coat! <Hits coat> Ha ha!

<Bobs and weaves> And this summer jacket! <Hits coat>

Zing! YEAH! <Hits different coat>

And take THIS favourite hat! Wallop!!! <Flattens own hat>

Shiiiit Oh... Smeg...

<Coat rack falls off wall and lands on me>

Ow...

<Mrs. Amazing's scarf box falls on me and I am never found again>

The cause of my woundedupness stress was Boy9.

Boy9 was being an utter, utter smegger tired out. He had competed in an athletic thingy at school the day before and was exhausted (not sports day, something else).

I gather there was a lot of hanging about in the sun (yes UK sun. It's real), twenty minutes of actual competing. Then more hanging about in the sun.

All perfect exhausting ingredients for a nine year old.

Still he had fun.

He came home exhausted.

Team Parents (yay!) differed on how best to tackle the tired out Boy9 before he went to bed.

Mrs. Amazing's plan: was to sit him in front of some cartoons, feed him, administer hot chocolate, and generally pamper and look after him like only a mother can.

My plan: was to go to the park and kick an enormous ball about with him for ten minutes. Because that’s a laugh.

I am Not sure my plan which wasn't the most sensible.

Knowing how a Team Parents (yay!) vote was likely to go. Me and Boy9 snuck headed out.
Enormous football ready. BOINGGGGG!

A right laugh and it helped us bond a bit. Which is always handy as that helps me and Boy9 communicate better.

We fight less.

#FamouseLastWords #FamouseRatherThenFamous #NotATpyo #ThatWasATypo

(Oy! You bloody giant kids!!! I just re-turreted that!!!)

Boy9 was given a nice hot bath.

I read him some How to Train Your Dragon (book 11). It's seriously awesome.

And then encouraged him to sleep. <Shakes fist> He even said how tired he felt.

Poor love.

Throughout the night he only appeared twice.

First time he claimed he ‘needed’ to speak to Mrs. Amazing. As he instantly realised my reaction to him being up wasn’t a happy one. So Mrs. Amazing trotted him back to bed and he told her whatever it was that he needed to tell her. I am pretty sure was 'I am annoying Daddy by talking to you'.

Second time he appeared looking lost and mostly asleep. Easily hugged and put back to bed.

Nice.

Then the next morning something miraculous happened.

Boy9 slept in.

<Faints> <Is really just sleeping on the floor>

The first little face we see next morning.

Peering at Team Parents (yay!) is Miss5’s. And whilst I say Team Parents (yay!). Miss5 was at Mrs. Amazing's side of the bed. As Miss5 isn't always silly.

One side of the bed can be woken by breathing softly. Or by a slight fluctuation in your aura. Or a butterfly fart.

The other side of the bed requires cake a firm diving on, shouting at, eyelid lifting, lots of tea, and there's always a chance you may hear words you've never heard before and be growled at.

All of Team Parent (yay!) would rather not get up.
Mrs. Amazing lays out her cards regarding who should interact with Miss5 this morning.
Mrs. Amazing: 'A Royal flush and two spare aces'

Mrs. Amazing: <To me> ‘I got up with BOTH of them last night. I'm knackered’

Urghhhh (* 'Oh my poor love. I feel and acknowledge your pain and knackeredness. Cuppa?')

Mrs. Amazing: <To me, but at Miss5> ‘Go see Daddy this morning’

Miss5: <Tiny feet sounds>

Oooof <Gets jumped on>

I collect BabyBoy2 from his room too.

He’s very cute. He’s dead happy it's morning. Yet another brilliant day in his life.

What a happy little fella he is…

<Enters BabyBoy2's room>

BabyBoy2: 'DADDY!'

Dude!

BabyBoy2: <Bounces around cot for a bit> ‘Poo!’ <Points at nappy>

Uh-huh. Yep. On it

We three sneak downstairs and watch cartoons.

Well I sneak. Miss5 seems to make more noise when trying to be quiet.

And BabyBoy2 shouts for Boy9 a few times. Next to his bedroom door.

But luckily Boy9 doesn’t wake.

Phew.

Mrs. Amazing joins us a bit later after checking her Batmessages.

And a lovely breakfast is had by all. In fact we are nearly finished when in slowly floats Boy9.

Still looking knackered. But happy.

Boy9 has managed to slept in for one whole hour.

A P.B..

If only it wasn't a school day.

<Lets that one just sink in…>

Boy9 floats and then sits.

Away from the table with his breakfast on, but hey! That's fine.

The table with his breakfast on would be a better choice in my opinion.

We're a bit behind time now for school. But hey! Boy9 seems in a good mood. He's talking without spitting fire. Winner.

So I head upstairs to do...  well... early morning man stuff.

<Plays on phone>

I come back lighter and am passed by Miss5 and Mrs. Amazing leaving for upstairs.

Mrs. Amazing: 'We're leaving... He's turned...'

Mrs. Amazing: <Passes me the baton>
I don't want it

(Ok pass me the baton… <Bzmmmm> My hand!!!.... Cool baton btw...)

I walk into the kitchen to find Boy9 has been replaced with the Anti-Nice.

A sort of demonic entity that cannot be nice not matter what is going on.

So rather than engage the Anti-Nice. I do what I do best. I put on excellent music.
Loud. And dance like I've got wings on my feet enjoy it.

Boy9 is plonked in front of his cereal. I tidy the kitchen. He eats. Everyone does their jobs. No communication is needed.

I get to rock out. Lovely.

Boy9 grumps his way through the rest of his morning jobs.

It takes a lot of coaching, persuading and nagging.

Get dressed = Grump

Use bathroom = Grump. Grump

ACTUALLY use the facilities in the bathroom to become cleaner = BIG Grump. You're so mean. Argghgh! Grump

Get your bag = Grump

Stop annoying, looking or being too close to your sister = Grump

Stop annoying your mother = Grump

It’s after this round of Anti-Nice behviour.

That Mrs. Amazing turns to me and elects me Chief ‘Suntan Lotion Putter Onner’.

The speech that goes with it is beautiful....

Mrs. Amazing: 'He needs suntan lotion. You do it'

Mrs. Amazing: 'I can't face arguing with him anymore this morning'

I would like to resign my post immediately and leave for work

OK... Boy9 where are you?

Boy9: <Does far-off grump>

Boy9 doesn’t like applying suntan lotion.

So he reacts badly when I ask him nicely to put it on. We discuss what has to happen.

Boy9 storms off to his room and slams his door. I give him five minutes to calm down.

It does not work, he needed a year.

Boy9 is furious and in tears.
He is exhausted and has decided he RE-EALL-Y doesn't want to put on suntan lotion.

My heart goes out to the little ball of anger and emotion. If I could, I would whisk this little boy up in my arms and nothing would ever hurt him again. And he wouldn’t have to go outside and need suntan lotion. But that’s stupid thinking. He has to.

My heart comes back from the little ball of anger and emotion and it hardens and calms.
As it’s bored of his wailing and whining.

I try for the next ten minutes to talk him round.

It is very un-fun and he is rude, mean and quite urghh to me.

I do nearly manage to convince him at one point. But it backfires only makes him crosser.

However...

+1000 Dad points: I did manage to remain calm. YAY!

+10 Dad points: I did not shout. yay!

I was using my FIRM voice though.

The one that can stop all children in hearing range in their tracks.
Firm. Slightly loud. In control.

But defo not shouty.

Time was getting very short.

We would all be late for school and work. Boy9 REALLY needed to get on with this.

I change from Captain Discussion and Reasoning into Thor's hammer THE IMMOVABLE OBJECT and lay down the law. Boy9 adopts the role of UNSTOPPABLE emotional FORCE.

I use all my years of... er… stuff… and give him just one choice.

My choice.

(Don't judge... I'm still carrying a little Easter, post-Easter, general life, weight...)

<Soft voice> I am going to count to five <Shows fingers on hand>

Then I am going shove the bottle up your nose put the suntan lotion on for you

Boy9: 'But!'

No. <Interrupts> No more negotiations, no more discussion, no more whining

When I get to five… <Gives Boy9 a 'I bloody mean it' look>

Boy9: 'WAHHHHHHH! You're so MEAN!!!'

One...

Boy9: 'ARRHHGGHGHGG! I DON'T WANT TOOO!!! NOOO'

Two...

Boy9: 'I DON'T WANT IT NO NO NO!'

Thr...

Boy9 put the suntan lotion on.

Thank bacon. He was now ready to face the merciless British sun.

Obviously Boy9 was now furious with me.

Pride and all that. How very dare I care about his skin health and well being. No eye contact, doesn’t really talk to me. It's about this time that I go into the porch and have my moment with the coats.

I do feel better after.

Me and Miss5 say our goodbyes and are just walking off to Miss5's school.

When Boy9 runs after us. Shouting Daddy…

‘Sup?

He rushes up to me and gives me a big hug and kiss.

And says he's sorry.

Not for anything particular, but we both know what he is talking about.

I really felt he meant it too or he's playing me like a kipper. And I checked it wasn't due to a Mrs. Amazing prompt either.

My wound up heart melts. And he becomes my big-little dude again.

Immovable object? Ha! More like moon putty.

X

Epilogue:
Look! <Is excited> I got a sticker at work!

Mrs. Amazing: 'What's it say?'

I worked hard today!

Mrs. Amazing: 'Did you steal it?'

HOW VERY DARE YOU! <Huffs about>

I am so outraged I am going to take this chocolate... <Raids chocolate cupboard>

And this... <Raids chocolate cupboard again>

And this cake <Takes cake> and go into the other room and watch cartoons...

<Leaves with dignity>

<Sneaks back into to get my cuppa>

(<Is wistful> One day I'll get one... One day...

Mrs. Amazing: 'I'm sure you will... I just know it' <Is lying>)