It’s a radio controlled car that my brother-in-law bought him for Christmas.
He loves it.
The car is a 4×4, flippable, 360 thing that works whichever way up it is and can climb a multitude of obstacles.
We go through batteries like they were going out of fashion until I bought rechargeables, fearing that we may single-handedly destroy the planet. I didn’t want that on my conscience.
It’s really is rather good. That good, that big sister quite fancies having one.
I consulted Amazon.
Found it, or should I say, them.
Of the same theme but different sizes, colours and shapes. Result.
Then I found this one….
4girls……
Really.
So unless it’s got pink wheels and has ‘girly’ patterns, females won’t be interested?
I call bull.
My daughter just wanted an orange one.
BSD
Ps. clicking the above clicks will generate affiliate fees and may go someway to overcoming my anger towards blatant gender stereotyping and other bull. Thanks.
The cubs are with me for this week; I’ve managed to score some time off work. Early crossed wires means that the ex and I cross paths at 60 mph in the countryside. A quick phone call and we make the switch in a near lay by
It feels a little like espionage, but we haven’t seen each other in what seems like an age, so its fine. Off we pop home, with a brief stop to get some groceries first.
I think that it’s important for the cubs to understand the shopping process, so away we go.
I never learn
First things first, back to the car for my bags for life. I pat myself on the back as I usually remember them at the checkout.
The first squabble begins; they both want to push the trolley. Last time I allowed it, one was involved in a near fatal collision with a pensioner. Unfortunately I couldn’t remember which one of them it was.
He gets first go. She wants a cuddle and to hold hands anyway. He can’t really see over the top of the cart but this does nothing to curb his enthusiasm. Or pace.
Most collisions are averted by gentle nudging and one, timely kick. He loses interest as we get to the escalator and abandons it at the bottom.
Clothes
She needs a couple more tops. I acquiesce, as everything I buy seems to disappear but hey, you already know my thoughts on that one. He attempts to get me to buy him a bra, and breaks down in tears when I tell him not right now. A kind assistant places it back on the rack for me.
Food
He’s in flight of freedom mode and stays at least half an aisle ahead. The store isn’t busy so I allow it. Now she wants to push the trolley.
Being a toddler, this immediately reignites his interest in the trolley so squabbles begin again.
“DAD! HE’S GRABBING THE SIDE OF THE TROLLEY AND THROWING THE HANDLING OFF!”
Weariness finds me quickly. We’ve only reached the bread aisle.
Croissants or Pain au Chocolat? I ask. Not the most challenging of questions.
No answer. I ask again.
‘Can we have kippers? we haven’t had kippers in ages!’
When was that an option??
Would you like croissants or pain au chocolat???
‘Yes’
Christ.
As it transpired, he wanted one, she wanted the other, so we ended up with both. She was quick to point this out. We also got kippers.
Amnesia
I’m starting to forget stuff; I haven’t made a list. I end up backtracking down an aisle. As all men know, this is just wrong. We shop like snipers. This is a tell-tale sign that I’m worn..
I then accidentally turned down the crisp and biscuits aisle.. big mistake…
I tried to reverse before they noticed. I didn’t make it..
They’re off like locust; scattering innocent bystanders as they go.
“CAN WE HAVE THESE DADDY?” times one million
My kung fu skills kick in and I’m throwing sugar out of the trolley faster than they can put it in.
I’m done; they’re giggling like crazy and I’m trying hard not to show that I’m done. A nearby couple are chuckling. Their children are probably grown up.
I’m bent over my trolley, contemplating how lucky I am.
I took the cubs to a new park. It was the start of the really good weather so we walked. I want them to get more exercise so a 4 mile round trip should make bedtime smoother.
On the way they were as good as gold. Proper respect for the road and in good spirits. We make 2 miles in good time.
The park is beautiful. Part manicured lawns, flower beds and an aviary. We take some time to look at the birds.
Contraptions
A lot of public parks now have rudimentary exercise equipment in them; this one is no different. They kind of resemble what you see in gyms but slightly more weather and wear resistant. My two love them, so I sit back and let them burn some more energy.
As is also usual for public spaces, there were some bigger boys and girls around. Too old for parks, but too young for bars; puberty purgatory before adulthood, raging hormones included.
Their language is a little raw so we move off. There are some more traditional apparatus for the cubs.
In a gated area sits some new challenges. A higher climbing frame that will test her, a rope walk and a rope swing onto a cargo net. All good confidence builders.
As you’d expect, there are other families around. Kids aged from about 3 to 10 years old. They’re all jolly.
My two hit the rope and cargo net; a queue builds. My eldest helps her brother by passing him the rope. He pauses, then swings into the net. Since I didn’t tell him to let go, he swings back to his starting position.
His sister shows him how its done, passing the rope back before scrambling over the top, commando style. He’s still on the bottom and duly hands the rope to the next waiting kid. She looks about 5, and helicopter mummy is very near by.
She swings with all her might, before my youngest can get clear. She sends him tumbling.
He rolls, gets up, dusts himself down, looks at her then looks at me. I offer some reassuring words.
The little girl looks at her mum: ‘I’M NOT SORRY!’ she shouts to her. I’m a little taken aback. Her mum puts a hand on her shoulder. ‘I’M NOT SORRY!’ she shouts again.
I’m kneeling now, giving my cub the once over. My [not so] poker face looking at mummy, and daddy, who was feet away sitting on a bench, who say nothing.
Not wanting to serve time, I decide that to roundhouse women and brats is not a valid option.
‘I’m alright daddy!‘ he says, before waltzing off to join his rapidly advancing sister, who appeared to be on her way to level the playing field. I intercept her, United Nations style.
The mum glanced back, pathetically, as she took her brat to another apparatus. The brat was still indignant.
Stimulus/response
As they walked away, my anger turned to pity. I watched with interest the interpersonal relationship between mum, dad and daughter. I surmised that she was an only child. I also made the assumption that they had struggled to conceive and because the physical manifestation of the everyday miracle was now living and breathing, they were so thankful that she could do no wrong. A huge leap I know, but that child ruled both adults.
Kids have accidents; that’s fine and to be expected. The fact that she vocalised her lack of remorse, and did so unapologetically, told me that this was the norm for her. This was how she behaved at home and that behaviour went unchallenged.
You reap what you sow
The pity in this situation is that at some point in this child’s life, she will meet a situation or person that won’t indulge her. If she’s really unlucky, it won’t be until she’s an adult; the universe has a way of doing that. My daughter would have sped that process up if I’d let her but I’m a good parent.
All 3 of them lose in this scenario. If you don’t set boundaries as parents when they’re small, you won’t be able to do it when they’re adolescents and respect will be a mere concept.
As ensuring that my nurturing turns strong children turn into strong adults. I try to do this in the most subtle ways possible, taking every opportunity to reinforce subtle lessons with real life examples.
I don’t think I’m doing anything out of the ordinary, but I am conscious of who my cubs are, and how the world may view them as adults.
Inequalities
Over here we’ve finally had some solid data on pay differentials. Industry was compelled by the government to post pay grades, gender percentile and other qualitative data that basically, didn’t look good.
On average, women are paid less; people of colour are paid less. Not looking good.
On the plus side, my two are still in single digits age wise, and working a job isn’t what it used to be years ago. Nonetheless, I need to build my pack strong.
My daughter is a brainbox. Recall, attention to detail, enquiring mind, tick tick tick. Her desire for knowledge never fails to amaze me. Remembering me promising her things could ease off a bit though…
Historically, I’ve made her make her own giant leaps; from climbing up onto a chair before she could walk to riding without stabilisers, watching her tears of frustration turn to tears of joy when she finally mastered it. Watching her realisation, that effort brings rewards.
Now, when asked ‘How did you know to do that?’ by anyone, her answer of ‘the idea was in my head’ renews my pride.
Him
He’s still only 3, so the transition out of nappies to peeing standing up ‘just like daddy’ was a great moment. All those uncomfortable, accompanied trips to the toilet served a purpose.
Goal
As parents, we ultimately do our best. We have our ideal of what we want them to be. The nature/nurture argument plays into things as does free will.
My goal is to give them both the tools to know their worth in the world; to know that the path to success is rarely straightforward and that their ultimate power, lies within.
broke-single-dad 