A blog on thriving, when you only really planned to be one of those three things.
Was it a Minion walkie-talkie?
No.
Was it the inexplicably golden painted, Thomas the Tank Engine?
No.
Was it Cat Boy (????)
No.
In a twist away from the usual culprit, Triceratops, it was Velociraptor, in the dark hallway.
I was only heading up to tell the Cat in the Hat and her brother to stop singing ‘Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer’ and go to sleep.
At least it wasn’t the family jewels this time.
BSD
And we’ve dug in; but daddy has made an oversight.
We’ve been under some strong weather for the last few days now. It’s no surprise, as the meteorologists have been calling it for a week or so now.
Beware the Beast from the East. So named by the Met Office, scaring old folk and the young in equal measure.
Cold weather is blowing in from the Baltic states and bringing snow with it. It’s quite deep in the east of the country, whilst the rest of us get snow drifts. We all get the high winds and the associated chill that takes -3 down to about -10.
Now any Canadian readers are probably laughing their socks off right now, as these conditions will probably constitute the norm for you folk. Here, we talk about the weather so much its a surprise that we are always so unprepared for it.
School is closed, so I make the decision to keep the youngest off of nursery too, as I’m off work which means that I can switch off the alarm and have a lie in.
Morning arrives and the Saturday routine comes a day early; they jump into my bed and we watch a movie. For once, I’m quite well rested so I watch with them.
Breakfast is 2 hours later than usual – and feels great! I need to adopt this lifestyle full-time.
Reality
I don’t buy into panic buying. No weather system lasts long in this country so I just did a normal shop. But, whilst making the porridge this morning, I realised, that we’ve run out of milk.
We’ll have to go out.
I break the news to the cubs, who usually liking the snow, decided that the wind chill was a factor best observed from the warmth of indoors. We’re going to have to go to the local shops.
The Cat in the Hat (see World Book Day) begins negotiations at the breakfast table.
‘Maybe we could do without milk?’
We can’t. We have to go out.
‘You should probably go without us’
That’s illegal. I’d be jailed.
‘For how long?’
We’re going.
‘But the cupboards are full!’
Not of milk
‘But it’s really cold dad!’
You like the cold
‘My tastes have changed; I’m older’
We’re going
‘Can’t we just use the internet?’
They won’t deliver that small amount of product.
‘Who’s they?’
The 12 Disciples
‘?’
When I was your age, we used to have milkmen. They delivered the milk before morning.
‘Even in this weather?’
Yes
‘Did they die?’
Sometimes.
We’re still going. It’s not far.
‘Wait; we’re walking??’
A wicked smile appears on my face.
Yes; driving is tricky right now.
‘And walking is safer?’
Yes
‘Do the Police know about this?’
They’re busy. We’re still going.
My son looks on; amazed at it all. She’s backed into a corner.
I never thought grocery shopping could be this funny. Bit weird negotiating with the Cat in the Hat though.
BSD
Has to be one of my favourite days of the year.
Most schools in Britain encourage children to attend school dressed as their favourite literary character. The cubs love it, especially my daughter. They’re with mum this year and she has a creative flair, so all is well.
My daughter has a passion for any Dr Seuss stories. Last Christmas, she received the entire collection. She loves them, and will read for hours.
On the last W.B.D, she went to school dressed as the Fox in Socks. This year, she’s the Cat in the Hat.
Her mum WhatsApps a photo of her to me, before they journey to school. I’m so impressed as she looks, amazing. I compliment mum on her costume creating skills. Historically, she had created a Wonder Woman (or Lady Woman, according to my daughter) costume from scratch, and had also created a number of Angels for a school play.
She confesses that she bought the costume from Amazon.
Oh well, no matter.
On the way home
Britain is going through some adverse weather at the moment. As usual, the country slowly grinds to a halt and the news is full of people trapped in cars, after ignoring warnings, and folk skiing down the high street.
I pick them up slightly earlier in a vain attempt to avoid the traffic on the way home. School has phoned to say they are closing due to the weather.
The nursery doesn’t subscribe to W.B.D yet but it’s been a day of excitement and at the snow-covered school gates, parents are met by gleeful dinosaurs, fairies, Worst Witches, a B.F.G and what I suspect may be a Ninja Turtle.
My own Cat in the Hat comes bounding over and delivers the greatest of hugs. She’s tired, as she’s been looking forwards to this day for a while now. Best of all, she got a book token for her amazing costume.
She asks me if she can wear her costume tomorrow, before falling asleep in the car; happy.
PS. images in this post are links to the products I’ve mentioned. Clicking the link will earn me commission. Except for the pic of the cubs. You can’t have them.
BSD
Ever had one of those days, when after checking your work ‘to do’ list, you immediately buy a lottery ticket?
#truestory
BSD
“Daddy; would you prefer a dog or an Osprey?”
………?
BSD
A lesson in delayed gratification
One thing I wish my parents had spent more time on with me was money management and economics. Things may well be different now. Don’t get me wrong and, as I have explained before, I’m not destitute, just careful, having had my fingers burnt.
I don’t want either of mine to struggle in adulthood (what parent does?) so I see it as a priority to prepare them for the fiscal demands of the world.
At the end of these school holidays, we’ve had an action packed week that has left us all tired. We’ve also depleted most of the essential groceries and she has asked for some modelling clay, so off to the shops we go. While we’re in there she spots a must have toy cat, that now has her attention. She asks for it, but it’s slightly more expensive than the clay I’ve found.
Hearing the answer no, she breaks down.
We finish the shop with her in tears and I miss most of what I came for, as I’m tired.
In the car, I tell her that if she cleans her room, and helps her brother clean his, I will give her some pocket-money.
Back at the den, she sets about the task. I’m doing the weekly clean too and they’re pretty used to the routine.
As I pop outside to the bin, I almost step on a tightly folded piece of paper, secured with a bright orange loom band. I take inside and unravel it. It’s a handwritten note;
“Dear God; would you please can you get me the toy cat. Signed ———- Amen”
As a relaxed Christian, I’m touched by this and put the note in a safe place for prosperity and to protect her innocence. As I go back upstairs, she runs into my room.
“Daddy, daddy! while cleaning my room I found exactly £3! it’s enough to buy the cat!”
That’s fantastic darling! It’s like your prayers have been answered!
She stares at me..
“How did you….never mind”
This got me thinking. However it had happened, her prayers had been answered. This is now an interesting premise. I’d made her a deal in which she would trade her labour for financial reward – that’ll sound familiar to us all.
I’d also resisted the temptation to just buy it for her, especially when she broke down in tears, but in my eyes that would be wholly wrong. Ok; she’s only 7, but when is a good time to learn about delayed gratification?
The lessons she learns now will stick with her for life. Effort and reward; what drives us to push ourselves to achieve our goals in life. If it’s handed to us, we’ll eventually come to expect it. Hello dependency.
I reassure myself that this act is neither small nor petty. By the time she recognises the value of the lesson, it’ll be second nature.
As it transpired, the cat was £5, so our second trip to the shop also ended in tears. Luckily, the clean-up offer still stands.
Looks like the Lord doesn’t believe in a free lunch either.
BSD
Day two of half term, and I’ve got this covered.
Proper planning has led me to have most of this holiday covered. As I’ve stated before (probably to myself to be fair) proper planning prevents poor performance. Anyway, last week I found out that our local museum was hosting a fossil event, where for a small fee participants could engage in some palaeontology.
Right up my daughter’s street and my son is happy to play along too.
Being a proper planner, I allow an hour for us to get there. It’s a 5 minute drive so we’re stupidly early; oh well.
A quick wander around in the bleak mid-winter to find a cash-point sees us pretty happy to be back indoors and wandering around the museum. 30 minutes to go. You enter the museum through the gift shop; nice one folks; I see what you did there.
As we queue, my youngest slowly rotates, next to a display of plates and glass ornaments. I put a stop to that.
There’s a guy upstairs sitting behind a table of fossils so we stop for a chat.
He’s fascinating and has a real enthusiasm for what he’s doing. She’s enthralled. He eyes the gentleman up suspiciously, as only my boy cub can, and keeps his distance.
We’re reliably informed that there are more goodies downstairs, so we head for adventure, headlong into a cafe.
Nice going museum; I see what you did there. The fatal attraction of a fridge full of cakes draws them both in and they turn to look at me.
What came over me?
Not sure what I was thinking, I let them choose whatever they want. She goes for a modest slice of cheesecake whilst he opts for a slice of chocolate cake. Not like the one above; oh no. there was no strawberry on his choice. Instead, the chocolate cake he chose was bedecked with sugar-coated sweets; the kind I bought for a penny in my childhood. It was almost as if the creator wasn’t satisfied with the sugar content of the plain chocolate cake, then decided to push the tooth rotting factor up to 11.
I bought it anyway as we had 20 minutes to kill.
I decided to share the cake with him, convinced that he would struggle with the volume and richness. I underestimated him. I think I had one or two forkfuls, but tired of the battle to wrestle it away from him after the second attempt.
To his credit, he managed to funnel about 90% into his head with 5% spread around his face. The other 5% appears later.
And we’re in!
I hadn’t imagined quite how popular the event would be. One minute we were alone, the next we were awash with parents and children. It was nice to see so many people out and about and the collective excitement level was contagious.
There were four stations for enquiring minds to visit; an expert, a mask making station, a microscope bench and a simulated dig. I thought the latter looked like two cat litter trays but I kept that to myself.
They were straight in; the added bonus being that they could keep one of the fossils that they found. Four fossils each later (in quite a short time) we discussed the lesson of sharing and leaving some for others whilst reburying their three least favourite.
Advancing to the bench of microscopes for a close up of some minerals we queued behind a three deep moving mass of buggies and bodies. This was very popular, but not with us. As she has three microscopes at home, we decided to show our fossils to the expert upstairs and create some masks.
Home run
He was busy. I really underestimated this. No matter; we went to the masks. One Triceratops (her) and a T-rex (him).
With crayon, felt-tip, marker pen and glue stick it took an absolute age for them to colour in their choices. For reasons known only to her, she decided to use the finest tipped pen to embolden her creation. He was a bit more pragmatic and broad-stroked a fisted crayon across his picture. Not surprisingly he was finished in no time. She slumped further in her chair when I told her that she would have to do the other side too.
Staples, glue, elastic and a healthy dose of imagination later and the cubs were transformed into whatever dinosaur young are called. Happy.
Unnoticed, we’ve spent two hours here. It’s been brilliant.
As we get up to leave, she notices a thick brown stain on the bum and leg of his beige trousers. She recoils and points all at once but before she can comment, I run my finger along the stain and then pop it in my mouth. I turn and tell her..
We have to go now; he’s done a poo.
I thought she was going to faint.
I do like chocolate cake.
BSD
It’s half-term here and the cubs are with me.
Whilst the wearing down of my energy levels begins, I’m eternally grateful that they’re here.
Once they’re fed, they’re playing boisterously with one another. Watching them, I reflect on the rough and tumble that I had with my sisters growing up; it was great fun.
I also think back to my risk tolerance, which was obviously a lot higher back then.
They fight, wrestle, kiss and cuddle but every move seems to bring their heads dangerously close to every corner in the room that I’d never noticed before.
I flinch a lot but I try not to step in. I’m a great believer in learning from experience, as long as that experience doesn’t involve surgery.
They’re fine.
They then decide that they need to be outside. I can’t agree more. It’s about 3C with ice still on the ground, but there’s no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing.
Nah; I don’t believe that either. It’s horribly cold. I send them out anyway.
She’s off with the keys and heading for the garage; she wants her archery set. I’m not out there to supervise and wonder if I need to be. I trust her. The only rule is that there is no shooting if her brother is down range.
I guess we’re at the crossroads where I have to relinquish some of that responsibility to them, well, more to her as she is older and know that whatever will be will be.
Helicopter parenting can do more damage than a bump on the head.
Here are two occasions when I have stepped in; I was ironing in my room and they were in her room; the following sentences had me running:
“It’s time for the sacrifice!”
and
“We can either chop your head off, or half of your head off”
I think she’s been doing history at school.
BSD
Here’s mine.
It’s actually the kitchen worktop but it’s where the cubs get patted down, airport style, before we leave for school and nursery.
I have to admire them; they never tire in their attempts to get stuff out.
It gets cleared at the weekend.
What’s on yours?
BSD
It’s an issue; but it needn’t be.
The combing of it, the cutting of it and well general maintenance. Constant consternation.
The cubs are mixed race. A term I hate as it signifies the human desire to neatly pigeon-hole everything away. Everything must have a classification. I digress.
They are half Afro-Caribbean, and technically quarter Mauritian, quarter Scottish. To the eye, they’re Caribbean. Hope you’re keeping up.
Their ethnicity is important because their hair is typical of our race; slightly thicker and prone to tangles if not cared for correctly. Correctly maintained, it looks amazing. This subject has caused and causes countless rows.
Girl cub loves having her hair done and always did. We had a heck of a search for the rights products but when we found them, bingo. Products are the key.
Boy cub? well that’s a whole separate chapter. All I can say is sorry. To my neighbours, passers-by and probably to a couple of nearby postcodes. Washing his hair sounds like a horrific assault.
I mentioned a while back that when he was younger, we nearly lost him to an ear infection that put pressure on his brain. The resolution, following a brief stay in hospital, was to be fitted with grommets. A drawback of having grommets is that you have to limit water getting into the ears.
When his hair needs washing, out comes the cotton wool. And the screaming. I mentioned horrific before. It really is quite bad.
He hates it. He hates water in his face and in his eyes and isn’t shy at letting you know. I tried so many different things including using dry flannels, getting him to look up, using the shower (with and without the head) and using a cup. All resulted in increased decibels.
I went to the internet for help.
I found this
There was the usual due process that I apply to everything and I wasn’t convinced. It was 32p, so I bought it.
It took a while to arrive so I promptly forgot that I bought it. It arrived and I thought it was a suspect package.
I opened it, and I wasn’t convinced. It was folded for easy transit so it was badly misshapen.
I tried it on and nearly passed out. In their defence, they’re made for kids and I’m not the smallest of humans.
Bath-time arrived and I decided to give it a try. I took it out of the hair product basket in the bathroom and showed it to him.
He looked at it for a little while, then shook his head.
We tried it anyway.
It worked and I stand corrected. This could be the best 32p I’ve ever spent.
BSD
broke-single-dad 