Tag: son

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YAY! POO!

Moreover, perpetually smelling it. 

As any parent of young cubs will know, poo plays quite a prominent role in your day. 

Nappy changes, potty training and generally forgetting that toilets need flushing are all part of the jolly tapestry of the reward that is parenting. 

Understand this; I’m a clean freak. My home is tidy for the majority of the time and I’m no fan of this ‘lived in’ philosophy. I prefer the showhome standpoint. My two beg to differ and occasionally, I’m happy to compromise. 

The Saturday routine I had as a kid was that we would all chip in and help clean the house; this has extended into my adulthood. 

Today was no different and the cubs are doing their rooms. Well my son isn’t but he’s only 3. 

They were upstairs as I cleaned the kitchen. Occasionally I’d pop up, if only to restore some civil order where my son had wondered in to my daughter’s room and refused to leave. 

As I neared, I was met by a poo haze, and my youngest in his favoured ‘mid poo’ squat. 

Come on big man; time for a bum change. 

‘Not finished yet!’ Was his customary reply and this time was no different. I waited. 

His sister’s room was full of the most interesting funk so I opened the windows. 

Eventually, he followed me. Before we went through the process I opened the windows. I do like open windows and whatever the weather, this is my first job on waking. A home benefits from a good blow through. 

‘It’s a sloppy one daddy!’

I appreciated the warning, and the fact that his vocabulary is coming along so well. 

Change done. No drama. He ran back to his sister’s room. 

 It smelt of poo, despite the windows being open. Hmmm. 

I went downstairs with the offending package bagged up. 

Downstairs smelt of poo. 

I couldn’t understand it. Windows were open but it lingered. 

I put the bag in the outside bin;

Outside smelt of poo. 

By the time I came back in, both cubs were downstairs and hunting for snacks. My daughter looked at me, and screamed. 

Well actually, it was more of a scream/laugh thing, accompanied by her pointing. 

DAD! THERE’S POO ON YOUR NOSE!!

That explained it. 


BSD. 

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Not in the mood…

I picked my youngest cub up from nursery and asked the usual question; how was your day?


The gentle snores told me he wasn’t in the mood for talking. 

BSD

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Parent life

06:45, weekday morning:

  • Minimal signs of life
  • Dissent
  • Progress only visible via time-lapse camera. 

06:33, weekend morning:

  • Both awake
  • Standing over sleeping daddy
  • Prodding face
  • Tiny fingers prising adult eyes open. 

I’m knackered. 


BSD

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This is playing on my mind…

TV is full of it; timelines are full of it; my mind is full

I think I’ve been naive, and maybe I still am.

I’m talking about male predation and sexual assault/inappropriateness/harassment.

Just grab ’em by the *****

You get the picture.

It scares me and angers me all at once that men in a position of power (real or perceived) think that they can act however they want or take whatever they want; to feel that entitled and beyond reproach that they try to impose their will on others, by force if necessary.

  • It scares me as a father of a young girl;
  • It scares me as a father of a young boy;
  • It angers me as a man and a human being.

Understanding

The psychologist in me seeks to understand the behaviour of individuals in all cases but I will admit to a fog of anger descending when I hear such stories.

A close friend of mine told me one such story recently. She conveyed it in a jovial, almost dismissive way, stating that if she didn’t laugh, she would cry. After a couple of full paragraphs from her my only response was ‘Jesus…’

She relayed a little more and my response was the same; ‘Jesus’

Sensing my shock, she then gave me another couple of examples of men taking advantage and this time, she ended the story with

ask any woman you know..

I didn’t need to.

I had heard stories historically but somehow I’d managed to box them off as individual incidents in my mind.

Now I was joining the dots and I could feel anger rising inside me.

Not just high profile

I’ll be honest; I don’t know what to write next.

I want to talk about self-defence. I’m a martial artist and for a long time, I’ve been an advocate of everyone learning to defend themselves, especially women. But then I ask myself

‘Why should you have to?’

I’ve deleted more than I’ve written (mostly expletives) so I’ll go here. I can’t fix the world but I want to prepare my cubs for it whilst protecting their innocence.

For my son

How to be a man; a real man. That means being a humanitarian,  a communicator and showing respect whilst ensuring you get respected. Hearing no and understanding that and not overstepping the line in the first place. To take responsibility. Not to stand by.

For my daughter

Having the strength to say no and the courage to act* under the circumstances. To recognise what is appropriate and what is not. To be a humanitarian but to not feel responsible for the poor behaviour of others.

I don’t blog well when I’m angry.

Placeholder Image

BSD

*this isn’t meant as criticism or victim blaming. I’m just angry.

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My boy

Doesn’t get as much airtime on here so here are some things that made me chuckle.

Friday evening after the nursery pick-up and school run I made a detour on the way home to pick up some supplies for the weekend. Walking two cubs around the supermarket always provides me with more material than I can ever remember but this one pipped the lot.

As I walked past a display of multi-packed crisps, a tiny voice behind me asked ‘Daddy; this please?’

I turned just in time to see my 3 year old pulling enthusiastically on one of the bottom packets. In engineering, I believe that it would be called the ‘keystone’ packet.

He let out a melancholic ‘Oh no!‘ before disappearing beneath a landslide of 20 multi-packs.

A quick rescue operation later he was fine.

Big Sis had her first sleepover yesterday

I thought that he’d be a bit more troubled without her but the drop off went well, as did bath and bedtime.

He hadn’t had an afternoon nap so he more or less went straight off after brief story and discussion about Peppa and George. Luckily daddy is an expert.

The next morning, I explained that after breakfast, we’d go and collect her from her friends.

Everything was going smoothly; dressed, teeth brushed, shoes and coat on and strapped into his car seat all in perfect time. He even had his current favourite thing, his Triceratops.

I jogged around to the driver’s side and jumped in, congratulating myself on parent skills only to be slapped back to reality by searing, acute pain.

Unbeknown to me, his favourite toy had been thrown onto my seat with crackerjack timing.

Whilst my life flashed before my eyes, a question ran through my head; how had a [tiny] knife man gotten into my car and assaulted me??

A quick inspection of the wound site revealed the offending object.

He was chuckling behind me; I was wondering why they felt the need to make toys out of kryptonite and agony.

thistops

I’m just glad I’ve had children already.

BSD

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Stress? What stress?

This morning’s school run was a test of patience. 

As seems to be the norm on Britain’s roads, you can’t drive more than a mile without hitting roadworks. 

I’d managed to hustle the cubs into the car in reasonable time and with limited fuss, but we were now confronted with the familiar sight of brake lights. 


I watched my chronological advantage slip away and my ire rise. Not good. 

I took a short cut; brake lights. 

We eventually crawled forwards and I cordially let folk in sideroads out, in order to move everyone along nicely. 

We started to move faster, through a nearby village on the school route. We passed a less than well hedgehog in the road. 

“Dad; is that hedgehog ok?”

Now do I try to protect my daughter from the reality of life and death of fauna on British roads? Yeah of course. 

I think it was ok darling; just moving very slowly…

She didn’t buy it. 

“I think it was dead. There were bits of it scattered everywhere!”

Ok…

“It’s feet were quite wide apart and it’s hands were further up the road…”

Ok but…maybe….well….

“And it’s intestines look like they’d come out of its backside…

Wow. You saw all that at 30 mph??

“I don’t think it’s going anywhere now dad…”

And she collapses in fits of laughter. 

Daddy needs therapy. 

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Short ones..

A collection of times my cubs have made me laugh

#You babe; draw back your bow, you babe; draw back your bow!

‘Actually darling, it’s “Cupid”.

‘That doesn’t make any sense…’

‘Yeah. I prefer your version’

#You babe….

Cub 1 to cub 2; ‘Tickle Punch!’

Cub 2, punches her squarely in the face.

‘DADDY!!’

Play with the bull; get the horns. Both of you; naughty step.

‘Darling; start to take your hair down so we can wash and plait it’

‘Ok dad. Have a look; do you think I’ve still got it in my hair?’

‘Got what?’

‘DO YOU THINK I’VE STILL GOT IT IN MY HAIR!?’

‘Darling, if someone doesn’t understand what you’re saying, rather than shouting you should find a different way to say the same thing’

Silence

‘DO-YOU-THINK-I’VE-STILL-GOT-IT-IN-MY-HAIR!!!’

‘Did you understand what I just said to you? that was just slow shouting..’

‘I miss mummy. I think she understands English better than you.’

‘Naughty step’ (not really, but I thought it)

‘Daddy?’

‘Yes?’

‘You say “Christ” a lot’

‘Just asking for help darling’

‘Maybe you should try the Police; at least we know their number’

Christ

BSD

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And this


This is my eldest, showing her computer to a cat. 

This is not our cat. 

We have no cat. 

BSD

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The lessons they teach us..

Today is my birthday (relax; I don’t want anything..)

We planned to visit the local Sea-Life centre but by the time I’d managed to mobilise the cubs, it was too late. I decided that we should go for a bite to eat instead.

‘McUsual dad?’ my daughter asked. ‘Nope’ I replied, wondering if I go there more often than I think. I decided to try an american diner that I drive past every day on my way home from work.

My son was asleep almost as soon as I’d shut the car door; I guess he’s growing again.

Table manners

In and seated by a very gregarious waiter who then spent an enormous amount of time and energy attempting to de-wobble our table. Fail.

‘DAD; IS HE A SERVANT?’

‘no’

Her voice was still set to outdoor but I think he was out of earshot.

Service; eventually..

The place wasn’t overly busy but there seemed to be more managers than waiters. We eventually got served but when the food arrived, my daughter’s order was wrong. I politely refused and asked for our original request.

After a few minutes he came back ‘It’ll be about 5 minutes i’m afraid’

‘That’s fine; thank you’

After another few minutes he came back again;

‘You did say beefburger right?’

‘No; cheeseburger; please’

I hadn’t managed to convince my son of the correct etiquette of the 50% rule of waiting; he had shifted the figures to 33% and was already pushing hotdog into his face hole.

Lonely

Her food arrived and we all tucked in. It was absolutely average. The cubs were already planning dessert. Then came the wait.

We waited; and waited; and waited but still the table remained uncleared, let alone a dessert enquiry. The two managers were now having some food at the bar, talking to a 3rd member of staff.

The cubs decided that we’d had enough and that they’d rather just go home now. As the smiling waiter came over I asked for the bill.

Then we waited; and waited…

Time

I eventually got up and put my coat on; the cubs duly followed. The waiter took the hint and rang everything up. He handed me the card machine at the gratuity screen. I hit the no button and entered my PIN. He looked disappointed when I handed the terminal back to him.

Before we walked out, he let the cubs take a balloon each from the static display.

We walked back to the car and drove home; I was already planning a tripadvisor roasting. As I did so, I must have muttered my discontent aloud. My daughter asked what was wrong, so I regaled everything that wasn’t right about our meal. She thought carefully and replied:

Well he was a very smiley person and seemed like he was the only one doing any work. He also apologised for messing up my food and was very nice to give us a colouring sheet and balloons; you probably shouldn’t be too hard on him because he looked like he was trying.

That 10% now sits heavily in my pocket.

learning

BSD

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Short one

After a half day fishing, the cubs and I kicked back for a lazy afternoon.

The day is nice, the sun is shining so I buy ice lollies as a treat for when we get home.

Having little patience, they’re asking for lollies before the keys are in the door. “Wait until after dinner; I’m cooking now”

They acquiesce and trundle off to the lounge.

Meanwhile, the heat of the kitchen gets to me; I think the unthinkable. “That’d be wrong wouldn’t it? Eating a lolly after telling them to wait?”

I use all my martial arts skill to silently open the freezer. Then the box of lollies. Then take one out. Then unwrap the wrapper. I pause appropriately, listening for footsteps. Nothing.

I take a delicious, cooling bite.

Dad; what are you doing?

Hamster.jpg

Silently swallowing a whole (but miniature, thankfully) Magnum, blinking through brain freeze (maybe needing a CAT scan later) and cripplingly sensitive teeth.

“Nothing darling. Go wash your hands while daddy lies down.”

 

Karma.

BSD.