A couple of weeks ago the Girl had a major meltdown. This was unlike her usual meltdowns, because it didn't end in bloodshed. Instead she became all wobbly and emotional because the Boy got her a drink.
That was it. He brought her a drink of juice, and she wigged out, burst into tears and decided to send herself to bed.
"Uh, oh..." the Wife said.
"She's getting hormonal."
I thought about this carefully for a moment, because it's always good to be calm and considered at times like that. After a picosecond of consideration, I gave my verdict.
"No! NO! She's not allowed to get hormonal until you've done that menopause thing because I JUST CAN'T DEAL WITH IT!"
I then excused myself and went to bed. It was six thirty.
Today I picked the Kids up from school and once we'd got home and I'd spent a few minutes shouting "Door!", "Shoes!", "Bags!" and the like the Boy said to me
"We had a really interesting lesson today at school."
"Righto." I replied, eyeing a bottle of wine on the table and trying to figure out how long I had to leave it alone before it wasn't classed as middle-class alcoholism.
"It was about puberty."
"Oh, REALLY? So, what did you learn, because I'm still not sure what all the bits do."
"Oh, you know. Body changes and feelings and stuff."
Annoyingly, he wasn't embarrassed. As mentioned previously, my Dad started this conversation with the words "You might be feeling randy..." and I cut him off by bailing out of a moving car. My Kids, it seems, simply cannot be trusted to react correctly.
"Well, it'll happen to you one day."
"No it hasn't, you're ten."
"It has. Look."
And then he showed me his penis.
I'm going to bed.