Growing

To be honest, the title of this blog isn't strictly accurate any more. When I first started writing about the Kids the Boy had just started talking and the Girl wasn't doing any much other than puking in my shoes. These days they're growing up fast.. Just the other day the Girl ran into the kitchen and told her mum, quite aggressively

"I'm going through the menopause!"

So these days talking with them is less like a verbal boxing match and more like a pincer movement.

"Okay Kids, who can name an animal other than a horse that people can ride?"

"A horse!"

"No, Girl. Other than a horse. A different animal."

"Er... a camel?"

"Good one, Boy. Any others?"

"A horse?"

"No, Boy. We said other than a horse."

"A camel."

"We've said camel, Girl."

"A flower?"

"Flower's aren't animals."

"A car!"

"Nor are cars."

"Oh."

"A horse!"

I like to think that they're deliberately winding me up. Mainly because the alternative is that they're idiots.

Still, every day they become more like their parents (I'm not saying we're idiots. I am. The Wife married me, so she's got her moments, but we're not... never mind.) Much like myself the Boy wants to crack jokes the whole time, and isn't getting any better.

"Why did the chicken cross the road?"

"I don't know."

"Well... he might have been on fire."

"Whu-?"

And the Girl likes telling people off. Which she doesn't get from me...

"Oh god, it stinks in here! Did you do a blow off?"

"Don't say that, Daddy!"

"What?"

"Blow off!"

"You don't want me to say blow off?"

"DON'T!"

"But you said blow off!"

"I DIDN'T! STOP SAYING BLOW OFF!"

"Dad, you better stop saying blow off. She's gone a funny colour."


Meanwhile I'm still failing to grow up. Last week the Wife asked me to get a bin bag with "some toys we've been given" in them. When the Boy opened the bag it contained two Pallitoy original Star Wars action figure vehicles (look, just suck it up. I'm a geek dad. Star Wars features heavily here). One was a Scout Walker complete with the ORIGINAL BOX. The other one was an AT-AT walker. Lets just pause over the majesty of that announcement....

...

No? Right - a story. On Christmas day 1982 I ran downstairs at five in the morning and ran into my living room because I was fully expecting an AT-AT walker that year. I'd been asking for one since I'd first seen The Empire Strikes Back. When I got into the living room I saw a sheet draped over something, and the sheet had a tag with my name on it and when I drew it back it was a f**king BMX.

"We thought you needed to get out more."

My Mum said. My Dad was a bit more blunt.

"You look like a f**king vampire, Boy. Get some sunlight."

I'm not so petty that I've been annoyed about that for the past twenty-one years. Actually, screw it. I'm way petty enough and I am still angry. Or was, until I got an AT-AT walker the other day. It fixed twenty-one years of disappointment for me and I was overjoyed to play with it with the Boy right up until the Girl walked in and yelled;

"ROBOT DOG!"

And basically ruined it for me.

And yet although the Boy has long gangly legs now, and doesn't like cuddles quite as much as he used to. Although the Girl doesn't throw as many tantrums, and has grown from a beautiful toddler to a beautiful little girl - they're little kids. The Girl has been ill again today, and is curled up on the sofa next to me, clutching her toy horse with the Cat curled up next to her. Its a like an advert for better living in my house right now. Except for the smell of sick.






Two dedications today - apologies, but they're important in my world.

Welcome to the world Christopher - it was nice to meet you today.

Get well soon Maria.

That is all. Go and watch The Voice. Or whatever.