Cool

Today we went to a park. A very impressive park. The sort of park that, if it had been around when I was a kid would have induced instant and uncontrollable bowel movements. It had rope climbing frames, a pirate ship, a death slide, a splash park and all manner of devices designed to make parents say; "Er... Aren't you a bit small for that." It was trouser-explodingly exciting.

"Awesome!"

The Boy yelled as we went through the gate.

"Yeah! Look, there's a pirate shi-"

"A BIN THAT LOOKS LIKE A ROCKET!!!"

"Yes, but the p-"

"AND ONE THAT LOOKS LIKE A FROG!!! Awesome!"

Awesome, it appears, is the word du jour. Or "cool." Although the Boy's standards are rather low. After the usual ten minutes of clutching his winkle he finally admitted he needed a wee and we dashed to the toilets. Here the Boy had one of his formative moments by using a urinal for the first time. There was an awkward moment when he compared his equipment to the man already peeing

"Daddy..."

*Through clenched teeth* "Say NOTHING."

Then, stupidly I said

"Remember why you're in trouble at school..."

"I didn't look up her skirt! That was Henry! I just touched her!"

*Hurriedly* "On the hand, yes I know. I don't know why I started this..."

I should add, at this point, that the Boy's school is operating a zero tolerance policy. Seems a bit harsh. He's only five. They'll have him in an orange suit breaking rocks in the hard sun. And now I have the Clash in my head. 

Anyway, then he went to work, and as he did, the urinals flushed.

"Awesome! How did they know? Is there a camera?"

Equally, last night he told me

"I'm really cool. I'm like a stunt man."

This, based entirely on the fact that he'd walked up the stairs. He wasn't even on fire when he did it.

Meanwhile the Girl is going through a maternal stage, carrying her baby with her everywhere. Even to the loo. The Boy, sensing a new way to torture his sister, has latched onto this. Hence I walked into the house earlier to hear the Boy clutching his nipple and crying

"What happened?"

"He punched my baby!"

"She pinched my booby!"

I had to admire the word play, even if they made me feel like a Police officer at a domestic. I tried to settle things down but the Boy had aroused the beast that is the Girl's maternal instinct and she kicked him in the face. This, he later told me was

"Not awesome."

In other news, we're having cat troubles. The Cat insists on catching fleas. The fleas, in turn, insist on biting the Boy. The Boy, in turn, insists on being allergic to the bites. As does the Cat. Not ideal, and having treated the Cat with everything short of weapon grade plutonium or a shovel, nothing has worked. This has lead to me having the following conversation with the Boy

"Adam at school says that I've got chicken pox."

"Does he?"

"Yeah. I said 'I haven't got chicken pox, I've got fleas, you idiot.'"

"Oh... brilliant."

So the wife took the Cat to the vet. The vet has decided that the Cat is stressed. Because it has to crap outside. Whilst this may seem stupid to all but the weirdest, most socially inept of cat people, if you think about it there is some sense behind. Think of the tiger, on the verge of extinction. Has to crap outside. The Lynx, once common across Europe - no litter trays. It's why you see so many cats in rehab clinics. The Cat came home, no less stressed. So stressed in fact, this happened.

Keep back. Cat on the edge. Of falling asleep.

Extracurricular

We have enrolled the Boy in football lessons at his school. To clarify for my American readers, when I say football I mean what you call soccer. If I refer to what you call football I normally say "The sport bit between the two hour Pepsi ad." It's not catchy, but it is accurate.

The only downside with the Boy playing football is that because he goes to a faith school everyone has to go in goal. Because Jesus saves you see.

Sorry about that. Won't happen again.

Today I popped along to watch him, which was a bit of a mistake. After only a few minutes it was apparent that he was pretty much oblivious to the game. Not that he was alone in this. Three or four kids were taking it very seriously. However the rest were either running in circles, crying or peeing in the bushes. The Boy seemed completely unaware that the ball had any significance to the match. Certainly he never tried to kick it. In fact he didn't even look at it. To the Boy the game revolved around adjusting his tabard, as if it was an uncomfortable bra or a nice little off the shoulder number. Once, in a moment of inspiration, he laid down across the goal mouth. Unorthodox defending, but it worked because it stopped a goal. Later I asked him if he'd done that because he was in defence.

"No. I was a bit tired."

This despite the fact that he ran once during the entire match. And that was to the toilet. Still, he enjoyed himself and cheered every time a goal was scored.

"Goal! "

"You're not supposed to cheer THEIR goals! "

I hid myself away whilst he was playing, so he would stay focused (some chance).  When the mayhem ended I stepped out from behind a tree and said hello.

"Mum! "

"Christ.  I'm DAD. "

"Did you see me play? I scored a hundred goals. "

Whilst this statement wasn't that amusing in itself, the look on the face of his team mate who had been taking it all very seriously was, to put it mildly, hilarious.

Earlier that morning the Wife and I had taken the Girl to gymnastics. I recommend watching a toddler's gymnastics class because I think it's the closest you'll get to experiencing the end of the world.  They act like I expect people to act when they've been told that an asteroid will hit the Earth. Lots of running and screaming, a bit of vomiting, crying, biting - even the odd stolen kiss or hug. It is the purest form of chaos, with a few ruddy faced women of a certain age trying - and utterly failing - to keep order. Essentially its like descending into madness - particularly when any queuing is involved. The teacher would neatly line all the Kids up,  then turn to get some equipment and the queue would scatter instantly and try to kill each other with hula hoops. Sometimes they would join a different queue, causing complete confusion for the teachers. At one point a little boy subject the Girl to her first french kiss. He didn't even buy her a drink first. Honestly, Kids today. No manners.

The up and the down side of a day like today is that going back to work tomorrow will seem very normal and mundane. Moribund, even. It's good to have a bit of chaos in your life.

Abscess Makes the Fart go Honda

 

Last week my employers sent me on a week long residential course. When I originally found out about this I was somewhat dubious. Last time they sent me to Wakefield, and I'd taken that personally. This time I was assured it was an actual room, with an actual bed, breakfast, lunch and three course dinners and as many bread rolls as I could fill my pockets with. Naturally, I went.

Day One

After the first day I went back to my room (which had a kitchen - bizarre because there was literally nowhere to buy food), attempted to phone the Wife and had one of those conversations that largely consisted of one or the other alternatively saying "Hello?" and "I can't hear you" before laying the blame on the other person. "Its your phone. Its shit!" As it turned out, I had no signal.

Not being able to speak to the Kids one day in wasn't too much a drag because, to be honest, I hadn't started missing them. I was still in "relief mode." Although it was nice to speak with the Wife. She told me how to make the lights come on in my room.

Day Two

This time I Skyped the Wife. I'd never used Skype before because I didn't see the point. People would tell me that it was great for talking to friends in foreign countries. I work on the principle that if a friend of mine decides to move to the other side of the world, they're trying to tell me something. Consequently I'd never had recourse to use it. If any of you haven't used it, I'd recommend it. As far as I'm concerned, video calling is like being Buck Rogers in the 25th Century. 

Anyhoo, after a few false starts we got through to each other, although sadly whilst the Family could see me, I couldn't see them. The Girl, amazed that her daddy was on "the little telly" kept kissing the screen whilst the Boy remained coolly unimpressed. 

"Are you missing me?"
"No.... OW! What?" 
(Background whispering)
*Sigh* "Yes."

The Girl did a lot of yelling, and telling me she was galloping, and then updating me on her bowel movements. Weirdly the distance from her made me notice little things about her speech that I hadn't really paid attention to before. Like the fact that she says "mine" instead of "my." I had actually noticed this before, but for the first time I realised it made her sound a bit German.

"I did poo in mine knickers."

It made me want to reply to her in German, but sadly the only phrase I know is "Don't come any closer or I'll get Mr Knobbly" and this seemed a bit inappropriate*.

Day Three

Now I was missing the Family.  At about ten I got a phone call from the Boy's school saying they've had to take him out of class because

"He's a bit rashy."
"Right. 'Rashy'... I'm guessing (and hoping) you're not the school nurse. The Wife did say he wasn't feeling well earlier this week."
"Yes, there's been a case of *mumble* foot and mouth going around the school."
"You what?"
"Its nothing to worry about."

Right at this point I had a mental image of this

Note: This is NOT Eric Pickles Barbecue

Except with school children not cattle..

"What did you say it was?"
"Hand foot and mouth."
"Right. Is that foot and mouth?"
"No, its a childhood viral infection. Its not serious, but it is contagious and we had to take him out of class. We've tried calling your wife, but I'm afraid I can't get an answer. The Boy is fine. He's reading a book about sharks."

So I called the Wife on her mobile. Nothing. Then the home phone. Then the Mother-In-Law, then the Sister-In-Law (Chief Chirpa, for those regular readers amongst you), then the other Sister-In-Law. Then I called the Wife again. And again. And again. Finally, after about an hour I got through, and she trundled off to pick him up leaving me to spend the next three hours responding to text messages from everyone I'd phoned asking why I'd phoned.

 Later that evening

"Hi dad. How is your course?"
"Its alright, Boy. Are you being good?"
"Yes." (Pause) "I'm not even lying."
"Er... good. How are you feeling?"
"My face hurts. But I'm alright. I'm reading a book. Its about sharks."
"Right. Are you there Girl?"
"Yes. I'm Slartibartfast."
"Ok... What?"
"I'm Slartibartfast."
"No, I'M Slartibartfast. Dad! Tell her I'm Slartibartfast!"
"NO. YOU NAUGHTY!"
*Smack*
"Aieeeeee!"

I should explain, I'd given them nicknames the previous week of Slartibartfast and Zaphod Beeblebrox (I'm not known for my originality). I'd forgotten this. Clearly they hadn't. We chatted uneventfully for about ten minutes and then the Boy terminated the call with the words;

"Dad? Get off Skype, I want to go on the CBeebies website."

Day Four

At this point, due to extreme boredom, I'd decided to eat myself into a coma at every meal. After full English breakfasts, two course lunches and three course meals, I was regretting not bringing another more voluminous pair of trousers. Finally, however I managed to get a video image out of Skype.

"Hi Boy, show me your face... JESUS CHRIST!"

Watching a viral rash appear over days is one thing, seeing it suddenly after three days is something else. It looked like the plague. Turns out it wasn't Hand, Foot and Mouth - it was impetigo. Similar thing, very contagious.

"No one's allowed to kiss me. Especially not the Girl. Which is good. I'm allergic to kissing. Dad. Why can't I hear you?"
"Because I'm not saying anything."
"Oh."

Day Five

Back in the bosom of the Family. Huge cuddles, laughs and kisses.

Twenty minutes later - the first argument.

*Komm nicht nahe, oder ich hole Herr Geknollegaber - I believe. Just in case you were wondering.