Responsibilities

Responsibilities

So I had a fight with him indoors today.

I had a migraine and stayed in bed this morning while he got up with the baby, the four year old was at Grandparents so not so much to do, not really, just one little lad, fairly early but still.

Of course migraine or no migraine if he hadn’t been there I would have had to have got up and sorted out the little fella, but as he was there I thought I’d take advantage!

I still had to shout helpful reminders from my sick bed, you know the basics like he’s been up for two hours now maybe the child needs a drink, some breakfast, you know, helpful stuff like that.

Finally, by about 9.30a.m. I managed to medicate and get up we agreed he would pop next door and feed the neighbours cats just as he was on his way downstairs to check his phone – ‘Put your pants on first’ I said ‘Then you can go straight next door’

He snapped, ‘I’m not like you I can’t multi-task! I‘ll do it later!’

It was a kind of revelation  to me, never really considering putting your pants on as a multi-tasking activity rather a daily necessity but I left it at that.

Then I washed and dressed the baby, cleaned his teeth, made the bed, got dressed, tidied the boys room, put the washing away, straightened the books and numerous other jobs.........

I shouted down the stairs to see what he was doing.......

He was on the computer.

‘Can you please feed the cats!!’ I said, or rather I bossed.

This is what caused the row, my bossiness..... now dear reader I will admit I can be bossy, it is my nature, but what really gets my back up is being called ‘bossy’ or even worse (God forbid he calls it me again after last huge row we had) a ‘nag’ for just making sure what needs to be done gets done.

Why is it nagging if you ask someone to do something? Oh yes it’s because he doesn’t do it so you have to ask again, and again and again and then it is me nagging and not him not bloody doing what we’ve agreed!!!

By now it was way past Kitty ‘Breakfast Time’ and he had made a commitment pants or no pants to feed those cats that was his responsibility, gentle reader I was fairly shaking with rage!

He managed the unthinkable mid-argument a reference to permanent PMT just to take fury to wrath and beyond! (Has he learnt nothing from our years together!)

He did go and feed the cats that broke the row for a while.

When he came back I tried to calmly explain why I was so upset, the need to prioritise, the responsibilities .........

The fact I am know bestowing my most precious gems, my beautiful boys to him to look after  when I’m at work.

He shrugs and begins to say, ’I would never forget to feed the boys ......’ the sentence fades he does not finish it, he remembers he has many, many times forgotten to feed them, fortunately my resourceful little 18month old will raid the cupboard and trot to him carrying raisins or pombears or whatever he can get his hands on before shoving it at my other half until opened, yes I don’t suppose my little monkeys will starve!!!

Too Much Too Young!

We’ve just returned from a glorious break in Leicester, fantastic company, amazing weather and exciting activities. We were with a large group of friends and sometimes moved as a mob of twenty slightly unyielding but good fun.

On Sunday we went to Conkers in the National Forest perfect sunny day to be outside, real sun shine for the soul stuff.

All was going well, calm, gentle even, quiet..............

Until we stumbled upon an assault course –

‘This assault course is for adults and teenager definitely NOT (capital letters underlined) for children’ the sign proclaimed.

But everyone knows babies can’t read and the 18 month old thought  it was not only his wish and desire but he’s god given birth right to climb on a six foot wall with a knotted rope!

Yes, my very own danger baby wanted to climb, crawl and swing over an army style assault course like his big cousins were doing – them assisted by the Dads and him bravely trying to monkey bar, under net and hurdle walls..........

He was determined.

Then the rope bridge, tricky even for the Dads and almost ‘Raiders of the Lost Ark’ in its proportions – (I did say almost!) Rickety and swinging in the wind as cautious reeboked feet teetered across.

The 18 month old was single minded in his tenacious determination to get across this bridge.

I tried to distract with bubbles – usually a winner! He faltered for a minute..... ‘Bubbles darling, look bubbles!’

‘ Buba!!’ he replied - he popped a few, chased a few then caught sight once again of his holy grail and marched off in the direction of the plank that leads the way.

By this time quite a noisy war had begun between me and the crazy baby, he yelled and screamed his most vocal protestation over my now pathetic and inept, ‘Bubbles! LOoooook!’

The peace of the national forest now blown so in a gallant bid to quiet him, my brother took him up to the plank ramp for a walk to the top. My brothers effort to make him see it really was too high for a baby – even a krypton factor style baby – to attempt.....alas  only fuelled his now single passion, he reason for living, his one true goal  -  was to become master of this rope bridge, yes master.  Baby overlord of the bridge, the forest, the world, neehahaha!!!!!!

Eventually the noise became unbearable and I scooped up the writhing screaming mass of 40% snot 60% baby and with him in full on tantrum mode I strode our way, partner and 4 year old in tow, to the willow labyrinth.

The labyrinth proclaimed itself to be different to a maze, a solvable, ancient pattern of meditative proportion. A pensive space to contemplate questions big or small as you can imagine the angry faced toddler belting out a rhythmic squealing lament kind of rid the space of the reflective quality the landscape gardeners intended.

10 minutes later he was running through the labyrinth killing bad dragons and shaking hands with good ones with his brother.

Crisis over for now.........

Green is the Colour!

If my four year old is offered anything, a sticker from the Speech and Language therapist, an ice lolly from the van or a felt tip for colouring, I pretty much know which one it’s going to be.

The first and most important deciding factor for him like a lot of other four year olds is colour. He will always choose green.....it started as a Ben 10 thing and now it’s just grown, it’s anything and everything if it can be green he’ll choose it – (this of course does not work for green beans, sprouts or mange tout no matter how many times you call them, ’Ben 10, power green beans ’or ’Ben 10, power sprouts’ or ’Ben 10, power mage tout’)

I suppose I have somewhat inadvertently encouraged this, I bought him Ben 10 toothpaste, lovely bright green stuff - of course we had to throw it away when we realised it turned him into a hyper maniacal wall climbing screaming crazy kid.....just before bed time every night  - it seems he has a sensitivity to a range of ‘e’ numbers including tartrezean and other azo-dyes that make green really really green!

We bought him a limited edition green micro scooter, partly because he loves green but partly because the red and blue ones are everywhere and I had visions of the then inflexible three year old scrapping every kid in the park thinking they had his scooter.......

When I was at school green was the colour of snot and bogies. I know this because I was in the green house at junior school, and we were called the snots or the bogies by the other teams needless to say we never ever won anything. To make matters worse, the green team which was named after a river (Calder, blue, Ribble, red and Wyre, yellow) was named Lune.

So we were the snotty coloured loonies, it was embarrassing and put me off green for a long, long time.

Green now encompasses ideas and philosophies that no one even thought of during the A team watching, roller skating, heart beats like a drum (boom, boom –boom, boom) 80’s days of my youth.

Everyone wants to be green. How could you not, especially if you are a parent it’d be immoral not to wouldn’t it? ......the world is precious surely, worth buying bio-degradable nappies, re-cycling all that coloured plastic, putting your kids in hand me down pants?

Even David Cameron and his blue rinse set re-branded the flaming torch for a green tree – really Dave? Nature? Bio? Organic? The party that cares?

Well, I suppose green is the colour of dirty money......

For me red for politics, blue for football and green, green, green for my boys!

(But can I persuade my fella we are not too old to try again for a little pink?)