Some days I come home from work and can hear heated exchanges as I put my keys to the door, and I have to confess I take the key back out and wait. Tonight was quiet, very quiet, almost too quiet. Either something big just went down or something did not withstand Captain Chaos’s rigorous stress testing. As I came in I noticed that the room had the just burgled look and there was Captain Chaos being cuddled with little tears. As I got ready to give him a hug and act as Doctor Dorset Dad fetching the pink wonder drug or if it’s near death, the medicine with the orange syringe. Personally the pink wonder drug cures everything, but I was told don’t feel too sorry for Captain Chaos as he did a death defying leap off the sofa, despite telling him not too. Apparently he took off in mid air like a military soldier and landed like a clown with a red bucket.
In the interest of comedy I asked my son just what he was doing, to which he replied “I was being a dragon Daddy.” Oh ok, that’s crystal clear then son, but the only thing he failed to realise was that dragons have wings and he did not. After cuddles and checking his smelly foot multiple times my wife asked for a second opinion. Now highly trained doctors know what to look for. Me? All I knew was that his foot stank after being held hostage in a sock for the entire day. I checked it as best I could and gave the all clear after much retching noises from my stomach. Captain Chaos ate dinner and we presumed it was all good apart from a little hobbling to the table. It was not until dinner that he asked to be carried upstairs to bed. My back began to cry and beg, no wait plead not to, but my son asked for Mummy to carry him. At this point my back leapt for joy!
As I went to sleep later that evening I was having pleasant dreams until what I can only describe as a revised version of a World War 2 siren started screaming the house down. We shot up to Captain Chaos who told us his foot hurt, but again no visible bruises, scratches or swelling and my wife on comedy patrol asked for my opinion. Sorry Sweet Cheeks, at what point did I become a trained doctor? At school I was told my resuscitating doll died, I think they were telling me then that I was not crack hot at the doctor thing, but again I picked up the smelly science experiment foot and gave it the once over as my wife asked. Ok, my diagnosis was that it stank so bad that even deodorant could not cure it, it was way past my bed time, my body was tired, and so was Captain Chaos but no I couldn’t tell if anything was wrong. I suggested we phone the doctors for their opinion, and my wife was straight on the blower, talking to a nurse who concluded he should go to hospital and wait for hours until we had lost the will to live, and get x rayed. As soon as the phone was put down my son stopped sobbing, brightened up and asked for snack, juice and television. My wife asked me what we should do, but as it was late at night he would be the bottom of the waiting list, so unless he screamed we should wait until morning then visit the hospital.
Morning arrived and as we woke up he asked for snack, juice, television, breakfast and a cuddle. By the time His Majesty had finished his list of demands from his peasant servants, I was losing the will to live. We then asked him to walk downstairs. At this point his old war wound appeared and suddenly he could not walk on the leg. We did think this should be looked into, as we were now not sure, but felt it was not that serious if he could list out his demands.
When I came home my wife said she had taken him to the hospital and was given the all clear. They would not even x-ray him unless he really needed to. The hospital said to see how he was tomorrow, and any problems bring him back. I did want to question the ‘problems’ bit as I would ask about his seemingly endless energy, the amazing skill to make things fall apart in his presence and upon the arrival of us his parents on the scene claiming “I did not do it!” To me those are problems, could we come back and discuss those? I felt not, so drank my coffee and prepared for the evening meal. Amazing how the old war wound came back and he needed carrying to the dinner table, but the moment he needed to get down it magically disappeared as it involved going to play! Just call me Mr. Suspicious!