Today as I write this it’s Christmas Eve, and unlike the mushy films that continue with “. . . all is well!” ours is more like “. . . and all was not well in the Dorset Dad household!” I am currently referee amongst all the arguments and punch-ups with “That toy is mine!” and “He is breathing in my bedroom!” My wife, always the ray of encouragement in our house, cheered me up with “Oh don’t worry this is normal.” Me, I am hiding in my little cupboard typing and ducking when another piece of Lego flies across the room in Christmas frustration.
It all started this morning when Captain Chaos woke me up with his demands of breakfast, juice, television and a snack. As I was being so slow my lovely wife stepped in like a superhero and saved the day.
I needed to see my in-laws today so we were invited to lunch and I made the decision to drive down, even though it’s only a few minutes walk. I felt it would be safer to drive rather than having the kids showcase their continuous punch-ups to allow other people to pass judgement on our parenting skills in public. No sooner had we arrived than Captain ‘Whirlwind’ Chaos had broken my mother- in-laws calculator. Apparently if you smack it on the table it does not display numbers any more. I was about to say funny about that when my little girl was in the process of explaining the laws of gravity at seven years old to Captain Chaos, when he chose to take off with my wife’s granddad’s walking aid with wheels. Lunch as far as I was concerned, could not come quick enough as Captain Chaos was testing items for strength. So far the calculator had not passed, and the walking frame was looking peaky. My little girl made it abundantly clear that she couldn’t leave the table to tell us it was lunchtime because the food thieves would arrive, so it was left to my quiet son. Captain Chaos came through the lounge with a voice loud enough to be used as an air raid siren. He hadn’t even drawn breath before taking off at breakneck speed to sit at the lunch table. Everyone in that lounge knew we had seconds before his sticky paws started on the lunch buffet table. Even the elderly were now walking with vigour to get to the table before Hansel and Gretal left crumbs for everyone.
What happened next rocked my world to the core, and I mean very core! My son proudly announced he needed more food so he could have muscles like Mummy! Now every male likes to feel manly, and no one needed to hear “My Daddy’s more of a mouse than a man,” but apparently I fall into that camp. I pumped my arm and felt the solid, rock hard muscle pump into the size of a walnut and realised maybe I should be on TV in the advert of the weak man who cleans a kitchen with a product so powerful. My brother-in-law says when I wear shorts two pencils stick out the bottom, so yes people, I am feeling less of a man today.
After lunch my wife suggested that one of us should drive my wife’s bake-bean can with stabilisers for a car home, and one should walk. I volunteered as it could strengthen my relationship with the kids and convince them I do have muscles walking up the hills to home. We met my iron man wife at the supermarket at which point both kids left me immediately and ran screaming “Mummy!” Not that I felt insecure, but I pretended I was strong and kind and kicked the ground for a while, until they arrived back. We popped inside the supermarket and whilst there decided to treat the kids to chocolate eggs with a toy inside. Little did we know that before you open them, the top of the chocolate egg had different pictures at Christmas and we had a full scale punch-up apparently over the eggs being swapped. Dear chocolate egg maker, why oh why did you do this? Do you guys not have children? Surly you must understand the pain that different toys cause? After much bribery and coercion we managed to get the eggs swapped and walked home as very grumpy parents. You were expecting everyone to have walked home happy weren’t you? Be honest! Well halfway back to the house Captain Chaos declared in a loud voice that he needed a wee and it was coming! Seeing as public loos are not needed any more and are being sold off and closed faster than high street shops my wife said that the only option was to go on the side of a busy road.
As I end this blog my wife’s blood pressure is about to explode and my little girl just announced whilst my wife was hoovering that no one was helping her clean. This was followed by my wife’s veins throbbing on the side of her neck, the hoover going down, and well quite frankly I am off to hide under the stairs until tomorrow when it’s Christmas day. Hopefully it should be safe to come out by then! Night, night Dorset Dad.