Today started as most Sundays start for us, with being woken up by the kind of screaming that only horror films show. I wasn’t sure what the argument was about between my little girl and my son, but it was enough to wake the dead! I was hoping that breakfast, snack, children’s television followed by a second breakfast would heal any argument. Actually maybe the United Nations should consider breakfasts and television for resolving arguments between countries as it usually works every time with my kids.
After breakfast I was hoping the rest of the day would be as happy as the sunshine outside, however bathtime was announced and my son decided he would disagree with this. As we started to the stairs we had a tantrum like no other. I like to think of tantrums using the acronym P.A.R.P. First he started with ‘P’. This is the painful scream, and most tantrums can usually be judged with the severity of the first scream. After the horror film type scream comes ‘A’ which is for arms. These wrap around your legs like a rugby tackle, to ensure you really do realise how bad the situation really is in their eyes. After the arms comes ‘R’ which we all know brings the reaffirming scream to ensure you have not forgotten how desperate they are. During the ‘R’ stage my son let out a scream that sounded like a classic car starting without oil for the first time in ten years with metal on metal grinding. After all we all know that bath water can kill, can’t we! Finally we move to ‘P’ which is the final stage of the tantrum and this is for “Please.” By this I do not mean just one, no this is a series of pleases which are in rapid succession like a machine gun issued by the little person having the tantrum. Most parents who have survived to the fourth stage of a tantrum are winners, and with just a little more breath and naughty words being thought, are able to survive until the storm is over!
After the ‘killer bathwater’ my son somehow survived and I saw him at church for his next party piece. My son moved past a couple of hundred people with a small rucksack, which I had presumed was filled with toys. An alarm should have gone off when he started unzipping it and grinning like an evil villain in a crime film. The next thing I knew Batman shot past us at the front with his arm stretched forwards wearing sandals that flashed when he ran. I am pretty sure that Batman does not live in Dorset, and if he did would not shoot past a few hundred people at full speed ready to tackle a criminal mastermind in sandals. I think a few hundred people were as shocked as I was, but only one parent was going to do the walk of shame, and as he found the drums at the front, it was only me doing that walk of shame. Yes, today Barman played the drums like never before! Nothing like a bit of attention when you are trying to keep out of the limelight.
So let’s recap, there was the mother of all tantrums, Batman playing the drums and sandals, and we had not even made 11am, surely things could not get worse? Well my son decided to pull out all the stops and really go for it. I heard a small voice saying “Does anyone know why he’s got a rock and carving on the polished coffee table?” Why? Why me? Have I done something bad? I walked in to the front room to find a young Leonardo carving his next masterpiece into a highly polished, once priceless piece of furniture! Trouble is, no matter what punishment I enforce only one desperate, feeling already low dad was going to have to apologise. As I write this it’s only just gone 3pm, and already Batman has struck multiple times. If anyone needs me I am claiming a problem with diarrhoea and hiding in the loo until bedtime.