Today I was not feeling great, and my body felt more like a classic car that had seen the glory days, and was now rusting around the edges with tyres that were flat waiting to go to the scrapyard. What better way to revive myself that to have a long, hot bath, with lots of bubbles? Well, in theory that should have worked, but little did I know that my kids would conspire against me.
My wife announced she was going out for the evening, which sent me into a mini panic! Was I ready to be left alone at bedtime? What happened if they got up and asked for Mummy, or an object they know I would never find? Reassuring calm words came from my wife along the lines of “Not to panic,” and “Nothing, repeat nothing could go wrong!” So why is it that I am on the threshold of hell, with a clapped out body, bloodshot eyes, and one and a half children running around? Well it started when I went upstairs to find Captain Destruction out of his bedroom claiming he could not sleep as he needed a quick cuddle. I tucked him back in, and like the dollies you had years ago with the eyes that rolled back at a certain angle, his eyes shut when he lay down. After a quick cuddle, I was ready to claim I was a genius and text my wife to let her know that the child whisperer was in the house. That was until I got up, and he opened his eyes and grinned. I got my towel, squirted bubble bath like a vandal and watched the steam rise, to find Captain Destruction now asking what I was up to. Well son its like this, Daddy is feeling like your favourite cuddly toy after you boot him up the garden, so I need a bath to help me feel better. I tucked him back in for the second time, to now find the bathroom door shut. As I approached it my little girl announced from behind the door, “Just need the toilet!”
Seriously, who put an ad in the local paper and invited all and sundry to empty their bowels tonight? I was now on the floor praying it was only a wee, and was delighted when she left. Call it dad intuition but I had a feeling my son did not go to bed as it was too quiet, so I crept in his room to find just like Mother Hubbard’s cupboard, it was bare. I searched the house top to bottom and could not find him. Seriously if you are a plane manufacture trying to invent stealth technology, come see my son, he has only one mode during hide and seek called super stealth mode. After minutes of searching and pleading he came out of his hiding place and I frog marched him back to bed.
I hurried, ok I am being honest now, I legged it to the bathroom, closed the door, grabbed my magazine, and felt twenty years of stress fall off of me as I got into the hot bubbles. That was until the bathroom door swung open like the saloon doors in a western film, and I sat bolt upright. I faced a grinning son asking what I was up to. Again son, just in case you have the memory of a goldfish I will give you the short version, Daddy feels terrible, I need bath. Daddy in bath, you in bed! My son then asked could he have some of the bubbles for bed. Ok what would you do? A) be the loving parent and explain it will leave a damp patch in the bed, whilst your son looks at you in the bath ready to ask questions I was not ready for, or B) give in and hand over the bubbles. Well I quickly handed over some bubbles, and asked him to go to bed.
Aaah, back in the bubbles, another five years of stress floating away. Wait, no, scrub that, the door just crashed into the bath panel, and my son now wants more bubbles, wanting to know what I am doing, and could he tell me something. I was hoping for “Night, night Daddy, sorry to trouble you.” But this was not going to happen. I pleaded with him to go to bed, and after a lengthy question and answer session that would have made parliamentary question time look very part time, I gave in, and asked him to go back to bed as I was ready to get out of the bath.
I shut the door, and put the towel to my face to find my son had moved into stealth mode and was now grinning at me. I quickly position the towel and pleaded with my son to go to bed. I shut the door, and towelled myself off, but as I turned around…… guess who! Son, please if I was a classic car, I would have just been found burnt out on a roundabout, and the wreckers yard were on their way to tow me to the crusher. Please son, Daddy is on his knees! “Ok Daddy” and off he trotted. This was too easy as we both knew we would see each other really soon. I gave up and took my cold coffee downstairs and as I write this blog guess who is sitting on the sofa reading a book grinning at me? “Say hi to the people, son. Sorry what was that about I’m not tired?” I am guessing next week’s blog may be called ‘The longest night.’ I may have to be a wimp and call the emergency services, which in my case is my wife, to admit I am no longer a man but a burnt out shell of a man I once use to be! “Honey is that you, are you nearly home yet?”