Thursday, May 25, 2006 |
And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon...
After we had discussed the goings on of Day care that day, (apparently the oldest got into trouble for pulling his pants down and pointing his bum at a group of girls), I decided it was time. There was just some primeval 6th sense inside of me that told me "now is the time".
So I pointed my finger at him and said the words that will stay with me forever;
"Son, pull my finger".
Thankfully I was able to perform with perfect timing and the look on his face was priceless. He didn't know wether to look amazed or laugh or both. In fact he took my hand to make sure I didn’t have anything in it and when he couldn't find anything he said;
"Dad your finger is magic! Can you do it again?"
"Sorry boy. The magic has worn off for now. Maybe in the morning".
Sadly like so many childhood mysteries, the magic faded and they discovered the secret behind this mysterious event. But today brigs a new joy. As I'm trucking the boys and their mates to soccer training I hear from the back seat, "Hey pull my finger and see what happens."
From Father to Son it passes and so it will continue throughout the ages like a farmer handing over his land to his oldest son or a Mason sharing the secret handshake and the names of the next 4 American Presidents.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006 |
Comments, comments. Who's got the comments?
I'll investigate a way of bringing them across to the new system however I'm not sure if this is going to be possible.
Monday, May 08, 2006 |
I'm an Easter Egg Deviant
The first encroachment on my Easter Egg eating rights came 3 years ago when we were at my parents house for the holidays. As usual, I received a gluttonously large amount of chocolate and so did my Father. The problem was that for the first time, we were unable to wallow around the lounge room groaning under the weight of our sweet, sweet bounty. If we did, then by rights the boys should be able to have some as well. In case you're not aware, 2 year olds and large amounts of chocolate don't mix very well and it’s quite impossible to hide it from them.
At first we tried to trick them.
“Dad, what are you eating? Is it chocolate?”
“No son it’s just a carrot.”
“But Daaaaad carrots aren’t that colour! Show me the carrot you’re eating! Hey you’re eating Easter Eggs aren’t you!! Where’s my Easter Eggs?! I want my Easter Eggs!!! EEEEEGGGGGGSSSSS!!!!”
After being outsmarted by 1 and 2 year boys, we were forced to indulge in hiding. No longer could I laze on the lounge, lovingly cradling an Easter Egg bigger than my own head. Instead, if we wanted any of the good stuff we were forced to hide out in our rooms and lock our doors as if we were 14 year olds armed with an underwear catalogue and a box of tissues.
And so it has been from that year to this. While kilos and kilos of chocolate lay hidden in my wardrobe, mocking me from the musty darkness, I'm constantly monitoring the boys for the slightest sign of tiredness. If only the boys had a sleep I could have some chocolate.
“Don’t you feel tired boys? Wouldn’t a sleep feel so good? I wish I could have a sleep. Sleeps are sooooo much fun. Hmmmmm sleeeeeeep."
But no. Of course even the small amount of chocolate they are allowed to have is more than enough to keep them wide awake.
So now every Easter for the foreseeable future, I’m forbidden to eat Easter Eggs in daylight hours and am instead destined to scarf them down during the night like some kind of Vampire with an eating disorder.
Friday, May 05, 2006 |
Bloody Video Hits!
I've put this up so everyone can hear what I have to put up with every day because of Saturday bloody morning TV music shows!
Enjoy the Black Eyed Peas as performed by Kindergarten boys.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006 |
The C word
Today as I travel down the freeway from a day out with my 4 year old son, he starts to go on about how he doesn't care what his older brother calls him;
"I don't care if he calls me a bum bum."
"I don't care if he calls me a poo head."
"I don't even care if he calls me the F word."
"That's enough talking about that kind of thing son."
"And Dad I don't even care if he calls me the C word!"
At this point I'm thinking holy crap on a stick my four year old son knows what the C word is!! Tentatively I ask him what the C word is and hold my breath, ready to watch the beginning of the end of his innocence through the rear view mirror, "What is the C word son?"
"Bugger. The C word is bugger and I don't even care if he calls me that." I've never been gladder that 4 year olds can't spell.
