It's Good To Be Home

Yesterday marked my return from a longer than normal trip. There was even a bit of drama at the end which, when MPLST was informed, was serious enough for her to remind me she loved me.

I'll not bore you with the details. Suffice to say that once I finally did arrive home, it was enough of a reminder to really enjoy the simple, every day things you take for granted. As R and I walked home from school, I was revelling in the idle chit chat of what I'd missed over the preceding couple of weeks, he informed me I was not only a silly daddy, but THE only silly daddy in the whole wide world. Wonder why he thinks that......


Today, middle boy and I were reading and playing. I pointed to his ears and asked, "What do we do with these?" I was met with a blank look, underneath which hid the words "WTF do you think I am, an African Elephant?!?"
I explained...you listen with these. "What about these, what do you do with these?" I pressed on, pointed to his bonnie blue eyes. At this point, he fluttered them back at me in another silent answer. Fair point son, can't really argue with that, but the penny seemed to drop when I explained we see with our eyes.....
Feeling my son grasping where all this was going, I touched his nose. "And this? What do you do with this?"

"Pick it."

Silly dad indeed.

Football or Comedy?

Must take more photos. I picked up a photography handbook I bought for MPLST a few years back yesterday in a bid to try and match my somewhat limited capability with my rather inflated ambition. I took that one up there this morning from the garden. Nae three bad, even if I am blawing ma' ain trumpet!

Anyhoos, back to stories which will humiliate my kids on their 18ths and beyond. We went away over New Year to a little cottage on the Isle of Skye and had ourselves a very quiet New Year together. On New Years morning, the eldest two boys and I were up, fed and settled on the sofa in time to watch the repeat of Match of the Day from the previous evening (which was on far too late for an old git like me - Hogmany or not!)

I was acutely aware of big boy (perhaps not the best way to describe him given the circumstances) having his hand down the front of his PJ bottoms fiddling with his willy. He continued until he'd worked himself up his first boner of 2012.

Next I hear "Oscar, Oscar, look how long my willy is!" as I glance to my left to find he has pulled his jammy bottoms down and is rather proudly holding his willy in his hand so his brother can check for himself. They were agreed, big boy was in fact, a Big Boy.

Not wanting to spoil their fun, I left them to it - eyes front watching the footy with a wry smile. Next I hear "Reuben. Look! My willy is smaller than yours!" Eyes left again, to see my second son now copying his elder brother and displaying himself in much the same way.

Giggling away to myself, I continued to focus on the BBC in the way that any irresponsible father would. I couldn't keep a straight face though, when they decided, with their PJ bottoms around their respective knees, that they needed to actually contort their legs together such that one boys willy was right next to the others and a fair and accurate assessment of who had the longer tadger could be conducted. "Get it right over here, get that bit next to this bit........"

Obviously, you really had to be there. It tickled me though.

Here's a cheeky picture of "Small Boy" taken when we were away.

Santa Isn't Coming This Year

The gaps between blogs are getting bigger. The gaps between witty blogs even bigger again. It's got to the point that I'm getting emails (ok, email singular) asking me if the blog is still going.

Of course it is. I've just got nothing to say. I could whine about how busy we've been, how we've had no time in the run up to Xmas, or how I am stuck on this lump of steel until the 27th but I'm not going to. Aside from the last point, we've got the same hassles as every other family out there.

I might just whinge about my daughter (or rather my ex wife!) and that damn DS. Her mother forbid her to bring it to my house all year in case her little brothers broke it (which was fine by me), but then decided to let her bring it on the two visits before Christmas. The outcome of this you can get in detail from the wife's blog in detail, but to get you in the picture, R changed his Santa wishlist only a few days ago. After Santa has done his shopping. Rumour has it that SS was heard telling her brother to "just ask for one, you can get it in whatever colour you like." Who am I to spoil Xmas for a little boy who seldom asks for anything.......?

Or I could tell you that I was a pratt of the highest order. The storms had forced a tree over in our garden a few months back. I decided (eventually, as my Mrs like to remind me) to cut it down and dig the root out. I spent nearly a whole day grafting my backside off - no mean feat for a self confessed desk jockey now - but couldn't quite shift the last bit of the root. Ahh ha says me, I'll get the truck and a tow rope and full the fecker out.

I got myself organsied. In a rather manly kind of way, with my jeans hanging off my arse, I lifted said root from every direction to make sure all the big roots were broken. It was just a tad heavy for me on my lonesome. I got the truck into position, got the rope around the root, connected it all together and gave it some welly.

MPLST at this point (she never tires of reminding me of this bit) says what's that smell? It'll be nothing I assure her, just give it a bit more. Mmm, this root is more stubborn than I thought. Give it more. And more........oops, no grips. Shit! Ahh, there's a big root right underneath I've missed says me.

A few days later the clutch dies and the truck is useless. Into the garage she goes.

Here's the lesson now (if you've not gotten bored yet). When I called home yesterday, I was told the truck was fixed, and asked how much I was budgeting for the bill. I was hoping for change out of £500 say me rather hopefully. I had a sneaky suspicion I was being somewhat ambitious judging by her smug "I told you so" attitude.......

Double it and add some, says the wife. And closely follows this with a bout of I Told You So about the burning smell.

Good bloody job Santa's elves can make a DS I tell you. Good job I'm out here for all the Christmas nights out too........

Ho ho ho.

Finding That Balance

We're still trying (and succeeding to some degree) to fight off the gaming world and it's appeal to our loons. This is their "moderated" PC time, playing on the Cbeebies website - as you can see, R loves it, and even gave up some TV time to have this hour on the PC. O just wants to see what's going on - he staying in this same pose for about an hour overseeing his elder brothers playtime.
Big sis came this week with her DS though, and he did try and stash it in his "secret hiding place" when I wasn't looking. We're determined that Santa isn't going down that particular road until Xmas 2012 though....

That was through the week though. We did get a little break in the weather though for a change this weekend, which meant big sister got her first ride on her new bike which has been dormant in my shed since July. Probably just as well though, as she is only just big enough for it. It was rather pleasing to hear her say "we should do this more often, Dad" when we got back up the drive on our return.

Looking back at last years cycling pictures, they've grown some since we did this last too.

Skool Does Actually Suck

Remember the days where your own head was full of "school sucks?" I thought I had gotten past all of that, but it turns out, school has a second wind.

A few months ago, I had this great mental image that with the onset of school for the big boy, and nursery for the middle boy, that my days would become a lot more, well easy I guess. How wrong was I?

A the meerkat says, the theory is simples. Instead of having to do one run to nursery, and another 3 miles away to playgroup, we should now be revelling in the simplicity of having nursery and school in the same building. It's fair to say, mornings follow the theory - but then it all goes pear shaped.

When you live in the middle of nowhere, what is one supposed to do for that two and a half hour spell in the morning? Can't go to town. No Xmas shopping. You can barely get a head of steam up in the garden. Then, once you've collected nursery boy, it's a matter of 4 hours until your next appointment at the school gate.

It seems more than ever that we are slaves to the school clock, and that somebody is actually robbing hours from the day. And, it means that I have to do my Christmas shopping at the weekend along with the rest of the world. That's one of the perks of working offshore wasted!