Dead Tired

“Just think of pansies and keep on sleeping.”

It’s Sunday and it’s a good day to sleep in, at least us parents think so. The three kids aren’t having it.

The eldest comes into our bedroom at 6:51. I can hear her pacing at the foot of the bed. Lie still, I tell myself. Very still. Maybe she’ll go back to bed. But she’s not having it. And then my wife with tremendous effort lifts her head off the pillow and tells her to get into bed.

She crawls in between us.

I lie very still, my eyes closed.

But I can feel her looking at me. Then she pokes me. And pokes me again.

I move. I can’t help it.

And she turns to mummy and says, “Phew! I thought he was dead.”

Flush

“Daddy! You forgot to flush!”

My three children have a lot to learn about life, and it can be quite entertaining.

We were walking on the sandy lane behind our house, in the forest. Suddenly my seven-year-old daughter slipped. Her knees saved her from doing the splits, and her hands. Both were now covered in mud. That’s what she slipped in – a muddy patch created by a torrential rain two days earlier.

I had steered clear of the muddy patch, and she’d gone straight through – and straight down.

“Daddy, help!” she shouted.

I helped her up and handed her all I had to wipe off the mud, two plastic bags. They weren’t much help. But she wanted to press on with the walk under the warm morning sunshine. So did the other two kids, and four-ton the dog.

She kept me abreast of the transformation of the mud as it dried on her knees and hands.

“Now it’s cracking,” she said.

Then she explained, “If you peel it off, it’s grey underneath.”

We made it home and she ran to tell mummy about the incident and the transformation of the mud.

“See,” she said, showing off her hands and knees.

Then she told her what she’d learned.

“Don’t ever walk in the mud with flip flops,” she said.

I thought, I’m going to write that one down and include it with the wisdoms learned from my youth, such as:

  • Never swing from banisters above a staircase – or only do so carefully. If you fall, you could break your wrist. I did.
  • If you play in the rain at school, your parents will find out.
  • Take toilet paper on long walks in the country. No explanation needed.

Of course, I’m always learning, right along with the kids. My five-year-old son just reminded me so. Indeed, he’s learning his toilet manners very well.

“You have to flush the toilet, daddy!” he tells me.

“Oh, yeah. Of course.”

Doubly Gross

“Yeah, it’s even got me gagging.”

Kids can be, well, rather gross.

I was, no doubt. I’d laugh with friends at flatulence (a more proper word, of course, for the final product of flatulence) as well as burps and spitting. We’d utter entire sentences while belching, even go for paragraphs. We’d write our names in the snow with… And a friend once earned the nickname of Snotrag for, well, blowing a snot so long that it went from his nose to the sand at a beach in central California.

So it shouldn’t have made me queasy when my seven-year-old daughter snotted out a rather large white one into a plastic cup of water while in the bath. She said she was saving it.

What for? The Snot Fairy?

She didn’t say why.

She left it on the side of the bath and went to put her pajamas on with her brother and sister.

The surprise came when I went back to the bathroom and found the now empty cup in the hands of my one-year-old girl, who looked up at me with wet lips.

Yes, you can say, “Yuk!”

I did.