APRIL 8, 2011
A few more days gone. I've broken a glass, lost the blowing end of a recorder in the car (I yelled quite a lot about foxes trying to find that and still no luck) and spilled a cup of coffee on a bunch of my old CDs. I have still been unable to convince my daughter not to put on every item of clothing she owns (including the St. David's Day outfit she has that my family sent over) before lunch. Nor have I located the source of whatever it is that has caused my son to "kick it up a notch" to a whole new level of diabolical pooing. Clearly his mother's child there.
Last night we were sat around the kitchen table eating dinner. My son was trying to shove one of the home-made chicken fingers I'd made into his mouth, but it kept jabbing him in the nose. My wife helpfully told him, "you don't want to put that up there - it won't feel good." To which I replied, "oh go on, you know you want to..." My wife looked at me with judgement. My daughter, still not four years old, said out loud, "don't put your winkie in the whoopsie daisy Daddy." Crap - I've only been in charge a week and a half and she's not only broken the code, but she's a pervert as well.
Actually much of the last week has gone like that. At the local library Story Hour my daughter yelled during the first story ( it was about a drum) without any reason, "my Daddy has a HUUUUGE horn!!" Which I do - it's yellow and purple. Then at the end they were singing a song about a rocket ship when she lay on the floor, stuck her arse up in the air and yelled, "look - it's bigger than the whole Moon!!!' Even today at the store while trying to pay she was playing a game I'd made up years ago - she'd squash my left ear (the Squeak Button) and I'd make a noise. Then she'd squash my right ear (the Toot Button) and very expectantly waited for me to make a huge farting noise with my mouth. Which I did - whilst handing the woman my BJ's membership payment card. Kind of appropriate actually.
Also - whilst at a class thing the kids were asked to make a wall out of things they don't like their parents doing. They each got to make a brick. My daughter's looks like this -:
Each parent was given it in a ceremony at the end of class. It was very much like those stories you hear about 8 year old school kids in Nazi Germany telling teacher that their parent's secretly like Gefilte Fish and gypsies. At which point they suddenly disappear. One of the other kids had one that said, "Touching" so I honestly felt alright about my brick.
I have figured out a way to stop outrageous tantrums though. It was an old standard of mine but it's working like a dream again. When my daughter has a breakdown I pull out Sophie The Onion Sniffer and The Potato Monster. Let me back up a second - if you don't have kids you need to understand that these tantrums are not based on anything actually happening. Tommy Tiernan explained it best when he did a stand-up bit about being completely unable to console his son for an entire day, because his son had lost his invisible sword. No one has ever found a solution to this because it's completely irrational. That is until Sophie The Onion Sniffer and The Potato Monster showed up at my house. To make it as simple (and yes, mental-sounding as possible) I should point out that Sophie is my right hand, and The Potato Monster is my left hand. That really is it. One day maybe a year ago my daughter was having a fit because she'd tried picking up a bag of onions and one fell out, and without thinking I pretended that my hand was alive and sniffing her all over for onions. That day Sophie was born. The next day The Potato Monster was born too. Since then Sophie's Mom (my left foot) and Bilbo the Bellybutton Basher ( the right foot) have emerged as well. Oddly according to my daughter Sophie's Mom and my wife got together to have Sophie (which is actually really really hot), whereas Bilbo came with the house. Fair enough. They don't come out very much though because making it look like your foot is talking is strangely difficult. My daughter is "wearing" Sophie and The Potato Monster most of the time - they are her friends after all - and she sometimes asks me to wear them so she can talk to them.
The good news is though that any tantrum, freakout or meltdown can be stopped in seconds by Sophie appearing, going on a hunt for onions and then just doing random shit. This is usually followed by my daughter talking to Sophie and The Potato Monster about the whole day as if they have no idea what's been going on, and also as if I was no longer around at all. All her real feelings, concerns, aspirations - whatever - come spilling out. Even better is that it solves other problems too. My daughter had randomly created a neuroses where she was concerned that while we were out someone would break into our house and steal the dog. I told her we could leave Sophie and The Potato Monster at home. She thought that was ace. So ace in fact that she also started leaving some of her old friends from our own personal version of Hide and Seek that we made up. Last time she opted to leave The Chocolate Chip Chicken and The Armpit Ambulance home to protect the dog.
I should probably explain. Every day when I would get home from work I would play the same game with my daughter. Basically it consisted of hiding under the duvet on my bed and me coming up with ridiculous monsters that were coming to get us. I would say, "oh no here comes the (insert name here)!!" and we would hide. Then I would tickle her. After a while she pulled back the duvet and said, "hey wait a minute that was you!!!" and I confess. Then we would do it again with a new monster. It started off with a ghost. Then that became a goat. Somehow that evolved to her yelling, "oh no here comes some Pope Juice!!" so I decided I would have to be the one who comes up with names from that point on.
Usually we would play this for about 15 minutes. Did it for maybe three months. Then one night my daughter wouldn't go to bed because she was certain that some of these monsters would tickle her if she tried to go to sleep. My daughter doesn't really know how to lie properly yet, so when you ask her a pointed yes or no question she always tells the truth. She essentially admitted she just didn't want to go to bed and made it up so she would have to come downstairs. That's a pretty air-tight excuse. So I can't play that game anymore.
So in honor of the game, I wanted to share some of the wonderful creatures and monsters that have been attacking my daughter and I for the last three months.
The Chocolate Chip Chicken
The Egg Sniffing Elephant
The Carrot Cruncher
The Hand Grabber
The Cheese Chimney
The Ear Licking Eskimo
The Candy Stealing Elbow Gobbler
The Turnip Tooter
Papa Smurf and The Jackson Five
The Potato Pincher
The Muffin Muncher
The Cabbage Crunching Canadian
The Armpit Ambulance
The Whoopsie Worm
The Donkey Licking Donut
Fifty Five Farting Farmers
The Insanity Orb
The Belly Basher
An Impending Sense Of Doom
L L Cool J (my personal favorite)
The Poop Pigeon
The Bellybutton Bandit
Hans Blix (another favorite)
The Underpants Unicorn (apparently not scary, according to my daughter)
and, of course, A Bus Full Of Poo.
Feel free to play this game with your friends.
Today I am going to meet my wife for lunch. She's still actually finishing off her other job so Tuesdays and Thursdays start at 6.30am and end at 10.30pm. Which means that when she goes to work she's a 34C, and when she gets home she's a 34FF. My favorite part about that is she says one minute she's explaining a workflow process to all her staff, and then without any warning her tits "go off." She could pump at work, but like she says - it sounds like she's blowing up balloon animals in her office. And considering that her tits get noticeably bigger presumably her employees think she's stuffing them up her shirt. As that can be uncomfortable, and it's nice to see the kids too, we can meet up, milk the boy, play at the playground and make it a little more tolerable for the next few weeks while she transitions to just one job.
Well - I guess I should go figure out why my kids are throwing cat food cans at each other (and oddly laughing about it). This sort of thing can only end in tears.