Thursday, October 27, 2011

Sylvia Plath's Oven Baked Fries

My wife has been saying for a few weeks now that my son needs a haircut. His hair is - as you'd expect - thin but still somehow long. It's started refusing to move easily though. So since he got up this morning it's been sticking up all over the place. My wife has some unwritten rule (I lie - she likes making lists so she's probably actually written it down somewhere) that if a man/boy's hair comes over the ear at all then it needs to be shaved off. I'm fine for him to just look like a two year old boy usually does. It's not like he looks like Mowgly. Besides - he loves getting his own head wet and making his hair into funny shapes. I can't take that away from him.

My kids have been absurdly happy this morning. This is because they have heard the Thomas the Tank Engine song about ten times. The song for Thomas is so freaking jolly you could soundtrack anything to it and kids would dance. I want to dance to it and I am clinically depressed. Go on try it yourself. Put it on an MP3 player and show your four year old the footage of Moammar Gadhafi being killed as well and they'll still dance around giggling and jolly. That has Youtube Hit written all over it.

This morning I think I've washed my daughter's hands about five times. Then I gave in and washed her. Last night being sick she went to bed without being cleaned. This morning she highlighted how poor a decision that was by jamming her hands into her bits and bobs and then just royally stinking. I don't want my child to be the one at school that smells so I gave her a scrubbing down and extra-clean immediately-washed clothes to wear. I was risking it by taking my son into a bubble bath at 10.30 in the morning knowing that was his Go Time for pooing as well. And after chuffing one out on his mother last week I was nervous. Especially as the bubbles would hide the offending loaf/pebbles/manta-ray-shaped-shit until it would be all over us all. Thankfully for me whilst filling the bath he decided to, "make a delivery" before I took his clothes off. So the bath was actually really well timed.

Being the kid that smells is not something people forget. And I've been around all the four year old kids in her class. I can tell some of them are either the future name-callers or the name-callees. Its the same as being one of the girls in your area that has sex on the football field when she's fourteen. I don't remember her name at all or anything else about her. Or the girl who completely enveloped a Mars bar in a way it definitely was not intended to be used. Every now and again I remind someone I went to school with about that and they know who I mean, but not her name.

So I very much need to keep my girl pure. Because it doesn't matter what she does for the rest of her school life - all the boys in school will think she's a slut. At least that happened in my school. This is a smaller area mentally (although somehow not actually geographically) than where I went to school. If my kids make a poor start to life they'll have a reputation for their entire life. It doesn't even need it to be true. When I was at university I remember walking behind a group of maybe twelve year old school boys who were openly lauding the whore-like nature of a girl at school in their class who had boobs. That's it - she hadn't done anything sexually because she would also have been twelve. But they all referred to her as, "The Slot Machine." In an area like this my daughter so much as holds hands with a boy and she'll be known as Sally Spit Roast from here to Syracuse. Which is why - as I mentioned before - we are moving to South Georgia Island to study tapeworms.

My son has thankfully decided to nap this morning. The early start started to wear him down. Everything was off - they were done with breakfast by 6am and demanding lunch at 10am. I usually get that done 90 minutes later but their early start combined with the freezing cold had me reinventing last night's hasselback potatoes (big let down) into re-done french fries. I just cut them up and chucked them back in the oven for a bit to get crispy. I covered some in cheese too for myself. I jokingly called the recipe, "Sylvia Plath's Twice-Baked Suicide-Fries" knowing that my daughter wouldn't know what that meant, nor actually be able to say her name to anyone to ask what on earth I was on about.

After that my daughter launched into an impromptu diatribe about recycling. Which I already do. But she'd been watching TV this morning (sue me - I needed a morning off) and all of them had the same theme. If you have kids you will have seen it by now - the kids in the program will band together to save a tree from being cut down by The Man. In the one of them the kids stopped a parent from digging up a tree stump because if he did the Earth would die. Somehow this was all tied to recycling plastic bottles as well. So my daughter told me not to throw out any plastic bags or glass because it hurts animals. I'm glad she's socially aware of these sorts of things but I wish it would actually make sense. All these American, "grow more trees!" shows would make sense in the UK where there are no trees. But not here. I live at the cusp of a forest bigger than Wales. There are billions of trees here. Trees are very much not a problem. Offsetting with trees is a ridiculous way for people to keep doing what they are doing and for someone else to make money.

The commercial movement to, "go green" is such horseshit you see. The Bag For Life thing in the UK is absurd because it lays the fault and resolution for the mass consumption of plastic and glass all up to you. I don't know how these massive multinational corporations that ship shit all over the world, because it's much much cheaper to have foreigners do stuff like that, have done this. What I do know is that they overnight managed to convince British people to actually pay money for plastic grocery bags - magically making more money for themselves in the process - whilst making people feel like if they didn't repeatedly buy a Bag For Life then they are effectively shitting directly into a dolphin's mouth. And now British people are still carting their pork loin home encased entirely in a hermetically sealed plastic coffin and being chided for being evil to the planet. Even the frikking mangoes and avocados come in a plastic casket. The sentiment is somewhat sensible but the aim is all wrong.

Of course here no one gives the slightest shit about being green. Christians in the UK are intrinsically tied to the environmental movement. Conservation is Christian. Somehow in the US espousing any kind of environmentalism equates to not believing in God because he wouldn't hurt his chosen people. Which somehow misses the entire point of the Old Testament. Warmongering and medicine is apparently all well and good, but recycling is Satanic.

My daughter though does want to be helpful and that's a start. If she wouldn't waste her food I'd be happy. Mind she is trying. For lunch she had me make a whole salami sandwich and then ate all the meat and one piece of bread. Remembering my discussions about food waste she licked the salami flavor off the other piece of bread and gave it to me to have for my lunch. When I reminded her I don't eat bread she said I could also lick off the mayonnaise and then give the bread to her brother.

Which Heston Blumenthal would inevitably claim is actual food as long as it was licked by a celebrity hang-gliding or something ludicrous.

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