I'm not saying that my son is evil. That's obviously for the authorities to determine. But what I do know is that he does do thing that seem to be the sort of thing an assassin who happens to be two would do. First up he ran all the way across the living room with a pencil this morning and stabbed me in the heart. Being two it softly bounced off my manly pectoral muscle. Then later on when I was building him a shed to put his lego train in he whipped around and started kicking me in the groin. It would have been scarier if he wasn't shrieking, "WINKIE FOOT!" at the same time. But still - the mixture of childish silliness and brutal aggression was quite nefarious.
Add that I remembered apropos of nothing that in my daughter's closet is a foam alphabet floor puzzle that he's never even seen. She goes to a tumbling/dancing class on Tuesday nights - during which he has been maniacally assembling one that they had. And yet we had one at home ourselves. So this morning I pulled it out and we played with it for 45 minutes. When I tried to do something else he went mental. I eventually convinced him to play with it himself by making it into a rectangle and putting a train in it to make it seem like a shed. Then periodically he would dismantle it and become feverishly enraged when he realized what he'd done. I'm not saying he didn't behave like a cross between Roger in Lord Of the Flies, Varvara and Mike Patton, because that would imply he didn't. He was a touch upset by the frustration of not being able to build the thing himself. It's the sort of shit parenting choice on the same level as letting a two year old and a five year old play Kerplunk unsupervised. One hundred sharp stabbing implements and marbles going all over the place is a recipe for utter mayhem. The only respite I have is that he didn't do that creepy high-pitched screaming the kids in Torchwood did. Whoever came up with the idea of having school children chanting "We Are Coming" should be both imprisoned and credited with coming up with the entire principle for the dodgy Welsh television show The Valleys.
But what really has persuaded me otherwise is the weird look he's been giving people lately. Something as simple as telling him to sit down and eat dinner brings forth the furrowed brow aninking d death-stare. You can see him making a mental note to add you to a list. And then applying a suitable weapon to torture you with. Weirdly I don't remember very much from being younger but when he does it I see me as as little boy. I haven't had a camera handy to record it for the police (when they arrive later on to assess the crime scene). But this is absolutely spot on.
Amusingly I did try and get a snap of it by telling him couldn't hide his train in the broken tumble dryer the other day. I hoped that it would lead him to a murderous despair and he would give me the demon-stare. Instead he did this. It isn't scary at all. It looks more like he's been snorting a Vick's VapoInhaler
Speaking of the dryer I definitely earned my Man Points yesterday. On Sunday my wife - after I pointed out that the clothes in the dryer just aren't drying - pointed out that when you turn it on the drum doesn't turn anymore. Adding that tot the fact that the lint tray had snapped off and the control switch is dangling by a I-will-kill-you-one-day wire on top ( I don't even remember how it got like that - it is possible statistically that my son rigged a dirty-bomb to it that never went off) led me to state that we likely need a new dryer.
Then I looked at how much they cost. Evidently my cheapitude is greater than my ineptitude. Because I instantly decided that $4 for a dryer belt is a much better cost than a minimum of $400. I watched an online video of how to fix it and determined that I had no idea what I had just seen. But I boastfully sent my wife an email that we (that means I would start and her enormous inclination to take over once I hit a snag would determine whether "we" could fix it or not) would have a go at replacing the belt later that night. At the very least I hoped that her bizarre proclivity for looking at technical information of any kind and instantly absorbing it as long-held knowledge would mean that when I moaned "I have no idea what to do now" would be helpful.
Much to my amazement I figured it out and fixed it pretty easily. In hindsight it was piss-easy. But let's pretend it wasn't so that my Man Points mean more. Add to that my heroism when I realized that bees were buzzing in and out of the attic vent right above where I sleep and murdered them all and you're currently reading the words of a bona fide Man. To put a cherry on top of all that manliness my son and I raked all the leaves in the front and side yards before being sucked off by the man from the town (nb-:rephrase this lest people think there's a pervert on the loose and/or it diminshes the sheer unrelenting manliness of the rest of this blog entry) in his weird vacuum truck.
See - it's not weird. Although being caught videoing three men in a truck while stood in my doorway wearing my Captain Cheesestick sweatbands was a bit odd.