Monday, October 21, 2013

My Son Is Daniel Day Lewis

Daughter (overheard her firmly telling her brother in the bath): Look Owen, if you don't get a pedicure then you're fired as my brother.

You know it's been awhile since I've taken my kids to their local library. Yesterday we zoomed over there to grab some books and a DVD to watch in case it rained. Being out of practice I forgot to check the books they were picking up. I normally let them get whatever, but check them to see ifthere's anything awkwardly demented in there. But I was busy chatting with the librarian and didn't see my son pop this into the bag until we were checking out.

Missed this beauty my daughter picked up until we got home too. It's hardly the usual reading matter of a six year old, is it?

My son has an incapacitated hand. He got a very slight cut on his finger and thumb after grabbing something under a slide. He didn't even notice till hours later until he saw a tiny amount of dried blood on his hand. Weirdly he's the complete opposite of his sister. Give her a band-aid and she behaves as if it has imbued her with super-powers. But I put two on him and he behaved as if the entire limb was dead. The way he was compensating had him one step away from emulating Christy Brown from My Left Foot. To pick up a cup he'd use his good hand and his other elbow. And at one point to pick up a toy train he went well overboard and used both his wrists and mushed it up against his face to get a good purchase. When I pointed out that not only could he use his bad hand, but there was absolutely no plausible reason he couldn't use his other hand, he did a double-take and recollected, "oh yeah..." Still wouldn't use his other hand though. Here he is before bed sitting around with his gimpy-hand in the air to ensure it doesn't accidentally get used for anything.

It had been almost two weeks since I'd spent any quality time with my kids. Hence part of the reason I woke up and realized I was living way too far away. In that time I'd missed quite a lot apparently. For example my daughter came to me in confidence to tell me that he bus driver, "has a big butt." Not only have I never heard her use the word, "butt" (massively favoring to describe all-things-bottom as, "bum cheeks") but I had no idea this had caused her such grief. Amusingly she told me that some of the kids on the bus would make mention of the bus drivers rotund posterior. But her being six she'd missed the playful rudeness of it and assumed that they were all concerned in some way. Me being her Daddy she'd come to me - the fixer of all - to see if I could help. I pointed out that it was fine - and topped it off with the merry message that we all come in different shapes and sizes. Still she stared into my face with eminent concern as if to say, "You don't get it Dad. The guy has a problem. He looks like the sort of man who lactates EGG NOG. What are you going to do?!"

I'd also missed my son going through that age phase where he self-assigned gender to random stuff. For example he announced yesterday that all spiders are boys. This after pointing out in the back yard that all squirrels are boys too. When I asked him why he thought all spiders were boys he seemed to realize that he'd come to this conclusion without any real, hard facts (I'm fairly confident he hasn't spent his days at daycare examining spider penises). So he helpfully came back with, "Oh - but some of them - like you - look like girls." Yeah cheers for that Owen. He managed to top that though when I cockily showed him a duvet cover of the Milky Way galaxy. I thought he'd gush all over it (mentally, not with actual piss) and then I'd not mention it again until he unwrapped it for Christmas. But instead he held his gimpy hand to fob me off and said, "no it's too busy Daddy." 

Well there we are then.

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