I would normally have something to write about early in the week after the boys carry on over the weekend but we were off duty for a change. Hannah’s brother, his girlfriend and two daughters looked after the boys while we went off surfing with some friends in Lahinch. We’re very grateful but I would love to know how they got spaghetti sauce on the ceiling, there must be a story worthy of a blog post in there somewhere!
I could settle for writing a post about the fun we had over the weekend but I am trying to pretend that this blog isn’t really all about me. Other than that, the grown up adventures just aren’t as amusing. There was a lot of me face planting off a surf board and a reasonably funny story about our impromptu beach party that was rudely interrupted by a four legged gatecrasher of the vermin variety. One of the gang deserves a mention for asking me how “Fat Boy and Monkey Chops” were getting on. [At least he’s reading the blog!!!]
Anyway, we were busy enough that we didn’t have much of a chance to dwell on the fact that we were missing the boys and a far too rare lie-in will cure many ills. For their part, I don’t think we will ever have to worry about the boys being clingy or suffering from separation anxiety. The plan on Sunday was for us to have a quick surf in the morning and then get home in the middle of the afternoon to relieve the babysitters and catch up with the kids. I was feeling pretty confused when we got out after our “quick” surf and realized that we must have been abducted by aliens. How else could you explain a “quick” surf taking three hours? We got a bite to eat and hit the road, arriving home in the early evening. My illusions of the boys pining for us were quickly shattered. Not only did they barely acknowledge our return but Monkey Boy pushed me out of the way so he could see the TV when I tried to give him a hug.
Does it make me a bad parent that I would like to think that they were at least a little miserable without us? Or is it all the other stuff that makes me a bad parent?!!
P.S. The mimicry reached a new high this evening. I’m getting used to being careful about what I do because the boys copy everything. Monkey Boy scraped his shin climbing up a step tonight and was having a bit of a whinge. I gave it a rub and kissed it and thought that would do it but he wanted more comforting. My services were not required though, he displayed his youthful flexibility by curling himself into an improbable position and kissing his own shin. I nearly needed some sympathy myself as I fell off the deck laughing.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Psychological Warfare...Already??
I’ve been interviewing in work this week. Reading CV’s can be more entertaining than most of the recreational reading I do. It’s one of my favourite games to interpret a CV and try and figure out the hidden meanings between the lines. It’s even more fun when it is an internal position and you know the background to the embellishments. One of the things that amused me most is that some of the people list influencing others as a skill. To me, that implies that it is something that was learned and worked on but my recent experiences suggest that it is something innate that maybe we need to be reminded of when we get older.
Since the moment they were born, the boys took one look at me, measured me and figured out exactly how to manipulate me. Maybe it’s not as calculated as the influencing skill of the adult world but from day one they knew that a well pitched cry would bring me running and a smile would leave me as putty in their tiny hands.
They used to use their “skills” for mostly “good” purposes, getting fed, changed or getting someone to play with them. Now they just enjoy using their skills for “evil”. They don’t fight physically as much as they used to but there is a constant undercurrent of competition between them and the battles of wills wages on. It manifests itself in a thousand different ways, Monkey Boy refusing to eat his food and then performing a complete U-turn when we offer the same spoon to Fat Chops. Climbing over each other to get closest to their mother on weekend mornings is a regular event. It’s hilarious that they will clamber over their brother or be clambered upon with not as much as a moan as long as they reach their goal. But if Fat Chops foot should “accidentally” tip off his brother’s foot when they are drinking their bottles then we will have to run into the neighbours and ask them not to ring the police and explain that the screaming was just an eruption of sibling rivalry and not a case of child cruelty.
Last night the boys got into a spat over a toy just before dinnertime. Myself and Hannah managed to break it up just as they were starting to pull hair and bare teeth. She took a protesting Monkey Boy off to his high chair and I was left to take the toy from Fat Chops and bring him through. I braced myself for the inevitable protests when he was carried off but all I got was indifference. The battle was over, Fat Chops was last to hold the toy and besides, he was hungry so it was time to move on.
The quest for any slight upper hand is constant and goes both ways. A couple of days ago, Monkey Boy came looking for food yet again [they graze non stop these days, it’s ridiculous]. I gave him two biscuits and asked him to give one to Fat Chops. It’s not an untried routine and there normally aren’t any problems with it. Shortly afterwards, I noticed that he still had a biscuit in each hand albeit one of them was half eaten. I reminded him that one of the biscuits was for his brother and being the obedient child that he is, he obliged and handed Fat Chops a biscuit. The half-eaten one! I think he has been taking lessons from his cousin, Skittles.
That’s not even the worst of it. We had a spell a couple of months ago where, shortly after being put to bed, Monkey Boy would start screaming. Not the usual I-don’t-want-to-go-to-bed-yet scream but a more distressed cry. This went on for over a week and we were really struggling to understand what was causing it. There had never been a problem settling them down before and nothing in the routine had changed. After a couple of nights, Hannah waited outside the door after settling him down. A few minutes after she left the room she heard Fat Chops saying “Bold!” [or the badly pronounced equivalent that he was using at the time]. She crept around the door and saw him standing up in the bed, pointing at his brother and shouting “bold!” while Monkey Boy wailed. I can only assume that this had been going on the whole time as soon we had left the room.
My own personal favourite is the double bluff. Monkey Boy is the more sympathetic of the two and should his brother be upset he will often go over and console him by putting an arm around his shoulders or patting his head. Should that consolation irritate his brother [it always does] then the answer is obviously that more consolation is required. He manages to maintain the purest of innocent looks while he is doing this and sometimes even produces a quizzical, hurt look as if to ask, “Why is he pushing me away when all I want to do is hug him?” If you didn’t know any better you could be fooled into thinking how sweet he was being!
Since the moment they were born, the boys took one look at me, measured me and figured out exactly how to manipulate me. Maybe it’s not as calculated as the influencing skill of the adult world but from day one they knew that a well pitched cry would bring me running and a smile would leave me as putty in their tiny hands.
They used to use their “skills” for mostly “good” purposes, getting fed, changed or getting someone to play with them. Now they just enjoy using their skills for “evil”. They don’t fight physically as much as they used to but there is a constant undercurrent of competition between them and the battles of wills wages on. It manifests itself in a thousand different ways, Monkey Boy refusing to eat his food and then performing a complete U-turn when we offer the same spoon to Fat Chops. Climbing over each other to get closest to their mother on weekend mornings is a regular event. It’s hilarious that they will clamber over their brother or be clambered upon with not as much as a moan as long as they reach their goal. But if Fat Chops foot should “accidentally” tip off his brother’s foot when they are drinking their bottles then we will have to run into the neighbours and ask them not to ring the police and explain that the screaming was just an eruption of sibling rivalry and not a case of child cruelty.
Last night the boys got into a spat over a toy just before dinnertime. Myself and Hannah managed to break it up just as they were starting to pull hair and bare teeth. She took a protesting Monkey Boy off to his high chair and I was left to take the toy from Fat Chops and bring him through. I braced myself for the inevitable protests when he was carried off but all I got was indifference. The battle was over, Fat Chops was last to hold the toy and besides, he was hungry so it was time to move on.
The quest for any slight upper hand is constant and goes both ways. A couple of days ago, Monkey Boy came looking for food yet again [they graze non stop these days, it’s ridiculous]. I gave him two biscuits and asked him to give one to Fat Chops. It’s not an untried routine and there normally aren’t any problems with it. Shortly afterwards, I noticed that he still had a biscuit in each hand albeit one of them was half eaten. I reminded him that one of the biscuits was for his brother and being the obedient child that he is, he obliged and handed Fat Chops a biscuit. The half-eaten one! I think he has been taking lessons from his cousin, Skittles.
That’s not even the worst of it. We had a spell a couple of months ago where, shortly after being put to bed, Monkey Boy would start screaming. Not the usual I-don’t-want-to-go-to-bed-yet scream but a more distressed cry. This went on for over a week and we were really struggling to understand what was causing it. There had never been a problem settling them down before and nothing in the routine had changed. After a couple of nights, Hannah waited outside the door after settling him down. A few minutes after she left the room she heard Fat Chops saying “Bold!” [or the badly pronounced equivalent that he was using at the time]. She crept around the door and saw him standing up in the bed, pointing at his brother and shouting “bold!” while Monkey Boy wailed. I can only assume that this had been going on the whole time as soon we had left the room.
My own personal favourite is the double bluff. Monkey Boy is the more sympathetic of the two and should his brother be upset he will often go over and console him by putting an arm around his shoulders or patting his head. Should that consolation irritate his brother [it always does] then the answer is obviously that more consolation is required. He manages to maintain the purest of innocent looks while he is doing this and sometimes even produces a quizzical, hurt look as if to ask, “Why is he pushing me away when all I want to do is hug him?” If you didn’t know any better you could be fooled into thinking how sweet he was being!
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Identity Crisis
This is very much one of those good news, bad news posts.
Firstly, the good news. Finally, I am being referred to by my correct title. My sons and heirs have finally made the connection that I am Dada. They even pointed to a photo of me yesterday and said Dada. I’m ridiculously pleased and proud! What makes it even better was that Hannah was having a carbon copy of the conversation I had with Fat Chops a while ago trying to explain what her name is. That one also ended up with the child looking confused and pointing to his own chest saying “Mama”. Not only was she frustrated with the lack of progress but I might have made her mood a little worse by rolling on the ground laughing.
Now, the not so great news. The boys are having a bit of an identity crisis. Well, I think they are, it’s entirely possible they just don’t care about their moniker. The crux of the issue is that Monkey Boy has been calling his brother by name for a number of weeks now. When we prompt Fat Chops to say Monkey Boys name, we are met with a quizzical expression and deafening silence. Not even as much as a “nahneh”. Last night we made progress of sorts.
Hannah’s mother came up for dinner and was doing what all grandmothers are duty bound to do – spoiling them and feeding them biscuits. She handed Fat Chops two biscuits and told him to give one to Monkey Boy. Then he threw us a curveball by toddling off calling “Fat Chops” or a badly mangled version of it. Just to confuse us further Monkey Boy responded by saying “ta ta Fat Chops”. This will make for some interesting conversations. I can only guess that they have in some way equated the words to the meaning brother or baby or something along those lines. [It’s a fun game trying to second guess their thought process but it is about as useful as trying to train cows to eat grass with a knife and fork].
I know that it’s not really that big a deal but I think I have a legitimate reason for complaint here. That reason is – it’s bloody hard enough to tell them apart as it is!!!
If anyone asks if I can tell them apart, I will always say yes. Mostly, that’s true. I would say that I get it right at least 95% of the time but the converse is that I get it wrong one attempt in twenty. In my defense, they are very similar looking and because we like to make things difficult for ourselves, we normally dress them the same. I normally get the name wrongs in situations where I am under a little duress, say if one of the boys are in the process of waving a glass around in one hand [obviously a completely hypothetical situation that would never happen under my watch so there is no need whatsoever to call social services!!]. Who can be blamed for calling out the first name that comes to mind?
So, if they are both calling each other Fat Chops, I can see my percentage dropping a couple of points. I might be lucky to clear 90%. I only hope that I get it right when it is important.
My sister-in-law [DQ] has twin girls [Skittles & Cahoots *see footnote] who aren’t genetically identical but I can only tell them apart by a freckle on Skittles cheek. She tells a funny story about one day where Skittles committed some misdemeanor [I can’t remember what it was, there are frequent infractions and it’s hard to keep track]. DQ found out from their big sister which of them was guilty and proceeded to read the riot act. She read chapter and verse, loudly and at length, barely pausing for breath. Eventually she stopped to allow the blood to subside from her face. The admonished child looked up and said “I’m not Skittles, I’m Cahoots” and turned on her heel. In the end Skittles got off scot free because DQ couldn’t muster the rage to go through it all again. Another scary glimpse into my future. I can only hope that my pair don’t develop the habit of answering to both their name and their siblings.
*Skittles was so named because of something that happened a while ago while she was on a sleepover in our house. Hannah went to the shop and got sweets as a treat for her and her sister who was staying with a different uncle. We picked them up from my mother-in-laws house and Cahoots left without bringing her sweets with her. We watched some TV that night with Skittles and she ate her sweets while we sat on the couch. The next afternoon, Cahoots came in, saw her sister with the other bag of sweets and started a row. Hannah took Skittles aside and asked her if she was eating Cahoots’s sweets. Skittles protested her innocence replying deadpan “these are my sweets, I ate Cahoots sweets last night”.
Cahoots is rarely the ring leader and mostly gets into trouble when she is in cahoots with Skittles or someone else.
Firstly, the good news. Finally, I am being referred to by my correct title. My sons and heirs have finally made the connection that I am Dada. They even pointed to a photo of me yesterday and said Dada. I’m ridiculously pleased and proud! What makes it even better was that Hannah was having a carbon copy of the conversation I had with Fat Chops a while ago trying to explain what her name is. That one also ended up with the child looking confused and pointing to his own chest saying “Mama”. Not only was she frustrated with the lack of progress but I might have made her mood a little worse by rolling on the ground laughing.
Now, the not so great news. The boys are having a bit of an identity crisis. Well, I think they are, it’s entirely possible they just don’t care about their moniker. The crux of the issue is that Monkey Boy has been calling his brother by name for a number of weeks now. When we prompt Fat Chops to say Monkey Boys name, we are met with a quizzical expression and deafening silence. Not even as much as a “nahneh”. Last night we made progress of sorts.
Hannah’s mother came up for dinner and was doing what all grandmothers are duty bound to do – spoiling them and feeding them biscuits. She handed Fat Chops two biscuits and told him to give one to Monkey Boy. Then he threw us a curveball by toddling off calling “Fat Chops” or a badly mangled version of it. Just to confuse us further Monkey Boy responded by saying “ta ta Fat Chops”. This will make for some interesting conversations. I can only guess that they have in some way equated the words to the meaning brother or baby or something along those lines. [It’s a fun game trying to second guess their thought process but it is about as useful as trying to train cows to eat grass with a knife and fork].
I know that it’s not really that big a deal but I think I have a legitimate reason for complaint here. That reason is – it’s bloody hard enough to tell them apart as it is!!!
If anyone asks if I can tell them apart, I will always say yes. Mostly, that’s true. I would say that I get it right at least 95% of the time but the converse is that I get it wrong one attempt in twenty. In my defense, they are very similar looking and because we like to make things difficult for ourselves, we normally dress them the same. I normally get the name wrongs in situations where I am under a little duress, say if one of the boys are in the process of waving a glass around in one hand [obviously a completely hypothetical situation that would never happen under my watch so there is no need whatsoever to call social services!!]. Who can be blamed for calling out the first name that comes to mind?
So, if they are both calling each other Fat Chops, I can see my percentage dropping a couple of points. I might be lucky to clear 90%. I only hope that I get it right when it is important.
My sister-in-law [DQ] has twin girls [Skittles & Cahoots *see footnote] who aren’t genetically identical but I can only tell them apart by a freckle on Skittles cheek. She tells a funny story about one day where Skittles committed some misdemeanor [I can’t remember what it was, there are frequent infractions and it’s hard to keep track]. DQ found out from their big sister which of them was guilty and proceeded to read the riot act. She read chapter and verse, loudly and at length, barely pausing for breath. Eventually she stopped to allow the blood to subside from her face. The admonished child looked up and said “I’m not Skittles, I’m Cahoots” and turned on her heel. In the end Skittles got off scot free because DQ couldn’t muster the rage to go through it all again. Another scary glimpse into my future. I can only hope that my pair don’t develop the habit of answering to both their name and their siblings.
*Skittles was so named because of something that happened a while ago while she was on a sleepover in our house. Hannah went to the shop and got sweets as a treat for her and her sister who was staying with a different uncle. We picked them up from my mother-in-laws house and Cahoots left without bringing her sweets with her. We watched some TV that night with Skittles and she ate her sweets while we sat on the couch. The next afternoon, Cahoots came in, saw her sister with the other bag of sweets and started a row. Hannah took Skittles aside and asked her if she was eating Cahoots’s sweets. Skittles protested her innocence replying deadpan “these are my sweets, I ate Cahoots sweets last night”.
Cahoots is rarely the ring leader and mostly gets into trouble when she is in cahoots with Skittles or someone else.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Random Bullets
Presenting to you, a brain dump in bullets....
• The Muppets version of Bohemian Rhapsody is an absolute gem. Go and look it up on YouTube right now, I’ll wait for you. http://tinyurl.com/37b7b4n My boys absolutely love it. I used to love sitting them on my knee in front of the laptop and watching it with them. Now I find that it is much more fun to stand behind the lap top and watch their impersonation of Animal. Hilarious!
• Happy Birthday to Dusty! The boys’ cousin celebrated his first birthday at the weekend. Can’t believe that it has been a year already. He got a great present from his grandparents – a mini bouncy castle. My boys decided that the motor was too loud and refused to get on it. Cowards!! Especially bad when Dusty, who can’t walk yet, was happy as a pig in muck sitting in on it and being bounced from pillar to post by the other children there. Update: turns out he can walk, he celebrated his first birthday by taking his first steps – two and a stumble according to reports – and then by keeping his father awake all night.
• Monkey Boy got the end of an ice cream at Dusty’s party the other day. It was a Brunch, which, for the uninitiated, is one of those ice creams covered in biscuit crumbs. He was delighted with it and perched himself on his Nana’s knee to eat it. The child is destined to be rich and pampered because every time he took a lick and got one of the crumbs he would stick his tongue out until Nana removed the little lump. He got very cross when Nana got talking to someone and was quick enough cleaning his tongue and absolutely furious when I attempted to take it off him to remove the crumbs. Precious little pet!
• The boys are over their stomach issues and are either eating to make up for lost time or are in the middle of a growth spurt. Either way, there is no satisfying their appetite the last few days. On Saturday they started off by having a few cheerios in a cup while I got their breakfast , then they ate all their breakfast, then they had some of my breakfast [and would have drank my coffee if I let them!!]. Then they had more cheerios followed by some of my toast, then they moaned until I gave them a biscuit. Then they demonstrated that they have added a new word to their vocabulary and I heard “more”, over and over and over. That brought us up to 9.30am! It was a long day trying to keep them fed.
• Tiny dancer – Regular readers will now that I have issues with child performers but my budding superstar turned his performance into a health hazard. Monkey Boy was doing the hot dog dance from the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse the other day. He was really getting into it, waving his hands in the air and working the hips. He was shaking his bootie so enthusiastically that he actually unbalanced himself and narrowly missed hitting his head off the corner of the TV unit. As usual, I was trying to get the camcorder ready instead of being on hand to catch him!
• The Muppets version of Bohemian Rhapsody is an absolute gem. Go and look it up on YouTube right now, I’ll wait for you. http://tinyurl.com/37b7b4n My boys absolutely love it. I used to love sitting them on my knee in front of the laptop and watching it with them. Now I find that it is much more fun to stand behind the lap top and watch their impersonation of Animal. Hilarious!
• Happy Birthday to Dusty! The boys’ cousin celebrated his first birthday at the weekend. Can’t believe that it has been a year already. He got a great present from his grandparents – a mini bouncy castle. My boys decided that the motor was too loud and refused to get on it. Cowards!! Especially bad when Dusty, who can’t walk yet, was happy as a pig in muck sitting in on it and being bounced from pillar to post by the other children there. Update: turns out he can walk, he celebrated his first birthday by taking his first steps – two and a stumble according to reports – and then by keeping his father awake all night.
• Monkey Boy got the end of an ice cream at Dusty’s party the other day. It was a Brunch, which, for the uninitiated, is one of those ice creams covered in biscuit crumbs. He was delighted with it and perched himself on his Nana’s knee to eat it. The child is destined to be rich and pampered because every time he took a lick and got one of the crumbs he would stick his tongue out until Nana removed the little lump. He got very cross when Nana got talking to someone and was quick enough cleaning his tongue and absolutely furious when I attempted to take it off him to remove the crumbs. Precious little pet!
• The boys are over their stomach issues and are either eating to make up for lost time or are in the middle of a growth spurt. Either way, there is no satisfying their appetite the last few days. On Saturday they started off by having a few cheerios in a cup while I got their breakfast , then they ate all their breakfast, then they had some of my breakfast [and would have drank my coffee if I let them!!]. Then they had more cheerios followed by some of my toast, then they moaned until I gave them a biscuit. Then they demonstrated that they have added a new word to their vocabulary and I heard “more”, over and over and over. That brought us up to 9.30am! It was a long day trying to keep them fed.
• Tiny dancer – Regular readers will now that I have issues with child performers but my budding superstar turned his performance into a health hazard. Monkey Boy was doing the hot dog dance from the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse the other day. He was really getting into it, waving his hands in the air and working the hips. He was shaking his bootie so enthusiastically that he actually unbalanced himself and narrowly missed hitting his head off the corner of the TV unit. As usual, I was trying to get the camcorder ready instead of being on hand to catch him!
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Pushy Parents
Pushy Parents
I am what they call a basketball lifer. During the season I will play a couple of times a week, I coach a local boys team and I am involved in the administration of the local club. I’m lucky that my wife also plays basketball so there is some tolerance of my borderline obsession. Still, she understands me reading books like The Jordan Rules and The Miracle of St. Anthony’s [can’t recommend it enough] about as much as I understand why she won’t miss an episode of Glee. I play in a social game over the summer and was catching up with an old team mate that I hadn’t seen in a few months last night. [We’ll call him Truck in case I need to refer to him later, he will never be mistaken for a finesse player.] He was asking about the boys and asked had I bought them a basketball yet on the assumption that I would be encouraging them to play the game.
Pushing them to play a game that I love is something that I am quite nervous about. When you read about people like Andre Agassi and how he hated his father for how he pushed him to play tennis from a young age, I would almost prefer that they never played. Then you see someone like Richard Williams with Serena and Venus and you think about all the opportunities that tennis has given them [not to mention the financial security] and you think that it would be a good thing. Yes, I am assuming that should my boys play they are going to be elite athletes! Seriously, I’ve made great friends from the sport and it has given me health, confidence and social skills that I may not have otherwise had. How could you not want that for your own kids?
Encouraging them to play a different sport that I don’t know as well might be a good compromise but I keep finding reasons to prefer basketball. Soccer seems like a good choice but Ireland does not have the kind of climate where I look forward to shouting encouragement on a windswept pitch in January. Worst part is that in order for their soccer career to reach its logical conclusion, [superstardom naturally!] they will probably have to go to an English club in their early teenage years. Somehow I can choose to gloss over the fact that basketball superstardom means sending them off to the US at some point. Rugby is the one professional sport that could keep them in Ireland but it promises a future of me shivering on the side wondering if cauliflower ears are an acceptable alternative to concussions or dislocated shoulders. Canoe Polo is very popular in our locale but Weill’s disease looms large over that. It all makes you want to wrap them in cotton wool and leave them play Xbox in the relative safety of their room except then I will fret over lack of social skills and poor posture.
The fact is that they will have every opportunity to play basketball. From the time they have been old enough to leave the house they have been dragged along to games I was either playing or coaching and I don’t see that changing while my knees are still strong enough to get me up and down the court. Hopefully they will like it and hopefully I will be encouraging and supportive without pushing them to do the things that I always wanted to do within the sport.
My other dilemma is about encouraging them to develop their burgeoning musical talent. Again, the assessment of this talent is taken through my parent tinted glasses and this post should be viewed in that context. Monkey Boy is a singer though. He can’t pronounce the words but he will sing along to The Wiggles and comes in at the right places in the right tone [so I’m told, he didn’t inherit any musical talent from me, I love music but am tone deaf]. Lately, Hannah has been listening to the song Hey Soul Sister by Train. MB loves it. He cheerfully blabs along to the song and complains loudly when the next one comes on the radio. While I am nervous about them playing basketball, encouraging them to follow an interest in singing downright scares me. The reason being that every time I see a young kid on “Britain’s Got Talent” or equivalent “talent” show, I take an instant and passionate dislike to them. I’m not even sure why I hate them but I definitely do hate them. Child stars raise an urge to violence in me that few other things do.
It reminds me of a time when I saw Chris Rock being interviewed. He was talking about how when he was young he used to look at the rich kids around him and how he hated them, mostly out of jealousy. Now, he looks at his kids and obviously they lead a privileged lifestyle and there is a bit of Chris that still hates the rich kids, even when they are his own flesh and blood!!
I don’t want to be conflicted like that. I don’t want to bring my sons to a recital and teeter between parental pride and a violent loathing of the cocky little kid on the stage. The best example, [or worst] is those kids on Barney. They are completely unbearable, the nicer they act, the more they irritate me. The quickest way to aggravate me is to say that my boys could one day grow up to be the next Jedward. The world doesn’t need the original version of these over-enthusiastic, under-talented wannabe’s, never mind a sequel.
Then again, maybe it’s just arrogance on my part to assume that I get a say in these things. The sooner I accept that my job is to support and encourage them no matter what they choose to do, the better for all concerned. This unconditional love thing is difficult to get used to!
You can follow the further adventures on the boys' facebook page.
http://tinyurl.com/27ehb8y
Mail any queries, questions or comments to fatchopsmonkeyboy@gmail.com
I am what they call a basketball lifer. During the season I will play a couple of times a week, I coach a local boys team and I am involved in the administration of the local club. I’m lucky that my wife also plays basketball so there is some tolerance of my borderline obsession. Still, she understands me reading books like The Jordan Rules and The Miracle of St. Anthony’s [can’t recommend it enough] about as much as I understand why she won’t miss an episode of Glee. I play in a social game over the summer and was catching up with an old team mate that I hadn’t seen in a few months last night. [We’ll call him Truck in case I need to refer to him later, he will never be mistaken for a finesse player.] He was asking about the boys and asked had I bought them a basketball yet on the assumption that I would be encouraging them to play the game.
Pushing them to play a game that I love is something that I am quite nervous about. When you read about people like Andre Agassi and how he hated his father for how he pushed him to play tennis from a young age, I would almost prefer that they never played. Then you see someone like Richard Williams with Serena and Venus and you think about all the opportunities that tennis has given them [not to mention the financial security] and you think that it would be a good thing. Yes, I am assuming that should my boys play they are going to be elite athletes! Seriously, I’ve made great friends from the sport and it has given me health, confidence and social skills that I may not have otherwise had. How could you not want that for your own kids?
Encouraging them to play a different sport that I don’t know as well might be a good compromise but I keep finding reasons to prefer basketball. Soccer seems like a good choice but Ireland does not have the kind of climate where I look forward to shouting encouragement on a windswept pitch in January. Worst part is that in order for their soccer career to reach its logical conclusion, [superstardom naturally!] they will probably have to go to an English club in their early teenage years. Somehow I can choose to gloss over the fact that basketball superstardom means sending them off to the US at some point. Rugby is the one professional sport that could keep them in Ireland but it promises a future of me shivering on the side wondering if cauliflower ears are an acceptable alternative to concussions or dislocated shoulders. Canoe Polo is very popular in our locale but Weill’s disease looms large over that. It all makes you want to wrap them in cotton wool and leave them play Xbox in the relative safety of their room except then I will fret over lack of social skills and poor posture.
The fact is that they will have every opportunity to play basketball. From the time they have been old enough to leave the house they have been dragged along to games I was either playing or coaching and I don’t see that changing while my knees are still strong enough to get me up and down the court. Hopefully they will like it and hopefully I will be encouraging and supportive without pushing them to do the things that I always wanted to do within the sport.
My other dilemma is about encouraging them to develop their burgeoning musical talent. Again, the assessment of this talent is taken through my parent tinted glasses and this post should be viewed in that context. Monkey Boy is a singer though. He can’t pronounce the words but he will sing along to The Wiggles and comes in at the right places in the right tone [so I’m told, he didn’t inherit any musical talent from me, I love music but am tone deaf]. Lately, Hannah has been listening to the song Hey Soul Sister by Train. MB loves it. He cheerfully blabs along to the song and complains loudly when the next one comes on the radio. While I am nervous about them playing basketball, encouraging them to follow an interest in singing downright scares me. The reason being that every time I see a young kid on “Britain’s Got Talent” or equivalent “talent” show, I take an instant and passionate dislike to them. I’m not even sure why I hate them but I definitely do hate them. Child stars raise an urge to violence in me that few other things do.
It reminds me of a time when I saw Chris Rock being interviewed. He was talking about how when he was young he used to look at the rich kids around him and how he hated them, mostly out of jealousy. Now, he looks at his kids and obviously they lead a privileged lifestyle and there is a bit of Chris that still hates the rich kids, even when they are his own flesh and blood!!
I don’t want to be conflicted like that. I don’t want to bring my sons to a recital and teeter between parental pride and a violent loathing of the cocky little kid on the stage. The best example, [or worst] is those kids on Barney. They are completely unbearable, the nicer they act, the more they irritate me. The quickest way to aggravate me is to say that my boys could one day grow up to be the next Jedward. The world doesn’t need the original version of these over-enthusiastic, under-talented wannabe’s, never mind a sequel.
Then again, maybe it’s just arrogance on my part to assume that I get a say in these things. The sooner I accept that my job is to support and encourage them no matter what they choose to do, the better for all concerned. This unconditional love thing is difficult to get used to!
You can follow the further adventures on the boys' facebook page.
http://tinyurl.com/27ehb8y
Mail any queries, questions or comments to fatchopsmonkeyboy@gmail.com
Saturday, July 3, 2010
It Runs In The Family - part II
This time the title is less literal you will be glad to know.
Anyone who thought that the penalty shootout between Paraguay and Japan was dramatic should have been there for the battle of wills between Hannah and Fat Chops. Our presses under the sink are angled in such a way that we can't put child locks on them. That means we have to rely on discipline and on Sunday evening, before he took ill, Fat Chops felt like testing the boundaries. He opened both of them wide and made like he was going to start exploring, Hannah caught him and asked him to close the doors. He looked at her, measured what she was saying and decided to continue his exploration. Hannah raised her voice slightly and deepened her tone.
"Close the door please."
He looked up again and found himself caught in her steely gaze. What to do now? He knew that she wasn't playing around but there were a bunch of colourful bottles beckoning him into the press. They caught eyes and stared each other down. Myself and Monkey Boy were on the other side of the kitchen transfixed and afraid to make any noise. Eventually, Hannah broke the tense silence.
"Close. The. Door. Please."
I started to feel sorry for the poor child, he shouldn't have to make these tough decisions. He's not even two yet! Hannah sensed that he was starting to waiver and pressed home her advantage.
"CLOSE. THE. DOOR."
Finally, he broke and slowly, reluctantly closed the presses but in the back of my head I heard what sounded a lot like Stewie Griffin's voice.
"You may have won the battle this time wench, but the war is far from over."
As the saying goes, he didn’t lick his stubborn streak off a stone. It’s going to be interesting to see how the battles pan out down the road.
Anyone who thought that the penalty shootout between Paraguay and Japan was dramatic should have been there for the battle of wills between Hannah and Fat Chops. Our presses under the sink are angled in such a way that we can't put child locks on them. That means we have to rely on discipline and on Sunday evening, before he took ill, Fat Chops felt like testing the boundaries. He opened both of them wide and made like he was going to start exploring, Hannah caught him and asked him to close the doors. He looked at her, measured what she was saying and decided to continue his exploration. Hannah raised her voice slightly and deepened her tone.
"Close the door please."
He looked up again and found himself caught in her steely gaze. What to do now? He knew that she wasn't playing around but there were a bunch of colourful bottles beckoning him into the press. They caught eyes and stared each other down. Myself and Monkey Boy were on the other side of the kitchen transfixed and afraid to make any noise. Eventually, Hannah broke the tense silence.
"Close. The. Door. Please."
I started to feel sorry for the poor child, he shouldn't have to make these tough decisions. He's not even two yet! Hannah sensed that he was starting to waiver and pressed home her advantage.
"CLOSE. THE. DOOR."
Finally, he broke and slowly, reluctantly closed the presses but in the back of my head I heard what sounded a lot like Stewie Griffin's voice.
"You may have won the battle this time wench, but the war is far from over."
As the saying goes, he didn’t lick his stubborn streak off a stone. It’s going to be interesting to see how the battles pan out down the road.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
It Runs In The Family - part I
It Runs In The Family
I've been trying to do two posts a week but found it tough this week. A stomach bug is making its way through the household and myself and Hannah have been up to our elbows in dirty nappies while dealing with our own digestion issues. Hence the title - see what I did there!! Here goes a brief running diary of the week – I did it again!!
It started well, Saturday was great. We went out to visit my mother and then took her and the kids up to the local park where we met my brother, his wife, his kid and his nephew. My sister also came over to say hello. It was a glorious sunny afternoon and the boys loved running around in the wide open spaces. I’m sure that it’s a good thing that my boys aren’t clingy but it would be nice if they looked around from time to time just so I could pretend that they cared where I was.
A little aside about my nephew. The child loves food. Really loves it. My mother made us all chips for lunch. At one stage my brother was trying to cool a chip so he could give it to Fat Chops. FC took the chip but quickly handed it back because it was too hot. I had to laugh because not only did my nephew have an un-cooled chip in his mouth but he had one in each hand too. From here on in, he will be referred to as Dusty, short for Dusty Bin but he came very, very close to being stuck with Fatter Chops.
At the park I witnessed the first recorded incident of the boys bullying another kid. My brother’s nephew had brought a little ball with him that my boys quickly adopted. It didn’t seem to bother him at the time but at one stage he decided he would like to play with his own ball and had the temerity to kick it away from Monkey Boy. Well, MB let him no in no uncertain terms and at the top of his voice that this would not be tolerated. Then, in an unusual outbreak of teamwork, Fat Chops followed up by chasing Dusty's cousin off. There was no more attempts to play with the ball. As much as I was unhappy with the bullying, it was nice to see them working together for a change.
On Monday the bug got a foothold in the house and started to make itself at home. We got up in the morning and Fat Chops started to gag as I was getting him dressed. He followed it up with a NASTY nappy afterwards. And we were off and running – last one, I promise. We commenced a program of withholding food on the assumption that it would pass within 24 hours.
On Tuesday morning at about 3am I heard the porcelain telephone ringing with an urgent call for me. I ended up having a long conversation and the following morning realized that I wouldn’t be able to go to work as I couldn’t risk a forty minute car journey without toilet facilities. Being generally a positive person I tried to make the best of it. I went back to bed and caught up with some sleep in between dashes to the en suite and then settled down to watch the World Cup match in the afternoon. Unfortunately, Paraguay versus Japan was not a great contest and did little to lift my spirits until the penalty shootout. I soon realized that I was in a better place than the poor Japanese player who missed the crucial kick.
The hardest part of the whole episode came on Tuesday evening. Obviously the boys couldn't be sick at the same time so we had the joys of trying to starve Monkey Boy while surreptitiously feeding Fat Chops. I put on two slices of toast for the increasingly badly named Fat Chops without thinking and cut it into small pieces for Hannah to feed him while I tried to entertain Monkey Boy. They don’t miss many tricks anymore though. I had only turned my back for a minute and he had opened the bin and was straining on his tippy toes trying to reach the crusts that I had just thrown in there. It's bizarre dragging your son away from the bin knowing on one hand how funny an image that is while your heart is breaking that you can't give him a biscuit or a bottle to ease his hunger pangs.
There was one other silver lining from the week. The boys are at an age where they only ever remain still if the Wiggles are on TV. Since they were feeling lethargic after the bug they were more than happy to cuddle up with me on the couch and watch Spongebob Squarepants [I could probably write a whole other post about how sneakily inappropriate parts of that show are. I love it!]. It’s a rare treat as it is and soon they will be disgusted by the mere thought of sharing a couch with their parents so we made the most of it.
I've been trying to do two posts a week but found it tough this week. A stomach bug is making its way through the household and myself and Hannah have been up to our elbows in dirty nappies while dealing with our own digestion issues. Hence the title - see what I did there!! Here goes a brief running diary of the week – I did it again!!
It started well, Saturday was great. We went out to visit my mother and then took her and the kids up to the local park where we met my brother, his wife, his kid and his nephew. My sister also came over to say hello. It was a glorious sunny afternoon and the boys loved running around in the wide open spaces. I’m sure that it’s a good thing that my boys aren’t clingy but it would be nice if they looked around from time to time just so I could pretend that they cared where I was.
A little aside about my nephew. The child loves food. Really loves it. My mother made us all chips for lunch. At one stage my brother was trying to cool a chip so he could give it to Fat Chops. FC took the chip but quickly handed it back because it was too hot. I had to laugh because not only did my nephew have an un-cooled chip in his mouth but he had one in each hand too. From here on in, he will be referred to as Dusty, short for Dusty Bin but he came very, very close to being stuck with Fatter Chops.
At the park I witnessed the first recorded incident of the boys bullying another kid. My brother’s nephew had brought a little ball with him that my boys quickly adopted. It didn’t seem to bother him at the time but at one stage he decided he would like to play with his own ball and had the temerity to kick it away from Monkey Boy. Well, MB let him no in no uncertain terms and at the top of his voice that this would not be tolerated. Then, in an unusual outbreak of teamwork, Fat Chops followed up by chasing Dusty's cousin off. There was no more attempts to play with the ball. As much as I was unhappy with the bullying, it was nice to see them working together for a change.
On Monday the bug got a foothold in the house and started to make itself at home. We got up in the morning and Fat Chops started to gag as I was getting him dressed. He followed it up with a NASTY nappy afterwards. And we were off and running – last one, I promise. We commenced a program of withholding food on the assumption that it would pass within 24 hours.
On Tuesday morning at about 3am I heard the porcelain telephone ringing with an urgent call for me. I ended up having a long conversation and the following morning realized that I wouldn’t be able to go to work as I couldn’t risk a forty minute car journey without toilet facilities. Being generally a positive person I tried to make the best of it. I went back to bed and caught up with some sleep in between dashes to the en suite and then settled down to watch the World Cup match in the afternoon. Unfortunately, Paraguay versus Japan was not a great contest and did little to lift my spirits until the penalty shootout. I soon realized that I was in a better place than the poor Japanese player who missed the crucial kick.
The hardest part of the whole episode came on Tuesday evening. Obviously the boys couldn't be sick at the same time so we had the joys of trying to starve Monkey Boy while surreptitiously feeding Fat Chops. I put on two slices of toast for the increasingly badly named Fat Chops without thinking and cut it into small pieces for Hannah to feed him while I tried to entertain Monkey Boy. They don’t miss many tricks anymore though. I had only turned my back for a minute and he had opened the bin and was straining on his tippy toes trying to reach the crusts that I had just thrown in there. It's bizarre dragging your son away from the bin knowing on one hand how funny an image that is while your heart is breaking that you can't give him a biscuit or a bottle to ease his hunger pangs.
There was one other silver lining from the week. The boys are at an age where they only ever remain still if the Wiggles are on TV. Since they were feeling lethargic after the bug they were more than happy to cuddle up with me on the couch and watch Spongebob Squarepants [I could probably write a whole other post about how sneakily inappropriate parts of that show are. I love it!]. It’s a rare treat as it is and soon they will be disgusted by the mere thought of sharing a couch with their parents so we made the most of it.
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