Extreme Dad

The wonder of sky

                                              Tom escapes his cage...       

                                 

                         ...and makes an astounding discovery: sky.       

                

                                                  First, stupification...

                     

                                   ...then adulation.  All hail sky!

                

War of the toothbrush

Max and I are best of friends.   Until, that is, he gets the merest suspicion that I've picked up his toothbrush.  And then the bathroom becomes a veritable war zone.    It's akin to what soldiers in the trenches during the First World War called the 'daily hate'; fierce artillery barrages at set times each day. 

Our own 'daily hates' erupt after morning and evening baths, when I fearfully go over the top and advance, toothbrush in hand, over the no mans land of the bathroom.  While previously inexperienced and unable to resist my full-frontal attack, Max has become wiser and learned how to shield his teeth from the bombardment.  He has even begun to foil the majority of my surprise attacks, as he quickly discovered that trust is often abused.  As a result, the once successful Trojan Horse method has, too, been confined to history.

He nearly has me beaten.  Surrender, at this point, seems almost inevitable.  And Max knows it.  So this is a plea for reinforcements or, at the very least, for tactical suggestions.

Extreme natural beauty

The Caribbean island we live on is blessed with incredible natural beauty.  Not only are there beautiful beaches and mountains, but there are also important habitats for wetland wildlife. 

Today, I was lucky enough to be able to make a donation from work to one of the wildlife conservation outfits here.  Just a couple of the sights from the wetlands they are working hard to protect.  Long may they do so.

               

                         

                              

               

Extreme sucker

Bob the car washing guy has already taken me to be the sucker I really am.  He knows that I'm the one to speak to on Saturdays when he comes round to do the car.  He cottoned on in record time that if he speaks to Zoe, he won't be able to charge 4 times the going rate.  Or use our phone to make international calls.  Or relax in my armchair while I gather together cleaning materials for him (that I had to buy).

Following our little debacle last week, Bob knows that I'm even more easy game than usual, and he clearly intends to get as much mileage out that fact as possible.  So it was no surprise that when Zoe answers the door to him yesterday, he immediately asks to speak to me.   Hanging fire until Zoe is well out of earshot, he proceeds to not only ask for the equivalent of a Doctor's hourly wage to spend 10 minutes hosing my car, but he actually asks me to give him money towards buying a house!

"Don't worry," smirks Bob, "I only need $38,000".

"Wait there," I whisper. "I'll just go and get my wallet.  D'you want cash or a cheque...?"

After the storm has passed

My one time sanctuary (the living room):

The Blitz, London 1940:

The calm before the storm

I detest you, Wiggles, but thank you.

Showing affection

One of the things that makes Max special is his frequent demonstrations of affection.  When I've been away from home for anything over 10 minutes, Max will come running over to greet me with a big hug and a kiss.  And although even more hyperactive than me, he loves to have a cuddle on the couch.

When I went to pick him up from nursery yesterday, one of the teachers asked me to teach him not to kiss his friends.   I have to admit to being saddened annoyed by this request.  I think that the social barrier to uninhibited shows of affection descends far too quickly, and it won't be long at all before Max starts to think that kissing a friend is just not cool.  So I'm loathe to teach him that a kiss is unacceptable behaviour.  In fact, I'd rather encourage it.

I'd be interested to hear others' views on this. 

Waiting for the bullet

In order of priority, I live for:

1. Family
2. Adventure sports and travel
3. The West Wing

Those who know me, know that I am not imbued with the gift of patience.  In a very rare and monumental feat of self control, I've managed to avoid watching any West Wing on TV so I can watch it all on DVD.  In one sitting.  And when it does come out on DVD, West Wing will take pole position in the above list.

Zoe, who (to my utter disdain) does not like the West Wing, has somehow seen the final episode.  And is itching to tell me how it all ends.  My world will come crashing down around me if she does.  It's like waiting for the bullet to hit, and like a torturess, she delights in it.

The ultimate betrayal

Tom makes a quick escape after hurling one of daddy's golf balls at the neighbour's pride and joy, her brand new Mercedes.

And then, upon appearance of the horrified neighbour, in an instant and without  a flicker of remorse, points the finger of blame squarely at me. 

Evidence in hand, and betrayed by my own flesh and blood, I can do nothing to stop the look of guilt that quickly settles over my face.

An Englishman's home is (not) his castle

We have a guy,'Bob', who comes round to wash our car every week.  Now Bob's a nice guy and he charges us pennies for toiling away in the hot sun and removing a week's worth of toddler debris and half of the Caribbean's beaches from the back seats.   The problem is,  Bob bangs on the door every 5 minutes asking for more soap, water, new rags, to use the phone, go to the toilet, read my books, watch my DVDs, borrow my wife and so on, and so on, ad infinitum.  Now, perhaps I'm being uncharitable, but on Sunday, the day after my hikeathon, I simply couldn't be bothered to get up from my armchair every three minutes for an hour to face his requests.  Add to this the fact that I was wearing only my underwear.  As is my wont (because it's damn hot here).  So when Bob knocked politely on the door, I quickly turned  the TV down and ignored him. I then smugly sank back into my armchair thinking he would politely disappear when he was suckered into thinking no-one was at home.    

Mistake number one: I should have realised by now that one of Bob's more admirable traits is perseverance.  He's a firm proponent of Hickson's maxim, "If at first you don't succeed..."   

Mistake number two: I had taught Max how to answer the door last week.

The next farcical ten minutes went something like this:

[Polite knocks quickly escalate to banging]
Max: "Daddy..."
Me: "Ssssshhhhhhhh...."
Max: "DADDY....!"
[Banging stops; Bob's smelt a rat]
[Banging resumes and increases exponentially.  Bob's breached the moat and and has deployed the battering ram]
Max waves bye bye Barney and makes for the front door in slow motion. 
Me: Much flapping of arms and silent mouthing of "NOOOOOOOOOOO!"
Max: The look says it all.  What's your problem Daddy?  We always open the door when someone knocks.

I'm powerless to stop him because I'm crippled from yesterday's stroll.  Max reaches for the door handle and I have two choices:

1.  Stay seated, in my underwear, and face the music (Bob will be able to see me from the front door).
2.  Hide.

I quickly decide on option 2 and crawl into the alcove under the stairs.  The banging stops as the door creaks open.

Bob: "Hello.  Where's Daddy?"
Max: "...." (Oh, now you've lost your voice, you little tyke...?)
Bob: "Hello!  HELLO! HEEEEEEEEEEELOOOOOOOOOO!"

I'm now in a classic Catch 22 situation.  If I reveal myself, Bob will know I've been hiding from him.  If I don't reveal myself, Bob will join the rest of the neighbourhood in thinking we're neglectful parents because we leave our 2 and 1 year olds to fend for themselves.  As I'm trying to come to terms with my predicament and think of a cunning way to extricate myself from it, Max quickly rules out the neglectful parent option. He comes back down the hall and he looks from Bob, to me and back to Bob.  And then the finger of God rises and Max points towards my hiding place.  Rumbled.

Out I crawl.  Bob has a victorious smile on his face.

Me: "I was, er, just looking for Max's  playdoh..."
Bob: "Want your car washed?"
Me: "I'll just get the bucket for you."