After yet another stressful yoga session this morning, I ended up having quite a productive day from my perspective, as I requested two hours to get some work done, had lunch and the rest of the household went and either slept or played Wii for 30 minutes, which took them three hours.
So I got some more free/work time.
And got stuff done.
However, after sitting on my bum all day, I needed to do something that required slightly larger body movements. I suggested a walk around the block, for everyone as the Spent Far Too Long On The Wii revoltingness and rudeness had kicked in.
The older kids decided to ride their bikes instead. Monkey Boy decided “surley” was the mood to wear. Godzilla kept his pyjamas on. Chippie decided he would eat a banana, scream about his shoes being on and lie on the floor having a screaming, kicking, tantrum. We picked him up and head off up the street.
Arrived home. The walk was lovely, we needed more and decided, instread of cooking dinner, to head up the street for some Vietnamese. Cheap and something for everyone. Also, we got to walk for another 10 or so minutes.
Faced an incredibly tough challenge convincing quirky child, Godzilla, to change out of his pyjamas before we left for dinner. He came up with a very good argument; “But how come I can’t wear them in restaurants?”
Hmm. Great question, and one I had no good answer for, because in that moment, I, too, would have been quite happy wearing my jarmies to dinner.
After an extremely loud walk to the place, Monkey Boy set about performing his Tweenager On School Holidays attitude perfectly, whinged about not going to the Italian place, wanted pasta, refused to look at the menu because “I can’t find the main courses” and rolled his eyes and tossed the menu across the table when I advised him “three quarters of the menu is main courses, they’re not that hard to find”.
Picked the menu up again, tossed it down, mumbled something, then got upset when we ordered on his behalf and informed us he wasn’t going to eat.
He said it like we would care that he didn’t eat. He failed to miss the most important aspect. We were eating, therefore, would not be going to bed hungry. Failed to see how his lack of dinner consumption would have much of an impact on us. Shrugged shoulders.
He quickly snapped out of his surly disposition when the food did arrive, wolfed it down, as ten year old boys are want to do, and eyed off Chippie’s which wasn’t being eaten, but was being used to dip in his drink and flap around in the air, as two year olds are want to do.
He then wanted a small tasted of mine, which was, in fact, on Chippie’s plate with the idea that we will present him with a load of options and he might eat something other than the porridge stuck to the train from this morning’s breakfast. Monkey Boy stuck the slice of pork from my egg noodle soup in his mouth, which evoked a “mmmmm, yum”.
This had the effect of evoking, from me, a “Do you like it? It’s pig testicles”. Because I just couldn’t resist.
Shock. A look of horror and an attempt to spit it out.
“Don’t you spit that! Do you like it?” and the poor little bugger was torn between liking what he was eating, and deciding whether he should believe his mother or not.
Ah, I so love mucking with his head. It’s more fun with him, because he has the propensity to show such extreme emotions on his face. Hilarious!
Godzilla, on the other hand, had overheard and was screaming “TESTICLES! Hahahahahahaha!”
“Fine, it’s sow’s testicles, then,” I added. Which got Monkey Boy thinking before rolling his eyes at me. Again.
(Even his eye rolling has an entertaining quality. Kinda like the rubbery face of Mr Bean. Only WAY cuter!)
We left before the “testicle”, “balls” and “penis” talk got much louder, decided to go the long way home, which happened along the train line. Several things happened on this journey.
1. Grumpy said “There’s a playground just up here”. “Just up here” for Grumpy usually means he thinks it’s the next corner, but is, in all reality, 7 corners over. He does this with instructions to various destinations too. Like “go along Nicholson Street and turn right into Lygon street”, totally neglecting to mention the fact that Nicholson and Lygon run parallel to each other, and there is another, pertinent street name to turn right (or sometimes left) into. Sometimes, there are several other streets he neglects to mention in between.
2. Every time a train went past, Chippie would hurl himself up the fence and scream “TRAIN! Is a TRAIN!” then lie on the ground having a screaming, kicking tantrum becuase a) the train is no longer visible and b) we have said “come on” and kept walking and he wants to see another train. NOW!
3. Monkey Boy and Godzilla informed us, repeatedly, that they were “bored” and “want to go home”. Except when the trains went past.
Eventually make it to the playground 3 suburbs over, have a play and set off home, which also had to be along the train line, and we had to cross the tracks at every possible opportunity, lest a screaming, kicking tantrum occurred.
Screaming, kicking tantrums did occur, and we refused to keep criss-crossing the tracks. These tantrums, of course, were interspersed with the very loud ‘TRAIN, LOOK A TRAIN!’ every time one zipped past. Also, this side of the tracks, the path backed onto houses that had fruit trees in their back yards.
Plum. And fig.
In order to distract Chippie somewhat, we showed him the fruit that had fallen off the trees, which he insisted on picking up (and sticking his finger through). Now, not only did we have him yelling “TRAIN” every so often, but also “BUM” and “PIG”.
I ditched them at the train bridge up the road from our house, due to another screaming, kicking tantrum, a much needed wee and a nice, hot bath.