Spot the truth….

Whilst sitting eating fajitas with the kids tonight I asked my youngest (she’s 4) what she’d been up to.  Here is what she told me:

“Well, when I was little I forgot my lunchbox so I made myself a sandwich. Out of onion. My teacher cut it for me and I had an onion sandwich”

The Key Ingredient in an Onion Onion Sandwich

The Key Ingredient in an Onion Onion Sandwich

“What, onion in onion?”

“Yes. And then I went to my friends field and got some daffodils and put them in a wine bottle”

“That’s nice, did you pick them yourself?”

“No, I chopped them and put them in a bin with the wine bottle. Then it made wine and I drank the wine. It tasted like onions.”

“Errr, OK….”

“And then I put the bin on my head and walked around banging in to everything. So my teacher bought me home in her car. But we didn’t have any of these tortilla things so I ran to the CoOp and saw the Book Man. Then I opened them with a knife. A childrens knife.”

“Righhhtt….”

“And I rushed home and got in my teachers car and zoomed to play school”

The Size of the Dead Monkey

The Size of the Dead Monkey

“What happened to the Book Man?”

“He jumped in his van and drove from the Post Office to my school”

“How does this story end, darling”

“Well, I went to Twycross Zoo on a school trip and we saw a baby monkey”

“Ahhh”

“And it got killed because a big monkey stamped on it and punched it and then the big one stuck its tongue out

“Ohhhh”

“It was this big. I’m full up”

And that was that.

I’m not sure if that was fabrication, premonition, nightmare or hallucination but she seemed very convinced when she told me the story and was very particular about the details when she was repeating it to my wife 5 minutes later.

Mrs G then pointed out that she had been making the story up whist looking at things around her: fajita’s, daffodils, books, stuffed monkeys… a lot like master criminal Keyser Soze in The Usual Suspects.

If you managed to spot any bits of truth in there, well done!

 

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Cross Country Fun

Last term my daughter began taking part in the school cross country races.  An over-subscribed after school club allowed her to train with her friends once a fortnight and monthly races at Prestwold Hall came along just often enough to keep her interested.

She loves running and I know that’s got a lot to do with her seeing me do different races over the years and now we’ve found something that we can enjoy together.

When I get home after a weekend run my little lady will come out for a mile or so with me. (OK, if you’ve read my last post, you’ll know that I’m recovering from apathy so it’s not happened EVERY weekend – but it has happened every weekend that I HAVE been for a run).

The mile is not only a great way for me to cool down, but a brilliant time for us to chat and laugh doing something we both love.

This weekend I talked to her about taking deep breaths while running.  We practiced this well for a while until the thrill/shock of running through an icy ankle deep puddle caused her to squeal!  She seemed to target the puddles after that and had a beaming smile the whole way around our little run. I’m sure the puddle-tainment contributed to her determination to run the whole way without stopping and giving me a run for my money (ha-ha) in the sprint finish down our road.

Running for a few minutes is a fantastic way of involving my daughter in one of my hobbies and is a great way of creating special moments across the weekend.

 

Losing a bit of my masculinity

I had a dreadful moment of realisation today when we cycled the kids to school. I’ve allowed something small to change and with it, given up a bit of my manliness.

It’s nothing to do with doing the school run because I think of that as a real treat if I am ever able to do it.  I love getting to the school and watching how the girls behave in an environment which is far more familiar to them than it is me.  Sometimes I feel really out of place, but others it is just like being in my local pub on a Sunday afternoon 10 years ago.  We’ve all moved on.

No, the school run is a great thing, especially when it is a school cycle.  But it’s the cycling that is part of the problem.

A few weeks ago, Mrs G decided she wanted to cycle alongside me with the girls whilst I went for a run.  To do this, I had to move the child seat from my bike and on to hers.  ON TO HERS!!  This had never happened before.  Towing the kids has always been my job.  DAD’s job!

I’ve always been the one with stronger legs from running and cycling.  The one with a bit more balance and confidence for these things.  But now all that masculine superiority has been dashed…. she can do it too!!

Even worse – for weeks I have been trying to find a spare bracket so that we can easily switch the seat between the bikes.  But the bike seat is so old that I can’t find one that fits properly.  So without refitting bits and pieces with allen keys and spanners every time I choose to reassert my manliness, I have got a dad-bike that is missing a bit of dad-ness!