A bicycle made for several

I tidy, clean and fight laundry the day he is due to return home. I’m tempted to hurl everything into the hall closet, but as we are married to each other, he already knows that old trick. I curse my open plan home as doors are such a great disguise for mayhem.


I debate whether a single rose on the nightstand would be an appropriate gesture? Would his eye be drawn to the single bloom and glance over the bomb site, or is it just too sloppy? I talk it over with my daughter, hard at work on a ‘welcome home’ picture.

“I think it sounds very romantic. Is Dad romantic?”
“Er….?”
“What it is?” chimes in a small person.
“What is what dear?”
“Romantic?”

My daughter giggles, “it’s lovey dovey, kissy squishy that kind of stuff.”

Clearly I have been remiss in the birds and bees department.

“He is be like dah flowers like me?”

I reflect upon their father who doesn’t know his Pelargoniums from his Buddleia, “Well, he does like some flowers.”
“We can be choose his favourite.”
“That’s nice dear. What is his favourite do you think?”
“Daisy,” he says with authority.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it is be my favourite and we are be dah same.”
















Princess Daisy, from Mario's Gameboy

Idaho or bust! Or possibly somewhere else?

“Aha! There you are. The very man I’ve been looking for.”
“Really? Are there any other men around here?”
“?.......of for goodness sakes.”
“Well?”
“No.”
“So what did you want me for anyway?”
“I’ve hit a brick wall.”
“Oh dear! Much damage to the car?”
“?.......not literally you humbug.”
“?”
“It’s no good! I’ve been trying all day but no luck. I’ve shopped everywhere. They can’t be had for love nor money.”
“Oh. Shopping? Everywhere?”
“Yes. Landsend, Target and Amazon. You name it, I’ve looked!”
“E-bay?”
“No. You have to use Paypal and haven’t quite mastered that yet.”
“Well……I don’t know what to suggest?”
“They go up to size 5T but you can’t find any for a seven year old.”
“I thought you said this morning that you’d make some if you couldn’t buy any?”
“I did, but then I thought about it a bit.”
“And?”
“If I send a seven year old to school in home made blue dungarees, with egg yellow buttons the size of an egg cup, he’ll be beaten to a pulp.”
“Well it would help if you searched on coveralls or overalls.”
“I did! I couldn’t remember the right word first but eventually…Although I’ve not been able to find a dictionary that translates “English to American” yet.”
“Still no joy?”
“No.”
“What about those pictures you see of children out in the fields with potatoes and sheep and things?”
“Cattle or Longhorns, not sheep.”
“Not sheep?”
“No of course not. You know Americans! If you so much as mention ‘lamb chop’ they all have a fit of the vapours.”
“True. But out in the countryside they’re all gamboling about in dungarees.”
“Boon dogs! Or is that urban? Maybe Hicksville?”
“Don’t ask me?”
“Well what are we going to do?”
“Ditto.”
“Fair enough, if that’s the sum total of your assistance I shall expect you to get him dressed tomorrow.”
“No! It took you ages this morning. I thought I was going to have to take him in the nuddy.”
“Exactly. Hence we need a pair of overalls by tomorrow morning if we’re not going to have to repeat that particularly painful exercise.”
“Hmm. Why do you think he’s so obsessed with looking like Mario all of a sudden?”
“It’s just another one of little burrs just waiting to jump out of the bushes and latch on.”

“So what are we going to do?”
“I’ll tell him I’m still looking.”
“Yes, it helps to be truthful.”
“But after he saw that costume on-line, I think we’re more or less done for.”
“It’s a racket. Fancy charging $70 for an adult costume and $100 for a child’s. It’s day light robbery.”
“Exploitation.”
“So our solution is?”
“That’s what I was hoping you could help me with?”
“Do you still have his old pair?”
“Er…..probably.”
“Couldn’t you tack something on to the end of the legs, make them longer?”
“Ooo dear me no. I don’t want to sink back to the 70’s nightmare. That really would be a curse for the child.”

Thurs - Corruption - Daydream believer

I make pancakes in the kitchen on a Sunday morning. Every few seconds I hear another word bellowed from far away ‘bulbous’……..’bouffant’………’gazebo’……….’shindig’……..’whale’… 'macadamnia' ....….’wubber’……’beluga’……….’’galloshes’……’Wario’………There are several more of them, but those are the only ones I can remember, the only bits of the puzzle available to my tiny brain. I’m not able to make any sense of them, but each word is followed by a shriek that definitely falls into the humourously amused category.

I think of all the toys that we left out the night before. Instead of ‘tidying time’ they were allowed a stay of execution, or rather the toys were. The elaborate conglomerate was permitted to cover the floor and most of the furniture for an additional 24 hours, negotiable.

Today, the game continues. To have a game, any game, pretend or otherwise, extend beyond the statutory 10 nano seconds, is to be encouraged, nurtured and permitted to be ‘messy’ for longer that I am comfortable. Not so much deck the halls but booby trap the floors.

I continue my conveyor belt production of pancake for the masses. I am tied to the hot plate and cannot leave it unattended. Even at the age they are now, there is always the possibility of the unexpected, the unpredictable.

He yells at his brother and sister who skip off to see what has him entranced. I amazed that they respond. I am amazed that he called them, a request for joint attention is always applauded, so fresh, so new, so amazing. With all of them now in one location, far away from the hot plate I can follow the guffaws of laughter to the hall.

In the hall they all crowd around the computer. I need to become computer savvy and "internet savvy" if I am to be able to protect them. Suddenly I am grossly aware of their development and the trend ahead. If anyone doubles back, I’ll be able to intervene, stop them from getting access to the hot plate. The lure of U-tube is inescapable for this generation.

My youngest son is doubled up, almost on, or maybe off the chair. The other two observe the screen, the internet, a Mario clip. I watch. I can hardly hear a word as both the boys screech together, joint attention if ever I saw it. My daughter turns to me and raises an eyebrow, just like my brother, her uncle, a sceptic, a non believer. I wait a few moments more, just to be on the safe side, that the clip isn’t going to sink into p.orn or violence or some other horror. It doesn’t. He hits replay. She raises her arms to let them flop down to her sides, a gesture of disbelief.

I slip an arm around her shoulder to guide her back to the family room. We leave the boys locked in.

I pour more batter on the hot plate. I suspect it’s a boy thing. The clip is not in the category of humour for me, nor her. For my boys the clip definitely rates a 10, "hilarious." The days of innocence are withering, I can't hide in a different era. I need to protect my own little "monkeys."