Seriously though, this is pretty weird in anybodies book.
The male parental (MP), looking wrinkled and well past his 44 years, has started acting really, really strangely.
I am not sure if I can swap him, but will raise it next moms and tots meeting.
One of the kids there thought he had heard of a case where a kid managed to do a straight swap.
I have a VERY SPECIAL cream for my bum.
It is my VERY SPECIAL bum cream.
I caught him this morning after he had shaved an showered, rubbing it all over his face.
The (MP) has started putting this on his face.
Let's be clear about this.
He is rubbing bum cream onto his face.
My bum cream.
I have no more to say at present.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Ten Points for Barfing on the Male Parental
Ten points.
Managed to barf on the male parental (mp)
Range: 7/10
Volume: 9/10
Gross Factor 5/10 (only sour milk)
Score update:
MP: Nil
The Thunderbolt Kids 3,789,456,321
Managed to barf on the male parental (mp)
Range: 7/10
Volume: 9/10
Gross Factor 5/10 (only sour milk)
Score update:
MP: Nil
The Thunderbolt Kids 3,789,456,321
Monday, August 27, 2012
Teething I think.
Teething.
I think.
Niggly, sore, irritable.
Difficult to sleep.
Difficult to get comfortable.
Had to kick the Male Parental (MP) out of his bed at 3am.
He hadn't got to sleep yet because I was niggly, but he was of no help of use to me at all.
He went to sleep in the lounge.
On a couch.
Under a sleeping bag.
The zipper kept scratching his neck and keeping him awake.
I slept in bed with the FP getting cuddled and patted.
It helped a bit.
The MP was very irritating when he was up at 6am showering, getting the siblings dressed and ready for school in the dark.
He woke me up a few times.
I think.
Niggly, sore, irritable.
Difficult to sleep.
Difficult to get comfortable.
Had to kick the Male Parental (MP) out of his bed at 3am.
He hadn't got to sleep yet because I was niggly, but he was of no help of use to me at all.
He went to sleep in the lounge.
On a couch.
Under a sleeping bag.
The zipper kept scratching his neck and keeping him awake.
I slept in bed with the FP getting cuddled and patted.
It helped a bit.
The MP was very irritating when he was up at 6am showering, getting the siblings dressed and ready for school in the dark.
He woke me up a few times.
Monday, August 20, 2012
Kryptonite
The male parental (MP) is a lying, cheating bastard.
When I have had enough of my lunch, which by the way is a sodden, bland and blended mix of broccoli, butternut and half a percent of chicken (whoopee), - the bastard cheats me.
I close my lips and blow out to let him know that I am done.
To let him know that I am full and cannot bear another mouthful.
And what does he do.
He punches way below the belt.
..... He brings out dumdum.
He knows how much I love dumdum.
I am addicted to dumdum.
So he pretends to slowly lower dumdum into my mouth, and at the very last moment, when my mouth is at its widest to receive my special addiction, he whips dumdum away and forces another spoonful of gloop into my mouth.
I am powerless against this ploy.
He catches me every time.
My love of dumdum is too strong.
Dumdum is my Kryptonite.
I can't believe the bastard would stoop so low.
My lunches have become never ending tasteless torture.
One day.............
One day when I am old enough to reach his vinyl collection.....
His beloved Beatles LP........
That crisp, snappable, grooved vinyl.......
One day......
When I have had enough of my lunch, which by the way is a sodden, bland and blended mix of broccoli, butternut and half a percent of chicken (whoopee), - the bastard cheats me.
I close my lips and blow out to let him know that I am done.
To let him know that I am full and cannot bear another mouthful.
And what does he do.
He punches way below the belt.
..... He brings out dumdum.
He knows how much I love dumdum.
I am addicted to dumdum.
So he pretends to slowly lower dumdum into my mouth, and at the very last moment, when my mouth is at its widest to receive my special addiction, he whips dumdum away and forces another spoonful of gloop into my mouth.
I am powerless against this ploy.
He catches me every time.
My love of dumdum is too strong.
Dumdum is my Kryptonite.
I can't believe the bastard would stoop so low.
My lunches have become never ending tasteless torture.
One day.............
One day when I am old enough to reach his vinyl collection.....
His beloved Beatles LP........
That crisp, snappable, grooved vinyl.......
One day......
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
How to Train Your Parents - Lesson #3
Its no use re-inventing the wheel, so here are seven standard techniques for training your parents at feeding time.
Feeding time is stressful for all parents.
You can make it more stressful by using any one of the following simple and proven techniques.
Technique 1 - The Lips
This is where you keep your lips pursed tightly every time the spoon gets close.
A very simple technique, but very effective.
You can part them slightly when the spoon is a safe distance.
In fact this even desirable as it fools them and raises their expectations into coming in for another spoonful.
Pursed lips work fantastically.
Lips are like rubber and with your toothless gums closed as back-up, nothing gets in.
They may as well paint the food all over your chin and cheeks.
In fact, sometimes to show that they have made an effort, they will.
Technique 2 - The Tongue
This is an adaptation and refinement of the "The Lips"
This time you let some food go into your mouth.
They think they have been successful getting past your lips and gums.
This will be very exciting for them.
All that you have done though, is form a third barrier with your tongue.
As soon as they move away, you push everything back out with your tongue.
It can break them pretty quickly.
Technique 3 - The Delayed Dribble
This is a refinement of The Tongue.
This time you keep the food in you mouth for longer though.
Long enough for them to be sure that it is swallowed.
They will sigh deeply and contentedly.
As they look away, foolishly satisfied, dribble it out.
All over your chin.
Technique 4 - The Turbo Blast
This one is always fun.
It works best in the morning when your parentals are dressed for work and under pressure to leave.
As the spoon goes into you mouth explode a lungful of air out at turbo speed.
This will create a miniature, but powerful explosion, covering everything within two meters in a sticky layer of second hand baby food.
Work clothes are usually ruined and necessitate a change.
Patience will be tested.
Technique 5 - The Epileptic Fit
Move wildly away from the spoon.
Pretend it contains melted lava.
Keep moving wildly away from the spoon.
Buck and twist and freak out.
Have a fit. Pretend it is red hot poker.
Explode your arms and legs out as well.
Sometimes you will be lucky enough to catch the spoon and splatter food all over the place.
Don't worry, even though they will really, really want to strangle you - they can't. Its illegal. You are as safe as house.
Technique 6 - The Distraction
This is to teach them never to give you anything as a distraction when you are feeding.
They normally give you a plastic spoon, or cup or a plastic toy.
This is meant to distract you into eating and swallowing.
You will not fall for this.
When the spoon is far away, open your mouth wide and put whatever they have given you into your mouth. Eating and chewing on it like there is no tomorrow.
Their spirits will soar. They will think they have solved everything.
As soon as the food comes close though, move into The Lips Technique # 1.
They will retreat, slightly bemused, this is when you go back to open mouth mode.
Tease them. Break them.
Then as soon as they come in, switch back to The Lips.
You can also use whatever they have given you to swat and swipe and slash and hit at the spoon of food.
This is also good for a few points.
Technique 7 - The Squirrel
Lastly, when you tire and want it all to end, allow them to have the satisfaction of getting half a dozen spoonfuls of food in.
Take it all in.
And store it.
Store it wherever you like - in your cheeks, under your tongue, wherever you can.
With practice you can even store some down your throat and bring it back up again.
Then, As they finish and are sighing with relief.
As soon as they have stopped sobbing and their tears have dried.
Let them take off your bib and wipe the table.
Let them unbuckle you from your chair.
And then. At that perfect moment.
Spit out everything you have stored.
Remember.
You are protected by law.
They are not.
Feeding time is stressful for all parents.
You can make it more stressful by using any one of the following simple and proven techniques.
Technique 1 - The Lips
This is where you keep your lips pursed tightly every time the spoon gets close.
A very simple technique, but very effective.
You can part them slightly when the spoon is a safe distance.
In fact this even desirable as it fools them and raises their expectations into coming in for another spoonful.
Pursed lips work fantastically.
Lips are like rubber and with your toothless gums closed as back-up, nothing gets in.
They may as well paint the food all over your chin and cheeks.
In fact, sometimes to show that they have made an effort, they will.
Technique 2 - The Tongue
This is an adaptation and refinement of the "The Lips"
This time you let some food go into your mouth.
They think they have been successful getting past your lips and gums.
This will be very exciting for them.
All that you have done though, is form a third barrier with your tongue.
As soon as they move away, you push everything back out with your tongue.
It can break them pretty quickly.
Technique 3 - The Delayed Dribble
This is a refinement of The Tongue.
This time you keep the food in you mouth for longer though.
Long enough for them to be sure that it is swallowed.
They will sigh deeply and contentedly.
As they look away, foolishly satisfied, dribble it out.
All over your chin.
Technique 4 - The Turbo Blast
This one is always fun.
It works best in the morning when your parentals are dressed for work and under pressure to leave.
As the spoon goes into you mouth explode a lungful of air out at turbo speed.
This will create a miniature, but powerful explosion, covering everything within two meters in a sticky layer of second hand baby food.
Work clothes are usually ruined and necessitate a change.
Patience will be tested.
Technique 5 - The Epileptic Fit
Move wildly away from the spoon.
Pretend it contains melted lava.
Keep moving wildly away from the spoon.
Buck and twist and freak out.
Have a fit. Pretend it is red hot poker.
Explode your arms and legs out as well.
Sometimes you will be lucky enough to catch the spoon and splatter food all over the place.
Don't worry, even though they will really, really want to strangle you - they can't. Its illegal. You are as safe as house.
Technique 6 - The Distraction
This is to teach them never to give you anything as a distraction when you are feeding.
They normally give you a plastic spoon, or cup or a plastic toy.
This is meant to distract you into eating and swallowing.
You will not fall for this.
When the spoon is far away, open your mouth wide and put whatever they have given you into your mouth. Eating and chewing on it like there is no tomorrow.
Their spirits will soar. They will think they have solved everything.
As soon as the food comes close though, move into The Lips Technique # 1.
They will retreat, slightly bemused, this is when you go back to open mouth mode.
Tease them. Break them.
Then as soon as they come in, switch back to The Lips.
You can also use whatever they have given you to swat and swipe and slash and hit at the spoon of food.
This is also good for a few points.
Technique 7 - The Squirrel
Lastly, when you tire and want it all to end, allow them to have the satisfaction of getting half a dozen spoonfuls of food in.
Take it all in.
And store it.
Store it wherever you like - in your cheeks, under your tongue, wherever you can.
With practice you can even store some down your throat and bring it back up again.
Then, As they finish and are sighing with relief.
As soon as they have stopped sobbing and their tears have dried.
Let them take off your bib and wipe the table.
Let them unbuckle you from your chair.
And then. At that perfect moment.
Spit out everything you have stored.
Remember.
You are protected by law.
They are not.
Training your parents - Lesson # 2
Lesson Two - Eating Patterns
It is vital not to let your parentals slip into any sort of comfort zone as far as your eating patterns go.
Your job is to keep them on their toes and on edge.
Any sort of stability and sense or routine or well being means that you are failing dismally in your duty.
Your job is to create uncertainty at every level.
Eating patterns are an easy area to accomplish this in.
The trick is to veer between extremes.
Week One
Eat and drink absolutely nothing.
Try not to poop as well.
Sleep fitfully, or better yet, not at all (this can be accomplished by napping secretly during the day)
Timing is everything.
After about five days the parentals will start arguing between themselves, stressed by the thought of you evaporating, or at least growing up looking like a twig.
By day seven they will have booked a doctors visit.
So you want to stop on day six, just before the doctors visit.
A doctors visit will result in foul tasting medication being added to your routine.
Time this well.
Week Two
Gouge yourself on everything.
Kill every bottle like you are chugging in a down-down competition
Devour every bit of food.
Snack on everything in sight.
Eat, swallow, vomit, poop, gobble, devour, dribble, regurgitate and basically make a pig of yourself.
This will lull them into a false sense of security.
It will really mess with their heads.
If you are lucky, one of the parents will tell the other "I told you so" - and that will set them off again.
Keep alternating the above.
Good luck with your training.
It is vital not to let your parentals slip into any sort of comfort zone as far as your eating patterns go.
Your job is to keep them on their toes and on edge.
Any sort of stability and sense or routine or well being means that you are failing dismally in your duty.
Your job is to create uncertainty at every level.
Eating patterns are an easy area to accomplish this in.
The trick is to veer between extremes.
Week One
Eat and drink absolutely nothing.
Try not to poop as well.
Sleep fitfully, or better yet, not at all (this can be accomplished by napping secretly during the day)
Timing is everything.
After about five days the parentals will start arguing between themselves, stressed by the thought of you evaporating, or at least growing up looking like a twig.
By day seven they will have booked a doctors visit.
So you want to stop on day six, just before the doctors visit.
A doctors visit will result in foul tasting medication being added to your routine.
Time this well.
Week Two
Gouge yourself on everything.
Kill every bottle like you are chugging in a down-down competition
Devour every bit of food.
Snack on everything in sight.
Eat, swallow, vomit, poop, gobble, devour, dribble, regurgitate and basically make a pig of yourself.
This will lull them into a false sense of security.
It will really mess with their heads.
If you are lucky, one of the parents will tell the other "I told you so" - and that will set them off again.
Keep alternating the above.
Good luck with your training.
Training your Parents - Lesson #1
Training your parents is admittedly not always that much of a challenge, but it is important to demonstrate who is in charge in even the small things.
Lesson One - Feeding Time
Getting whichever parent is feeding you to open their mouth idiotically with each spoonful.
These need to be stretched out to about the sixty second mark per spoonful to be considered at all successful.
Try and train them to make accompanying sounds as well.
"Aaahhhhhh, aahhhhhhhhhh, come on open up, aahhhhhhhh ahhhhhhhhhh" is a good one.
Also sounds of trains and planes seem rather easy to do as well.
"chooo chooo chooo" or "whaaaaaaammmm whaaaammmm"
If executed correctly you should have them looking like total imbeciles during feeding time, with their mouths opening and closing like guppies and making all sorts of idiotic noises.
If you find this too easy, aim to get both parents doing this at the same time.
This gets you double the enjoyment.
Remember. Your objective here is to train them to follow instructions.
So keep working at it.
Lesson One - Feeding Time
Getting whichever parent is feeding you to open their mouth idiotically with each spoonful.
These need to be stretched out to about the sixty second mark per spoonful to be considered at all successful.
Try and train them to make accompanying sounds as well.
"Aaahhhhhh, aahhhhhhhhhh, come on open up, aahhhhhhhh ahhhhhhhhhh" is a good one.
Also sounds of trains and planes seem rather easy to do as well.
"chooo chooo chooo" or "whaaaaaaammmm whaaaammmm"
If executed correctly you should have them looking like total imbeciles during feeding time, with their mouths opening and closing like guppies and making all sorts of idiotic noises.
If you find this too easy, aim to get both parents doing this at the same time.
This gets you double the enjoyment.
Remember. Your objective here is to train them to follow instructions.
So keep working at it.
Monday, August 6, 2012
Food your baby will hate
How, and why, in the hell did I end up with hippy parents.
The local supermarket shelves are filled with a vast assortment of all kids of delicious baby foods in glass jars.
These are seriously tasty meals.
I know adults who would arm wrestle babies for a taste.
They have tasty seasonings and salt and herbs and spices.
Everything my little heart could desire.
Except that is as close as I get. Desire.
Some smart arse gave the parentals a home baby food making kit as a gift.
All it is is a recipe book and several fancy looking ice trays.
Someone is making a killing in China with this one.
So now the female parental cooks all this wholesome and nutritious food.
Things like Butternut, and carrot, and sweet potato.
Fantastic if you are the Dalli Llama.
Not so fantastic if you are watching your siblings eat hamburgers.
Who gives crap like that to a new baby?
A couple of ice trays and instructions on how to cook.
All the recipes obviously say the same thing.
"Add water. Boil. Do not add salt. Do not add spices. Do not add seasoning. Do not mix flavours or ingredients. No, not even a hint of stock. Just boil. Then drain and blend into a textureless and tasteless mass. Then freeze into little bricks"
One day I am going to find out just who gave it to us as a gift. Then I am going to tie them to the front of the male parentals car and drive around like that for a week.
The local supermarket shelves are filled with a vast assortment of all kids of delicious baby foods in glass jars.
These are seriously tasty meals.
I know adults who would arm wrestle babies for a taste.
They have tasty seasonings and salt and herbs and spices.
Everything my little heart could desire.
Except that is as close as I get. Desire.
Some smart arse gave the parentals a home baby food making kit as a gift.
All it is is a recipe book and several fancy looking ice trays.
Someone is making a killing in China with this one.
So now the female parental cooks all this wholesome and nutritious food.
Things like Butternut, and carrot, and sweet potato.
Fantastic if you are the Dalli Llama.
Not so fantastic if you are watching your siblings eat hamburgers.
Who gives crap like that to a new baby?
A couple of ice trays and instructions on how to cook.
All the recipes obviously say the same thing.
"Add water. Boil. Do not add salt. Do not add spices. Do not add seasoning. Do not mix flavours or ingredients. No, not even a hint of stock. Just boil. Then drain and blend into a textureless and tasteless mass. Then freeze into little bricks"
One day I am going to find out just who gave it to us as a gift. Then I am going to tie them to the front of the male parentals car and drive around like that for a week.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
The Thunderbolt Kid is a carnivor.
I am so very proud of my transition to solids.
It's not steak, egg and chips - but it has the wonderful result of turning my poop all sorts of interesting green and purple and orange colours.
I am dying to get my teeth stuck into some meat.
My mouth salivates when I watch the parentals and siblings eating juicy meat.
I already abhor vegans and I have only just turned 6 months old.
It's not steak, egg and chips - but it has the wonderful result of turning my poop all sorts of interesting green and purple and orange colours.
I am dying to get my teeth stuck into some meat.
My mouth salivates when I watch the parentals and siblings eating juicy meat.
I already abhor vegans and I have only just turned 6 months old.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
The Thunderbolt Kid goes shopping
It really should have been a fun morning out for the Thunderbolt Kid.
And it would have been too.
Except for the freaks and the weirdo's. Of which there were plenty.
While the female parental (FP) took the siblings off to watch Ice Age 4 for the second time -
(Yes, these are the very same people who are all running temperatures that would cook microwave popcorn, and who are unable to fall asleep at night due to their tuberculosis like coughing. And yes, both adults saw no problem with taking the whole infected high risk brood into a closed public space filled with hundreds of innocent children who were quietly becoming infected with the equivalent of the Ebola virus while they ate popcorn and slurped slush-puppies)
- so while the FP had the siblings off infecting 13,000 other children, the male parental (MP) took me off with him while he went to do the weekly grocery shopping.
As I say. It started out great. The Mall - all those sounds and sights and people. Malls are great places.
He was holding me up against his shoulder and I was squealing with glee and kicking my little legs in excitement and wonder.
The first issue was transport. Those specially adapted shopping trolleys with the baby seats in them.
Yes those ones. The ones that 124,000 other snot nosed and dribbling children have used, all dirtier than you. The ones that never get cleaned. Nossir. I was not going to sit in that.
I eventually compromised after the MP wiped everything down with sterile swipes and draped my own blanket over the seat surface. But it was going to be a cold day in hell before I let him clip the snot and mucus soaked harness over me. Uh uh. That was not going to happen.
The shopping was fun, except for the weirdo's who ruined it every five minutes.
What makes strange looking old women who smell of toilet spray and look like they are alcoholics think that I want them coming up to me every five minutes and touching me with their gross and disgusting hands?
An alcoholic haze no doubt.
It kept happening. The worst one had hair so bad it looked like a cheap wig. except it wasn't. Her cheeks had a sunken multiple Gin & Tonic look about them and her voice was hoarse from probable substance abuse. And she dressed funny and her lipstick was very, very red.. She looked like a blond middle-aged witch from Hansel & Gretel. And she was all touchy and clingy and kept trying to convince the MP how much I liked her.
I wish I was old enough to swear. Or at least be able to articulate things with rude and unmistakable finger signs.
All I could do was burp gently in her general direction, which admittedly is not much, but is all my mid-range arsenal currently holds at present.
They should make it compulsory to have signs of the back of all baby trolleys that make it an arrestable offense to touch, tickle, breathe on, talk to, prod, stroke, pinch or generally have contact with the baby's inside.
Adults are clueless. They have no sense of personal space at all.
Its just disgusting.
No wonder their own grandchildren or nieces and nephews never come and visit them.
At least in this aspect the MP and I are in rare agreement. He seemed as pissed off by it all as I was.
Except right near the end when we were at the cheese counter and three rather attractive foreign exchange student type girls in their early twenty's were making a bit of a fuss.
Oh yes, he seemed to enjoy that quite a lot.
Middle aged git. If only he had seen them laughing at him behind his back when we moved off the look for the cold meats.
Its the last time the Thunderbolt Kid goes shopping for a while.
And it would have been too.
Except for the freaks and the weirdo's. Of which there were plenty.
While the female parental (FP) took the siblings off to watch Ice Age 4 for the second time -
(Yes, these are the very same people who are all running temperatures that would cook microwave popcorn, and who are unable to fall asleep at night due to their tuberculosis like coughing. And yes, both adults saw no problem with taking the whole infected high risk brood into a closed public space filled with hundreds of innocent children who were quietly becoming infected with the equivalent of the Ebola virus while they ate popcorn and slurped slush-puppies)
- so while the FP had the siblings off infecting 13,000 other children, the male parental (MP) took me off with him while he went to do the weekly grocery shopping.
As I say. It started out great. The Mall - all those sounds and sights and people. Malls are great places.
He was holding me up against his shoulder and I was squealing with glee and kicking my little legs in excitement and wonder.
The first issue was transport. Those specially adapted shopping trolleys with the baby seats in them.
Yes those ones. The ones that 124,000 other snot nosed and dribbling children have used, all dirtier than you. The ones that never get cleaned. Nossir. I was not going to sit in that.
I eventually compromised after the MP wiped everything down with sterile swipes and draped my own blanket over the seat surface. But it was going to be a cold day in hell before I let him clip the snot and mucus soaked harness over me. Uh uh. That was not going to happen.
The shopping was fun, except for the weirdo's who ruined it every five minutes.
What makes strange looking old women who smell of toilet spray and look like they are alcoholics think that I want them coming up to me every five minutes and touching me with their gross and disgusting hands?
An alcoholic haze no doubt.
It kept happening. The worst one had hair so bad it looked like a cheap wig. except it wasn't. Her cheeks had a sunken multiple Gin & Tonic look about them and her voice was hoarse from probable substance abuse. And she dressed funny and her lipstick was very, very red.. She looked like a blond middle-aged witch from Hansel & Gretel. And she was all touchy and clingy and kept trying to convince the MP how much I liked her.
I wish I was old enough to swear. Or at least be able to articulate things with rude and unmistakable finger signs.
All I could do was burp gently in her general direction, which admittedly is not much, but is all my mid-range arsenal currently holds at present.
They should make it compulsory to have signs of the back of all baby trolleys that make it an arrestable offense to touch, tickle, breathe on, talk to, prod, stroke, pinch or generally have contact with the baby's inside.
Adults are clueless. They have no sense of personal space at all.
Its just disgusting.
No wonder their own grandchildren or nieces and nephews never come and visit them.
At least in this aspect the MP and I are in rare agreement. He seemed as pissed off by it all as I was.
Except right near the end when we were at the cheese counter and three rather attractive foreign exchange student type girls in their early twenty's were making a bit of a fuss.
Oh yes, he seemed to enjoy that quite a lot.
Middle aged git. If only he had seen them laughing at him behind his back when we moved off the look for the cold meats.
Its the last time the Thunderbolt Kid goes shopping for a while.
Friday, July 27, 2012
My First Haircut
My first haircut ever.
It has left me mentally scarred for life.
I had an interesting patchy Mohawk thing happening where the cot had rubbed some of my hair shorter.
I liked it. It was different.
"You look terrible buddy" said the male parental, "you need a bit if a trim"
Then he started looking around for something to trim with.
"Perfect" he said, "just perfect"
And that was what he used.
The back of his razor has a small battery operated shaver.
Its not even a centimeter wide.
It is for trimming his nose hair and "other cosmetic hair removal"
He has definitely used it on his nose hairs and I have seen it shoved up his nostrils on numerous occasions.
I like to think it has never been near his nether regions. Yuk.
Anyway, that was what the bastard used.
He used his nostril hair shaver to give me my first haircut.
The thunderbolt kid will not forget.
One day I will drive his car.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
My own bed
The male parental has finally caught all of our germs.
He looks like shit.
He crashed this afternoon and looks like a bedraggled stray dog.
He is crying out for some sympathy but none is forthcoming.
With two very sick kids in the house, his being sick is only an added irritation.
What a sad sack, I saw him taking his own temperature and trying to let everyone know just how high it was.
Best of all, when he is sick he has to sleep on the sofa, so he doesn't keep us all awake with his hacking cough, or infect any more of us.
Even better, I get to sleep on his side of the bed.
A big warm cosy bed, with a whole side to myself and cuddles from the other side whenever I want them.
And him, all by himself on the couch in the cold living room being woken every few minutes by the cat.
They deserve each other.
He looks like shit.
He crashed this afternoon and looks like a bedraggled stray dog.
He is crying out for some sympathy but none is forthcoming.
With two very sick kids in the house, his being sick is only an added irritation.
What a sad sack, I saw him taking his own temperature and trying to let everyone know just how high it was.
Best of all, when he is sick he has to sleep on the sofa, so he doesn't keep us all awake with his hacking cough, or infect any more of us.
Even better, I get to sleep on his side of the bed.
A big warm cosy bed, with a whole side to myself and cuddles from the other side whenever I want them.
And him, all by himself on the couch in the cold living room being woken every few minutes by the cat.
They deserve each other.
Feeling the Heat
If you want to have a laugh at 2.30 on a cold and dark winters morning come and hang around in the shadows at our house and watch my parentals trying to take the temperature under pressure.
Thermometers. You have to love them.
You always find out that they are not working at 2.30 am when you have two children burning up with 39 degree temperatures.
For the first sibling the parentals used to have an old fashioned mercury thermometer.
Obviously these are impossible to read. You twist them around and around in the dim night light trying to see anything. Thirteen minutes later by tilting your head at an odd angle and twisting the thermometer at an even odder one, you think you can see the mercury. But by then so much time has passed that the temperature has changed anyway.
For the second sibling they went with the digital armpit variety. They went through several of these and never got one that worked. All that happened was that their dislike of thermometers increased.
The third sibling simply got measured with a palm to his forehead.
He won't feel bitter later in life.
When I arrived they splashed out. Big time.
No more dicking around. Nossir!
They bought the most expensive digital thermometer in the shop. It cost them as much as a small car.
It comes with little condom-like fittings and an applicator and a booklet with 739 pages.
It is the bees knees.
So you should have heard the language at 2.30am when the male parental with the thunder face, under pressure, siblings sweating and hallucinating, sheets melting - tried to take their temperature.
Reading 2.31 am = 34.5 degrees
Reading 2.35 am = 42 degrees
Reading 2.37 am = 39.6 degrees
Reading 2.39 am = 38.5 degrees
His language was delightful. He was shaking and spitting as he spoke.
I think he wishes they had bought a small car.
It is quite funny.
Of course I wont let him near me with it. I am not having my eardrum perforated with his early morning lack of coordination.
Thermometers. You have to love them.
You always find out that they are not working at 2.30 am when you have two children burning up with 39 degree temperatures.
For the first sibling the parentals used to have an old fashioned mercury thermometer.
Obviously these are impossible to read. You twist them around and around in the dim night light trying to see anything. Thirteen minutes later by tilting your head at an odd angle and twisting the thermometer at an even odder one, you think you can see the mercury. But by then so much time has passed that the temperature has changed anyway.
For the second sibling they went with the digital armpit variety. They went through several of these and never got one that worked. All that happened was that their dislike of thermometers increased.
The third sibling simply got measured with a palm to his forehead.
He won't feel bitter later in life.
When I arrived they splashed out. Big time.
No more dicking around. Nossir!
They bought the most expensive digital thermometer in the shop. It cost them as much as a small car.
It comes with little condom-like fittings and an applicator and a booklet with 739 pages.
It is the bees knees.
So you should have heard the language at 2.30am when the male parental with the thunder face, under pressure, siblings sweating and hallucinating, sheets melting - tried to take their temperature.
Reading 2.31 am = 34.5 degrees
Reading 2.35 am = 42 degrees
Reading 2.37 am = 39.6 degrees
Reading 2.39 am = 38.5 degrees
His language was delightful. He was shaking and spitting as he spoke.
I think he wishes they had bought a small car.
It is quite funny.
Of course I wont let him near me with it. I am not having my eardrum perforated with his early morning lack of coordination.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
The Secret of Sick Children
Unbeknown to them, the siblings are also here to do my bidding.
At the moment they serve me by bringing sickness home from the Sickness Supermarket, also known as school.
Me being sick is not all fun, but it does have its advantages.
For one, it gives me a blocked and running nose.
Now, I can't suck my dummy with a blocked nose, because I won't be able to breathe.
I also haven't quite figured out breathing through my mouth.
I can do it while I am awake and concentrating, but as soon as I am asleep it doesn't work.
That means that when I am sick, I can only sleep for three minutes at a time.
This is pretty bad for the parentals. Very bad in fact. Because if I can't sleep, they can't sleep.
They both look shattered. Absolutely shattered.
But this is not my problem, they already have three kids.
Its not like they could have forgotten this part of parenthood.
Perhaps they are just stupid after all.
What nobody has figured out yet is the big picture, and this is that we baby's control all the childhood sickness in the world.
I am a perfect little incubator for disease.
The siblings pick up a germ at school.
They bring it home and introduce it to the family.
They have been getting sick one at a time, passing it on to each other.
But they have been super vigilant about not making me sick.
They even went out and bought hand sanitizers which are littered all over the house.
Having the house look like ER has kept me in the clear until now.
And now, just at the moment when all the others get well, my nose and eyes will start running like the Niagara falls, and I will grimace as my innocent little chest is wracked by little coughs.
And best of all, next week, when they have nursed me back to health, my perfect little incubator body will throw their high temperature and viral infections right back at them for round two.
And the beauty of it all will be the three day window before the siblings exhibit symptoms.
Allowing them to take it back to school and infect all their little classmates.
Who by the way, often have their own little baby incubators at home.
And so the circle continues.
One day some bright spark will figure it out and get a Nobel prize for their effort.
Until then, we will continue to infect and rule the world.
At the moment they serve me by bringing sickness home from the Sickness Supermarket, also known as school.
Me being sick is not all fun, but it does have its advantages.
For one, it gives me a blocked and running nose.
Now, I can't suck my dummy with a blocked nose, because I won't be able to breathe.
I also haven't quite figured out breathing through my mouth.
I can do it while I am awake and concentrating, but as soon as I am asleep it doesn't work.
That means that when I am sick, I can only sleep for three minutes at a time.
This is pretty bad for the parentals. Very bad in fact. Because if I can't sleep, they can't sleep.
They both look shattered. Absolutely shattered.
But this is not my problem, they already have three kids.
Its not like they could have forgotten this part of parenthood.
Perhaps they are just stupid after all.
What nobody has figured out yet is the big picture, and this is that we baby's control all the childhood sickness in the world.
I am a perfect little incubator for disease.
The siblings pick up a germ at school.
They bring it home and introduce it to the family.
They have been getting sick one at a time, passing it on to each other.
But they have been super vigilant about not making me sick.
They even went out and bought hand sanitizers which are littered all over the house.
Having the house look like ER has kept me in the clear until now.
And now, just at the moment when all the others get well, my nose and eyes will start running like the Niagara falls, and I will grimace as my innocent little chest is wracked by little coughs.
And best of all, next week, when they have nursed me back to health, my perfect little incubator body will throw their high temperature and viral infections right back at them for round two.
And the beauty of it all will be the three day window before the siblings exhibit symptoms.
Allowing them to take it back to school and infect all their little classmates.
Who by the way, often have their own little baby incubators at home.
And so the circle continues.
One day some bright spark will figure it out and get a Nobel prize for their effort.
Until then, we will continue to infect and rule the world.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Advice to New Fathers - How to Change a Nappy
So that your own new baby does not start to think of you as an idiot too early, take some advice on how to change a nappy from a five month old.
Forget everything you have been told.
Relax, even if it is your first time.
This is easy. Here is some language you should understand.
Changing Nappies is like a pit-stop in a Formula 1 race.
Have a clean pit ready
Have all the tools and equipment that you need
Practice in your mind what you are going to do and the sequence of doing it.
Get the vehicle in and out as quickly as possible!
Time matters. Do it smooth, do it quick.
Have a changing area ready.
Have a clean nappy, wipes and cream ready and open (No. really. have the nappy and cream open and the wipes taken out and ready.
Okay the vehicle is now about to arrive in the pit.
Start the clock.
Get baby on its back in front of you.
Without hesitation got straight in and get the multiple layers of clothing unclasped and off (you only need to access the bottom idiot, if you take my top off, I am going to start getting niggly. Just my bottom. Niggly means I move and make noise. Ever try and take the tyres off a car that is bucking?)
Get the old nappy open, but leave under the baby for now (otherwise you get shit on the blanket)
Don't flinch, don't hesitate.
Gently lift you baby's bum off the nappy by holding its ankles in one hand and lifting up.
Gently you moron! - no wonder your kid screams when you come near.
If there is poop there start wiping
Wipe. Wipe and wipe again.
Get all the crap off.
Still holding the ankles so that the bum hovers off the old nappy, slip the dirty nappy out and to one side.
You can sort it out later.
Now slip the clean nappy in under the baby.
Give one last wipe before lowering the bum into the clean nappy.
(Make sure that you get all the cracks and creases and multiple folds clean.)
Lather in cream, smother in nappy ointment.
Smother on more cream.
Your baby will use this nappy-less opportunity to pee (or worse)
That is just how we are wired.
So get the cream on and the nappy closed ASAP.
The clock is ticking.
Wrestle the straps of the nappy closed, by which stage your kid will be wriggling like a wet kitten trying to escape from a bag.
Get the nappy closed, clothes on, job done.
Put all the shit covered wipes into the dirty nappy and then close it so that all the shitty parts are on the inside.
Dump this.
Get the car back on the track.
Check your time.
Easy.
Forget everything you have been told.
Relax, even if it is your first time.
This is easy. Here is some language you should understand.
Changing Nappies is like a pit-stop in a Formula 1 race.
Have a clean pit ready
Have all the tools and equipment that you need
Practice in your mind what you are going to do and the sequence of doing it.
Get the vehicle in and out as quickly as possible!
Time matters. Do it smooth, do it quick.
Have a changing area ready.
Have a clean nappy, wipes and cream ready and open (No. really. have the nappy and cream open and the wipes taken out and ready.
Okay the vehicle is now about to arrive in the pit.
Start the clock.
Get baby on its back in front of you.
Without hesitation got straight in and get the multiple layers of clothing unclasped and off (you only need to access the bottom idiot, if you take my top off, I am going to start getting niggly. Just my bottom. Niggly means I move and make noise. Ever try and take the tyres off a car that is bucking?)
Get the old nappy open, but leave under the baby for now (otherwise you get shit on the blanket)
Don't flinch, don't hesitate.
Gently lift you baby's bum off the nappy by holding its ankles in one hand and lifting up.
Gently you moron! - no wonder your kid screams when you come near.
If there is poop there start wiping
Wipe. Wipe and wipe again.
Get all the crap off.
Still holding the ankles so that the bum hovers off the old nappy, slip the dirty nappy out and to one side.
You can sort it out later.
Now slip the clean nappy in under the baby.
Give one last wipe before lowering the bum into the clean nappy.
(Make sure that you get all the cracks and creases and multiple folds clean.)
Lather in cream, smother in nappy ointment.
Smother on more cream.
Your baby will use this nappy-less opportunity to pee (or worse)
That is just how we are wired.
So get the cream on and the nappy closed ASAP.
The clock is ticking.
Wrestle the straps of the nappy closed, by which stage your kid will be wriggling like a wet kitten trying to escape from a bag.
Get the nappy closed, clothes on, job done.
Put all the shit covered wipes into the dirty nappy and then close it so that all the shitty parts are on the inside.
Dump this.
Get the car back on the track.
Check your time.
Easy.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Cardboard does taste better than hydrated rice cereal and milk formula.
Five and a half months and I have finally started on solids.
I can confirm that cardboard does taste better than hydrated rice cereal and milk formula.
It was difficult to work the poop angle much while I was only on milk.
A bit like trying to make fireworks out of flour.
But even the little bit of roughage in the rice cereal improves my opportunity significantly.
I notice that the male parental is not enjoying nappy change time as much as he used to.
The whistling while he worked vibe has stopped completely and has been replaced by a grimace.
He is also using a lot more wipes than before.
I am really looking forward to vegetables and fruit which start next week.
Life is like moving through an PlayStation game accumulating additional weapons and secret powers.
I suspect that I will have the last laugh after the torture of having to sit and watch them eat juicy meaty meals while all I got was milk.
I can confirm that cardboard does taste better than hydrated rice cereal and milk formula.
It was difficult to work the poop angle much while I was only on milk.
A bit like trying to make fireworks out of flour.
But even the little bit of roughage in the rice cereal improves my opportunity significantly.
I notice that the male parental is not enjoying nappy change time as much as he used to.
The whistling while he worked vibe has stopped completely and has been replaced by a grimace.
He is also using a lot more wipes than before.
I am really looking forward to vegetables and fruit which start next week.
Life is like moving through an PlayStation game accumulating additional weapons and secret powers.
I suspect that I will have the last laugh after the torture of having to sit and watch them eat juicy meaty meals while all I got was milk.
Friday, July 20, 2012
Girls Stockings
The mother parent is away for two nights for work.
I am stuck with the grumpy face.
This is perfect payback time.
The father parental laughed at me the other day because the mother parental had dressed me in girls stockings.
He laughed his arse off "look at you buddy, hey buddy, look at you buddy, you're wearing girls stockings buddy, hey buddy, you're wearing girls stockings buddy, hahahahahaha"
Idiot
You would think he was 5 years old.
Oh oh.
Now he has me for two nights on his own.
And I can nap allllllll dayyyyyyyy longggggggg. While he has to function without sleep.
Night one I went easy on him.
I slept solid for 5 hours and then woke up cleverly just when he went to bed at midnight.
Then I woke up EVERY hour until 05h30 when I demanded a bottle.
So he got at least 4 an a half hours sleep.
Last night I got nasty.
I made him give me a bottle at 23h30 so he only got to sleep at 00h15.
Then I woke up at 01h30
Again at 02h30
And then get this (with my girls stockings)
I woke up at 03h30 and wouldn't go back to sleep.
I made him stay up and as soon as he put me down I made noise.
At 05h30 I let him doze off.
I wanted him to be asleep when the alarm went off at 06h00 to get the siblings up.
His eyes are red and puffy.
The Thunderbolt Kid does not wear girls stockings.
And don't you ever forget it.
I am stuck with the grumpy face.
This is perfect payback time.
The father parental laughed at me the other day because the mother parental had dressed me in girls stockings.
He laughed his arse off "look at you buddy, hey buddy, look at you buddy, you're wearing girls stockings buddy, hey buddy, you're wearing girls stockings buddy, hahahahahaha"
Idiot
You would think he was 5 years old.
Oh oh.
Now he has me for two nights on his own.
And I can nap allllllll dayyyyyyyy longggggggg. While he has to function without sleep.
Night one I went easy on him.
I slept solid for 5 hours and then woke up cleverly just when he went to bed at midnight.
Then I woke up EVERY hour until 05h30 when I demanded a bottle.
So he got at least 4 an a half hours sleep.
Last night I got nasty.
I made him give me a bottle at 23h30 so he only got to sleep at 00h15.
Then I woke up at 01h30
Again at 02h30
And then get this (with my girls stockings)
I woke up at 03h30 and wouldn't go back to sleep.
I made him stay up and as soon as he put me down I made noise.
At 05h30 I let him doze off.
I wanted him to be asleep when the alarm went off at 06h00 to get the siblings up.
His eyes are red and puffy.
The Thunderbolt Kid does not wear girls stockings.
And don't you ever forget it.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Aqua Turd
To do List # 2
Take another massive dump in the bath while the male parent is bathing me - Tick
(How many times can I catch this chump?)
Take another massive dump in the bath while the male parent is bathing me - Tick
(How many times can I catch this chump?)
Monday, July 16, 2012
Morning Surprise
This works best in the very early morning when both parentals are in excellent moods and I am invited into my bed with them.
It works best with the father because his face turns to thunder.
Sit on his lap wriggling contentedly and looking adoring.
Look over your shoulder at him, giggling up at him and holding onto his fingers.
As he leans in to kiss the back of you neck react as though 200,000 volts of electricity have just surged through your body.
Kick out hard with every fibre in your body, arching back at the speed of sound.
The hard solid mass of the back of your head connecting with the soft tissue and cartilage of his nose will bring tears to his eyes.
Real tears.
As he swears and grinds his teeth and moves his hands in to throttle you.
The mother will reprimand him.
Look up at mother. Make your lip quiver. Look shocked and as though you are about to cry.
The father will then be in trouble with the mother for making you cry.
It works best with the father because his face turns to thunder.
Sit on his lap wriggling contentedly and looking adoring.
Look over your shoulder at him, giggling up at him and holding onto his fingers.
As he leans in to kiss the back of you neck react as though 200,000 volts of electricity have just surged through your body.
Kick out hard with every fibre in your body, arching back at the speed of sound.
The hard solid mass of the back of your head connecting with the soft tissue and cartilage of his nose will bring tears to his eyes.
Real tears.
As he swears and grinds his teeth and moves his hands in to throttle you.
The mother will reprimand him.
Look up at mother. Make your lip quiver. Look shocked and as though you are about to cry.
The father will then be in trouble with the mother for making you cry.
Waste Not Want Not
Judging by the look on the fathers face I suspect that powdered milk formula costs a lot.
It is fun to waste.
When they make a lot I refuse to drink it.
I can get them pretty worked up about it.
The trick is to then wait a couple of hours and then demand to be fed.
The father is all for giving me the old bottle.
But the mother still cares more and makes him make me a new bottle.
He has to pour the old bottle down the sink.
He does wear his heart on his sleeve and his face is like thunder.
The old scrooge.
To really send him off the deep end I wait until he moderates the quantity to a reduced amount.
Then I work myself into a lather and polish it off even if it kills me.
I find that sucking desperately on the empty bottle and crying while throwing myself around like a baby having a fit gets them to rush through and make me another bottle.
I scream and have fits until it arrives.
Then I refuse to drink any of it.
I can see the father is developing a nervous tick.
It is fun to waste.
When they make a lot I refuse to drink it.
I can get them pretty worked up about it.
The trick is to then wait a couple of hours and then demand to be fed.
The father is all for giving me the old bottle.
But the mother still cares more and makes him make me a new bottle.
He has to pour the old bottle down the sink.
He does wear his heart on his sleeve and his face is like thunder.
The old scrooge.
To really send him off the deep end I wait until he moderates the quantity to a reduced amount.
Then I work myself into a lather and polish it off even if it kills me.
I find that sucking desperately on the empty bottle and crying while throwing myself around like a baby having a fit gets them to rush through and make me another bottle.
I scream and have fits until it arrives.
Then I refuse to drink any of it.
I can see the father is developing a nervous tick.
Doctor
When they took me to my last check-up to the paediatrician, she stupidly removed my nappy to weigh me.
You obviously don't have to be very bright to be a doctor these days.
I did a superb arcing golden pee of several successful litres.
She was not amused even though she said it was okay.
The parentals seemed embarrassed and cleaned up very well.
I suspect she does not like me.
You obviously don't have to be very bright to be a doctor these days.
I did a superb arcing golden pee of several successful litres.
She was not amused even though she said it was okay.
The parentals seemed embarrassed and cleaned up very well.
I suspect she does not like me.
Here kitty kitty
I did something terrible to the cat after luring her in by constantly wriggling my toes under my blanket.
It was sudden and painful and she could not escape.
In desperation she scratched me lightly.
She is now on her very last chance.
The parentals scolded her badly and are worried that I might scar.
Her days are numbered.
Nobody sleeps on the parentals bed except me.
It was sudden and painful and she could not escape.
In desperation she scratched me lightly.
She is now on her very last chance.
The parentals scolded her badly and are worried that I might scar.
Her days are numbered.
Nobody sleeps on the parentals bed except me.
Pee pee
It is incredibly satisfying to pee just after you have been bathed and are lying on layers of clean dry towels having cream rubbed on your tummy.
There is the delicious satisfaction of catching the exact window between being dried and having your new nappy already put on.
The mother is caught every time and out of fear of me rolling off the changing table remains holding me and thus in range.
My timing and aim is improving all the time.
There is the delicious satisfaction of catching the exact window between being dried and having your new nappy already put on.
The mother is caught every time and out of fear of me rolling off the changing table remains holding me and thus in range.
My timing and aim is improving all the time.
Sleep Patterns
There is snow on the mountains.
The new house is unheated.
I awoke at 01h30 and the father came through cursing the cold and breathing icy vapour.
I awoke at 02h30 and heard the father and the mother talking before she came through.
I awoke at 03h30 the father looked very cold and numb.
I awoke at 04h30 the father was not smiling and I suspect that he might not be entering a level of deep enough sleep. No REM for him.
I awoke again at 05h30.
This was particularly satisfying because their alarm goes off at 06h00.
After giving me my dummy the father must have lain in bed knowing there was not enough time to fall asleep again.
I will have to nap a lot today to catch up my sleep and build up my energy.
The new house is unheated.
I awoke at 01h30 and the father came through cursing the cold and breathing icy vapour.
I awoke at 02h30 and heard the father and the mother talking before she came through.
I awoke at 03h30 the father looked very cold and numb.
I awoke at 04h30 the father was not smiling and I suspect that he might not be entering a level of deep enough sleep. No REM for him.
I awoke again at 05h30.
This was particularly satisfying because their alarm goes off at 06h00.
After giving me my dummy the father must have lain in bed knowing there was not enough time to fall asleep again.
I will have to nap a lot today to catch up my sleep and build up my energy.
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