Take into account all the daddy facts that needed correcting first and it’s nothing short of a miracle.
He’s learnt how to read. In four months!
Which begs the question; what on earth was he doing for the previous two years?
I’d be asking questions of his stay at home dad were it not me.
As it is I can tell you what he was doing. Memorising all the characters from Star Wars, that’s what. With hindsight I realise that time could have been better spent but there isn’t an Angry Birds Periodic Table. Is there?
This week he’s been learning all about the Arctic.
I’m ashamed to admit I once told him a group of penguins was called a pack.
In my defence it’s easy to confuse your collective nouns, especially when you’re trying to open a colony of custard creams without the kids seeing.
But it’s not just Sonny who’s learning. I’m discovering new things too …
Fifty Shades of Green
You can tell how many older siblings a child has by the shade of their school jumper. The lighter the shade the more times it’s been passed down.
It begins life as forest green. No doubt by the time Luca starts Reception he’ll be wearing pea green.
Watch a people carrier empty outside the school gates and you’ll see a full Dulux colour chart; from dark olive to pastel.
It’s not just colds and viruses that spread through the school, there’s an epidemic of birthday parties.
There is no party season at school. It runs January through December.
Now I don’t want to appear ungrateful so I’ve come up with a compromise. Why don’t parents consolidate all their monthly parties into one manageable day of misery in say, August? I’ll even pay for the warehouse!
The Power of the Late-mark.
There’s always one parent you see on the school run who makes you check your watch and quicken your pace. A kind of parental yardstick of lateness.
Well that’s no longer me; not since I discovered the mystical power of the late-mark.
The threat of a late-mark trumps all tantrums. Even Luca bows to the laws of the late-mark and it doesn’t even affect him.
Now I don’t claim to be a scientist but anyone studying the quantum mechanics of time travel would do well to investigate this phenomenon. I’ve reversed ten minutes of time just by uttering its name.
I have Playground Amnesia
Please don’t tell me your name in the playground, it just makes things awkward.
My name-bank suffered a critical error in the late nineties. I tried rebooting it but lost the names of my friends kids in the process. I dare not try switching it on and off again, my nieces and nephews are all I have left!
For what it’s worth, it’s nothing personal; I get my own kids names wrong more than I get them right. I only have two. That defies the law of averages!
I think I’ve figured out what the problem is though. The part of my brain that remembers names is the same part that’s on a constant,
“La, la, la, la, I can’t hear you”, loop.
You could however help me out by repeating your details to Sonny and Luca, I appear to have subcontracted my memory to them.
That way when I ask,
“Who’s that again?”
I’ll have more to work with than just somebody’s mum/dad/grandparent.
This is a game I play most Fridays. I could do a midweek wash, or just leave it in the lap of the gods of unexplained stains. Of course my laziness dictates I do the latter.
Win and I can afford myself a second cup of coffee before the school run. Even treat myself to a piece of toast with a generous smattering of smugness.
Lose and breakfast is replaced by a frenzy of rummaging through the laundry basket and sniffing shirts. Of damp cloths and emergency tumble drying.
Now if you’ll excuse me I should probably go and get their uniforms ready for next week.
I’m joking obviously. What’s a Monday morning for if it’s not panic ironing?