Suntan lotion and Ice-creams

Mark Parenting 0 Comments

We’ve loved our early summer but it’s also brought with it some new problems. Getting the boys to put suntan lotion on has become such a daily battle that by the time I’ve pinned the boys down long enough to smear it all over their clothes and in their eyes we might as well be putting pajamas on. It’s even got to the point where Sonny informed me yesterday,

“Daddy, I love sunburn sooo much! Please can I sunburn today?”

I’ve also inadvertently given Sonny a deep rooted fear of ice-cream vans. His latest obsession is road signs, and as the voice of inanimate objects I’ve been spending most days explaining what each one means.  A regular impression is of a danger sign which naturally comes with the voice from the ‘Danger, danger, high voltage” song. Now I thought I was being clever when I noticed a similar sign on the back of an ice-cream van next to a picture of children crossing the road and explained this meant the van was dangerous.  Initially it seemed to work as the next time an ice-cream van drove past, Sonny took a step back and told me to be careful. Where this backfired was at Lyme park yesterday when I really fancied an ice-cream but couldn’t get within 100 yards of the van without Sonny going into a high pitched frenzy screaming,
“daddy, be careful, its the Ice-screamer … it’ll eat you!”

Luckily further up the road was an ice-cream kiosk which he allowed me to approach, however my smugness was tempered by the extortionate cost and the fact I only had enough money to buy two child size cones.

I then had to jealously watch them licking their ‘real strawberry’ ice-creams knowing full well Sonny was no nearer to appreciating the concept of sharing. A fleeting opportunity arose however as Lucas was dripping his all down his T-shirt and shorts.  Purely out of a selfless desire to keep him clean I attempted to snatch his cone in order to lick up the stream that was running its course down his arm.  After a couple of minutes I suddenly felt the attentive stare of a few bystanders and it suddenly dawned on me that from a distance I appeared to be trying to steal an ice-cream from the steely grip of a toddler, at which point I accepted defeated and consoled my thirst with a swig of luke-warm juice from his bottle.

Another development is Sonny’s continued crusade to buck gender-stereotypes. We needed to buy a new football and given the choice available he shunned the Spiderman and Thomas options in favour of a very pretty Hello Kitty one. In support of his metro-sexuality I refrained from persuading him otherwise and off we went.  It was only later in the day whilst having a tour of our new nursery that I began to regret this decision.

“You’re a very polite young man” suggested the teacher.

“I’m not a young man, I’m a big girl!” he replied, clutching his Hello Kitty ball tightly to his chest.

“Just like his dad” I contributed.

Realising I’d spend the whole conversation referring to Janet as ‘my partner’ I then felt it necessary to refer to her by name at least a dozen times before leaving.

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