Why Aren’t There National Kid Drop Off Points?

I don’t understand how the same intelligent blonde haired angel who has me a cup of tea on the ready when I walk in from work can be the same 10 year old arrogant little cretin who makes me want to remove my ovaries for fear of that ever putting myself through parenthood again.

It’s half term holiday this week and mistakingly Wil and I thought that we could take the week off together to finish up some DIY jobs that have been waiting a year to be finished and at the same time be here so that Cam did not have to go to out of school club. Because every time I’ve put him in out of school club in the last year he’s pitched and whinged about not being able to be at home to play with his local friends.

Wil and I made a list of things we needed to finish up, things such as sanding and painting the doorframes and skirting boards in the bedroom and hallway upstairs and in the downstairs entrance hall. Fitting trim around the edges of the oak floors we laid in the living room, bedrooms and hallways and most importantly, fitting a door on each bedroom because believe it or not – we have all co-existed for over a year with no bedroom doors. Sounds like DIY Disasters? More like DIY Procrastinated On All The Shitty Jobs And Got Bored. Until now.

Monday was a washout. Wil was unenthusiastic and I had the interview for my job which broke the day in half leaving neither enough time to start something before I left or when I got back. Wil had spent most of the time I was gone on the computer flitting between motorbike websites and Ebay and Cam had been sat in front of the tv. Shortly after I arrived home I discovered I needed to go to Norwich and since I’d had migraines frequently last week I asked Wil if he’d take me just incase I got one while I was driving. He agreed but then we had to convince Cam who protested and moaned relentlessly because why sit in a car all the way to Norwich for no personal gain when he can be stuck on the same chair in the living room wearing a set of headphones to watch iCarly because it’s so unbareable no one else wants to hear it.

The trip was not an easy one with Cameron sat in the back repeatedly and dramatically groaning as though we were taking him to the dentist to have teeth pulled out. When he wasn’t convinced that his groaning was sufficiently boring our tits off, everything we then said got counteracted with something contrary.

Me: Wil you want to take the next left

Cam: NO you don’t – turn right

Wil: What are you doing for dinner tonight?

Me: Fish

Wil: oohh lovely

Cam: Oh I HATE fish I want noodles

Wil: Are we just stopping at the one shop in Norwich?

Me: yes

Cam: OH GOD I can’t believe we came ALL THIS WAY just to go to one shop.

Me: Fine I’ll drag you all around town then.

Cam: Yeah I want to go all around town.

Me: (Not needing to go all around town) Give over Cameron

Cam: But I want to go all around town. Anyway I’m hungrrrrryyyyyyyyyyyyy I want a Chinese takeaway

Wil and Me: We’ll be having dinner when we get home.

Cam: BUT I’M HUNGRY NNOOOOOOWWWWWWWW

This continued for one hour there and nearly the entire way back and Wil and I did remarkably well just to hold our shit together and not turn around and dead leg him at least 14 times.

When we got home I cooked tuna steaks and baked potatoes for Wil and I and because Cam didn’t want a baked potato I’d bribed him in the car that if he’d shut up for the remaining 10 miles home I’d substitute his potato with noodles. What I actually should have done is thrown his ass in his room and told him to do one. That’s what the irresponsible parent in me was screaming anyway.

He gingerly picked at his tuna steak like he was prodding at a lump of roadkill with a stick, I braced myself and exchanged ‘do you want to shove him off his chair or shall I?’ looks with Wil.

‘Is this pesto on this tuna?’ Came the enquiring whinge from the petulent 10 year old.

‘yes’

‘I don’t like it’

‘you wouldn’t’

‘you don’t normally cook it like that’

‘no, I thought I’d try something different’

‘oh’

He prodded it a bit more and then shoved it aside leaving it sufficiently poked about enough that no one else wanted to eat it.

Tuesday had some promise and although an early night had done the trick for Cam, Wil woke up with a migraine. I got up and cracked on without him by doing a few of the little jobs we had on the list on my own. Cam was in a good mood and fortunately I convinced him to go out and call for someone rather than sit in front of the tv. He brought a mate back and they went to his room to play lego. Unfortunately for Wil who was now curled up on the sofa in pain the sound of lego being dragged across a wood floor by two young lads was near unbearable so I got him some earplugs and watched as minutes after rolling them up and pushing them into his ears he drifted off to sleep.

A couple of hours later Wil came around, Cam was outside playing with a friend and I began cracking on with another of the shitty little jobs on our list. We had to dig out the grout between slate floor tiles we laid last year and replace the floor temperature sensor probe with a new one because the old one stopped working. The dodgey part about this job is that if I dug too deeply I risked damaging the electric heating mat under the tiles which would have then rendered the entire floor heating USELESS. No pressure then.

Feeling better, Wil came and helped me and together we got the new sensor fitted and grouted over. The job would nearly have been finished had we not hit trouble with one of the tiny screws inside the thermostat which would not come undone. Using the smallest screwdriver we had which was not exactly the right size for the job we didn’t want to enlist too much pressure since we could easily have stripped the screw so we had to leave the job until we could go to the store to buy the right sized screwdriver.

Then Cameron came along and questioned why we didn’t use the little yellow screwdriver. I explained that we had but it wouldn’t turn the last screw. He scoffed at me and pulled his eyebrows into a funky expression as though he’d just witnessed monkies jumping out of my ears and into my nose. It must fit, he persisted. It does kind of fit, I explained but it doesn’t fit well and if I force it I could strip the screw head. Cameron couldn’t accept this explaination and continued to argue. And I eventually walked off at the point where he started arguing with himself.

Today started out pretty good. Wil got up and went for a bike ride and I predicted that when he got home he’d probably get stuck into this new time eating routine of refreshing the forum page of the motorbike website and browsing Ebay for bike parts. Not so much ‘routine’ as latest obsession. Sneakily I logged into the router and blocked both websites, chuckled demonically and logged back out waiting to see how long it’d be before I got the shriek of horror as ‘NETGEAR HAS BLOCKED THIS WEBSITE’ appeared on the monitor.

Wil returned from his ride and with in 30 minutes we were all nearly ready to go to B&Q to buy the doors for the bedroom. While Wil was faffing about I took measurements of the rooms for the other bits we needed to buy and that’s when I got the shout. I’ll tell you what he was not amused – he was all but jumping up and down on the spot with fists clenched hissing and spitting about what he’s allowed to do and not do and so on. The moral of the story – Never stand between an addict and his drugs m’kay? Or in this case between a boy and his motorbike website.

Things looked up in B&Q when we found the doors we came to buy were now £39.99 instead of the £99.99 they were previously. Even better still when we took them to the cash point and they rung up £20! That evened out everyones mood until Cameron started harping on about having an automatic door closer on his door. Wil went with him to see what he was talking about having and found it was one of those arm things at the top of a fire escape door. Slightly big, ugly and unecessary for a bedroom door unless, apparently, youre 10 when suddenly something like this is important and essential because walking through and pulling the door closed is too much effort. This was enough for Cam to be told to send him into a strop again and while we were waiting at the checkout he walked off with out either of us noticing until we walked towards the exit and for a moment we hesitated and pondered his whereabouts and following that look of disdain between us we shrugged our shoulders and carried on walking. Yes – I was going to leave him at B&Q.

Halfway to the car I stopped in my tracks. ‘Fucking hell, I better go find the little crap’, afterall 20 yards into the carpark was enough to realise my tea isn’t going to make itself when I get home from work. I marched back into the shop figuring I’d see him looking like a lost sheep somewhere THIS side of the checkout. But I didn’t. I stood to the side in an inconspicuous space and just watched as he emerged from the tools isle with his hands in his pockets. He drifted through the check out and began looking around for us and I let him do this for a couple of minutes before I stood forward for him to see me, hoping that the thought of being left in B&Q without us would instill the fear of hell in him. Only it didn’t because as soon as he saw me he put the face back on again and became resistant about leaving the shop…. just like he did this one time when he was 2 years old and we were in Tescos when I wouldn’t let him eat a banana in the shop. Stupid me, I thought….as if he was ever going to care about being left in the home of powertools and all things cool. Being left in B&Q is the stuff of my dreams along with being shut in Ikea – how was my son ever going to turn out differently?

We eventually got home with little trouble but it was when we got home the trouble really started. All morning he’d only been warming up!

I made us some soup for lunch – crab and sweetcorn. Only suddenly Cameron has decided that he doesn’t like the broth of the soup and only wants to drain the solids out and eat that, leaving a bowl of empty broth. I explained that if he continues to go to the pan and take only the bits that it leaves no useful soup for anyone else to eat. Bottom line is he didn’t care. So I told him he may as well have a sandwich then to which he threw himself about and got 30 mins time out in his room.

Eventually he came down and ate a full bowl of soup and *surprisingly* enjoyed it.

The fun really began when Wil and I got ourselves penned in at the top of the stairs on the landing where we were both painting the woodwork with white satin paint. The sheets of newspaper around us on the floor were becoming covered with splatters of paint making walking about a bit of a minefield. Naturally this is the point that Cameron decided he needed to come upstairs. You can’t come up here, we told him. So he hovered on the top stair very close to the nearest wet paint. We asked him to go downstairs and eventually he did. However, it wasn’t long before he was back again, this time asking for his cup of tea which he’d left in his room over an hour ago. It’s stone cold, we told him. Oh but he was going to re-heat it in the microwave, so we gave him his tea. A short while later he was back, now needing a book out of his room, that one near his bed, at the bottom of the pile of books. With painty brushes and hands neither of us were getting that book and it was not possible to let him get it himself so there was another disagreement.

With us both incapacitated and unable to lavish personal attention on him Cam eventually wandered off downstairs, got the guinea pigs out of their hutch and put them both on a towel on the dinner table where they peed and poo’ed to their hearts content. When I came downstairs to investigate what was going on both guinea pigs were scruffy and wet.

Cameron why are the pigs wet?

I gave them a bath.

Cameron, you can’t go bathing the guinea pigs when it’s 4c outside they won’t be able to keep themselves warm.

Why not?

FOR THE SAME REASONS I GAVE YOU SEVERAL TIMES NOT SO LONG AGO WHEN YOU ASKED ABOUT GIVING THEM A BATH. Now take them off the dinner table and clear this mess up.

As much as I love those guinea pigs and made sure they were dry before they went back outside to a fresh clean, dry hutch I don’t want them sat on my dinner table emptying their little bowels in a frenzy of carrot tainted merriment. Neither did I want them bathed in my washing up bowl or dried with my tea towel but Cameron decided all that without me too. He actually waited until the moment I was unable to do anything about anything, the moment when Wil and I had both hands in paint so that he could do several things that he knew without a shadow of a doubt that I would not approve of.

The stupidness didn’t stop there. He cleaned the table and filled the toilet with the dirty tissue up to the rim – far enough that Wil had to use his hands to unblock it before attempting to flush. Just what you want before dinner and then went on to make himself cheese on toast with the same dirty hands he’d just picked up rodent poo with.

My intelligent, sensible 10 year old child has returned to his toddler years. Infact when he was a toddler apart from the time he emptied all the shampoo down the drain and then stuck an entire box of sanitary towels all over his body I don’t remember him doing such stupid things. Things that basically scream out for attention – look at me, I need attention.. I’m 10 and suddenly incapable of occupying myself for a small amount of time while my parents finish decorating my bedroom.

Any other time I’d try to set him up with a job or give him something to do but on this occasion the space we were working in and the fact that we were using paint over solid oak flooring made it impossible for him to be involved.

By this evening Wil and I were at our wits end, recounting the long list of idiotic things Cameron had done today and wondering where we could have handled something better or what we can do tomorrow to avoid the same thing again. I don’t know! I’m at a loss.

I’m not a naturally great parent, I don’t enjoy it like a lot of people do and I get frustrated when I can’t rely on him to sort himself out occasionally and not be a twit. I really, truely don’t understand how and why people have more than one kid. Do you reach a point in life where you feel you’re just not receiving enough mental punishment and that those microminutes you snatch each day to breathe in lungfulls of sanity are waaaay too long and boring and another kid or 3 would fit in nicely to destroy that time?

I don’t know…and I’m not sure I want to know the reason behind the madness that is large family.

I know one thing – I’m going to regret fixing a door on the little brats bedroom. At the first angry slam that bugger is coming straight back off the hinges. Believe!

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4 Comments »

  1. mrs hojo said

    If you had three they would be so busy fighting downstairs that they wouldn’t need to come upstairs and annoy you ;O)
    xc

  2. Little brother said

    Apart from that you’re having a nice time though, right? Tell him if he doesn’t behave then you’re sending him down to Bristol 🙂

    Anyway, what’s the amazing motorbike forum?

  3. foxsden said

    MRs Hojo – Although you may have a point I’m not tempted!
    Sam – http://www.visordown.com and http://www.pbmagforum.co.uk…. and whenever you’d like your nephew for several weeks you’re welcome!

  4. Hello! I am URGENTLY trying to find the original source of that angry family photo that you have in your blog with the kid hitting the teddy bear! Can you help?? I found that picture on the internet over a year ago and want to include it in my book that I’m publishing now. I really need the original source so I don’t have to worry about copyright issues. Any help or leads you can provide would be GREATLY appreciated!!! Thanks in advance for your help. Sincerely, Jenny Hardin, Wichita, KS

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