Who do you think you are talking to?

I joked earlier this week with a fellow blogger that I am not in fact, who I say I am.

However, Bigamist Camel Dad just did not have the same ring to it.

And I could so be a camel, always complaining of a bad back and often caught typing tripe that could easily have been hammered out with hooves.

I was not actually making a serious revelation, more trying to be funny (or should I just stop that at ‘trying’?).

But it has crossed my mind that the words on these pages need not be a reflection of reality, and indeed, my identity, or persona ‘could’ be entirely different to the one, ‘I’ am portraying.

And just as my spiel could be a huge web of nonsense, so it could anywhere else on the interweb.

For instance, it is well known that Dan Hughes is actually the semi-waxed Abominable Snowman.

Obviously there is little sinister in all of this, it is great that a camel addicted to marriage and a hypothetical creature have managed to fool a few.

Yet(i), what else is out there?

My son is not of an age to be using a computer regularly, apart from navigating the Lego website and playing the odd game, but I read a report this morning about the concerns of children using social networking sites, ‘unprotected’.

The BBC report is, I believe, based on an interview with someone from the Child Exploitation and Online Protection Centre talking about networking sites, such as Facebook and Myspace, not adopting their help button, when there was ‘no legitimate’ reason for not doing so.

I have been through the article twice, and also listened to the excerpt from The Today Programme within it, and I am still confused.

To me - the simpleton - this button provides a quick and simply way for someone to report another for suspect behaviour. Which is great, but ultimately does not ‘protect’ anyone.

There seems to be an argument that if the button is there it will put off the perverts, bullies and stalkers. Likened to how a burglar alarm would deter a would-be burglar.

I still do not get it.

The internet is a dangerous place, and while I mildly see the benefit of being able to report dodgy activity easily, isn’t this just an admin thing? When the realities of keeping safe while browsing are down to the individual, and creating environments that are perceived to be ‘safe’ is actually going to make the problem worse?

Star struck

My boy has an incredibly ability to put me on my backside.

Both figuratively, and literally.

One of his favourite tricks – cannot think where he learnt it – is to catch me unawares, when I am in a bent down position, tying shoelaces, picking up toys, or whatever, he then proceeds to knock me off balance with all his might.

He calls it wrestling and hilarious, I call it unnecessary violence and mildly irritating, but I am guilty of the same.

If he is ever stood near a bean bag, or other cushioning medium, he often finds himself forcefully buried in them shortly afterwards.

His other ability is to catch me emotionally.

I find his brutish charm endearing - most of the time - but he also has a very soft side, a kind side, a side that is sometimes aware of his actions, a side able to eloquently state fact and situation, he is basically a dodecahedron.

And he can go from beast to beauty in 0.5 seconds.

Even quicker the other way around.

This ability is not limited to me, and bouts of breathlessness can be induced from gaggles of people, even beer gardens are not safe places.

Yet a few weeks ago he left me utterly speechless. No mean feat, that I am sure several will vouch for.

Well, I was not so much speechless, more in a state that I knew if I attempted to talk I would have turned into a man-sized-mound of blarting.

We had had school guests for tea, they had played nicely, no issues, which is always welcome, and I was pleased that he had shared, and offered things to his chums without the need for any serious prompting.

But it was when they came to leave that he got me.

With the recent time change, and the season, it was inevitably dark when we opened the door to show out our visitors.

It was a clear evening, the moon was in view, as where many stars.

Max focused only on one.

‘Oh look, Mommy’s star is shining tonight.’

Cue figurative backside position for me.

And our guests were also a little tilted.

It really caught me off-guard, it gets talked about quite a lot, but for some reason, this mention had me a little overwhelmed.

Shortly afterwards, with composure restored, together we explained that we had arranged the naming of a star in honour of Max’s late mother. And that it is part of the Andromeda Galaxy, also known as The Princess, hence why we chose it.

I know he is aware of the star, and why it carries his mother’s name, but it was pleasing to watch him, in a matter-of-fact manner, be comfortable enough to explain to his friends, or rather, in front of them.

I do not want his grieving to be stunted, nor do I want fiction to get in the way of fact, neither do I wish to alienate friends too fearful to mention the obvious reality of our situation.

Thus, the boy done good.

And I, just needed a moment.

Why am I the default bin?

There is one thing I can pretty much guarantee when I give my son a packet of something, a carton of juice or generally anything that has any packaging.

That is, when they are empty, or he has consumed enough of the aforementioned items to therefore make them now useless to him, the remnants will be handed to me, accompanied with his best ‘well-what-else-do-you-expect-me-to-with-it’ face.

This phenomenon is not limited to any one place, or any one time, it is the default no matter the circumstance, what I am doing, what he is doing.

I can be driving the car, cooking the tea, or probably a few miles past several thousand bins that perhaps, just perhaps are where these items are headed anyway.

It also is not limited to waste, drinks are given to me rather than put down safely on a hard surface, as if they may magically disappear, and toys no longer desired, or books recently done with.

This means I always have a pocket full of crap, even though, especially at the moment, I am not the one who has consumed these snacky items.

I am being a tad unfair, as I am really pleased that Max does this rather than ‘litters’. I really do not like littering.

And also he does take some stuff to the bin, and will generally do so too when prompted. A bit like the look, or extended ‘eeerrrmm’ you have to give sometimes before you get a ‘thank you’.

This condition my son suffers from, seems to be an epidemic and may in fact be a genetic condition.

It was my mother who gave me this insight.

Not through her incisive teachings, heaven forbid, the World might never be the same again should that happen (cue email from HQ), but through her very presence.

A presence, that whenever I walk past, I tend to hand her anything I no longer have the need for.

Signing the homework diary

Mine was a pain in the backside throughout my schooling. I was generally pretty good, only ever doing the minimum, but it would be rare that I would rebel to the extent of not completing work set for outside school at all.

But getting it signed, was just a robotic act I forgot to get round to. We were so busy with other stuff as a family, that it was never on my mind, that is until they asked for them first thing Monday morning.

I find the fact that my 4 year-old son has a homework diary a tad ridiculous.

I am not an exponent of bringing school work home. I am happy to be involved in what he has learnt at school, and reaffirm it should the right opportunities arise, but I fear that regular homework, and thus me moaning about getting it done, will have a negative effect on his education overall.

At this age the diary was billed as more of a record keeper, and also a way for parent and school staff to communicate with each other, writing messages in it for non-urgent issues.

It transpires it will usually detail the book currently in his bag, and have comments from his teacher, or classroom assistants about his phonics.

As parents we are free to detail what we do too, and also add comments, or highlight any issues we may have.

I know a lot of the parents have used stickers, and different coloured pens as ‘well done’ messages for their children.

However, instead, I have opted for sarcasm.

My recent entries;

‘Goldilocks – Max read the story, as it is traditionally told. Perhaps the nicest breaking and entering tale of all time.’

‘Get the fruit – Max read this tale, albeit without the same enthusiasm as when reading the others. Inept monkeys not really floating his boat.’

In reply to; Max confident with s, a, t, p, i, n, m, g, o, c, k, e, r, b. If you could go over his other sounds that would be great.

‘As would peace in the Middle East, but not entirely sure I am qualified to help out with that either’.

Ok, the last one did not go in, but sarcasm is the only way I can deal with quips like that. That, or ignoring them altogether.

I do give Max great encouragement and praise when he is doing schoolwork, as I like to think I do when he demonstrates any positive behaviour, but it would feel a tad odd to me to write ‘well done’ in his diary.

Whereas glib, sarky sentences, ARE my comfort zone.

What is value for money?

We have had an awesome week, and absolutely awesome half-term week.

These last seven days were something I was so looking forward to, having lost my son to the misery of school since September.

To the surprise of some (one), I did not compile a spreadsheet, nevertheless each day had an outline plan, and was jam packed with activities.

We had various days out, varying in degrees of complexity and cost.

The part wondrous Hughes family even came to visit, bringing pumpkins amongst their charms.

For Halloween, an event I have pretty much ignored for the last 31 years, we got tickets for a Halloween spectacular event at RAF Cosford.

I use the verb ‘got’ as technically my folks bought them, and they are unlikely to ever see the money for them, and ‘got’ is so much more polite than ‘stole’ or ‘feltched’.

The museum at RAF Cosford is one of our favourite go-to visits. It is all undercover, there is no charge for the museum - although there is now a parking charge – the exhibits are great, and their Fun ‘n’ Flight Interactive corner is good fun AAAANNNNDDDD educational.

We thought supporting an event there would be a good thing, and would most likely represent excellent value for money.

They certainly made an effort, two of the museums hangers were decorated to a Halloween theme.

Scary tunnels linking it all together, with a few activities, like lantern making, sticking a witch on a broomstick and face painting scattered around.

But essentially it was a glorified fair.

And to call these things a fair is a gross misuse of the word.

I estimate you can spend around £20 an hour, per child, while frequenting one.

The boy went on the dodgems, a merry-go-round, hooked a duck – or two – with his grandma, convinced his granddad to fire an air rifle and also got me to make a rather embarrassing effort of knocking tins from a shelf with wooden balls.

Thing is, while I felt a smidge aggrieved at the horrendous profitability of such stalls, I realised my son was really enjoying himself, and thus me watching him.

There were also fireworks, and the display on its own was worth a few pounds, but still, without a child I would have felt totally ripped off, yet with one, I was happy to be ripped off.

And I type ‘I’, when ‘I’ really mean, happy to watch the grandparents get ripped off.

Most ridiculous urination award

I am creating this ‘honour’, and also claiming it.

If there are any parents that can better, or in fact, worsen any of the situations I am about to detail, I will gladly pass on this decoration, and take huge comfort in the fact that I am not the only person raising a child who likes to make toilets out of all sorts of things.

It falls at my door, or teaching really, my toilet stop planning has often been a smidge laxed, not really instilling a protocol in the boy of using the toilet when it is convenient rather than at the very moment it becomes absolutely necessary.

This has led to a few ‘choice’ moments. Not exclusively for this reason, sometimes, it has just been because there were not the facilities available for a good time. But today’s emergency relief, really was something else.

I give you my most ludicrous five;

5 – Around the village’s iconic Christmas tree.

Late for school, or thinking we were late, my son did not go and use the water closet before leaving the house. We had got to the end of the road when he announced it was now or new trousers. Just at the point where the village’s giant fir tree is planted. As it masked my son from the road, I sent him to ‘do his business near it’. But obviously the sight of me alone prompted the passing parents, and best kept village dignitaries to ask where Max was. They often did not get to the end of their question, before the answer was plain to see.

4 – On the underground.

This was a semi-planned event. I knew that we were going to be on the tube for a while. Getting across, or under London can be quite a long process, especially when you are not 100% sure where you are going, what line you should be on or if you are going to get shouted at. For that reason I included an empty water bottle in my bag, a holdall ironically scrawled with the words ‘No Fear’ because it was the cheapest rucksack available I am that cool. So when my son declared he desperately needed to go, I was ready. Well, I had to rid myself of any shame as I knelt and held a plastic container to my son’s penis on a packed London Tube, but that was not a big issue.

3 – On Safari.

This was a similar situation to the underground incident. At West Midlands Safari Park, one of our favourite visits, you take your car around their safari under strict instructions to stay within the vehicle. Since it can also take up to two hours on busy summer days, when drinking is also advised to keep the kids hydrated, there spells a recipe for disaster. Again the plastic bottle came to my aid, this time having to empty its original contents out of the window, before I then emptied a much warmer, yet fresher liquid out if not long afterwards.

2 – Not so grate.

One I thought we had got away with. When my son was still at nursery, he finished one lunchtime and we were instantly in a rush to be somewhere else, which was going to require a decent car journey. But as I am an idiot, I forgot to ask Max to go and use the nursery’s toilet before we left for our journey. Instead I reminded him at the car, and he then relieved himself in to a storm drain. Just at the point that one of the school’s parent governors strolled passed, coolly saying; “I knew there was a reason I did not pull further forward.” They had been in the car parked right by the drain to see the whole performance.

1 – In Willy Wonka’s Factory.

We spent today at Alton Towers, a great, yet exhaustive day out. The boy has insisted on only a few things from the day, but going on the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory was top of the insisting. It was obviously popular with a lot of the children there today, and as such the queue was substantial. Max had not long gone to the toilet so I thought we would be safe, and as the queue was growing, we joined it, with fingers, and legs crossed. We must have been in the queue for over 30 minutes, but I could see my son getting a little twitchy, which I put down to boredom. There were signs up everywhere to say we could not rejoin the queue if we left it, and when we entered the snaking part inside, there really was no way back. At this point, and as a video instruction of a cartooned Willy Wonka is annoying played on a loop, the boy declared a bladder fit to burst. Luckily, and equally unluckily this part of the queuing system is very dark. So I prepared the receptacle, and advised my son it was safe to go - just as the queue started moving again. Thus, I had my son, walking backwards, peeing in to a Fruit Shoot bottle, in the dark. My hand was getting warmer, and it was only a guess if this was because the bottle had become dislodged, or indeed if it was just the bottle getting warmer. Great times. A whole new low.

So, I think we totally deserve this award, but I do hold on to the faintest of hopes that there are others who can share stories even more absurd.

Please don’t disappoint me.

Doing things by halves

No, I do not have a new job as an Easter egg puttogetherrer.

I am typing about the school holidays.

It is half-term week for us, which means my son is off, and we get to plan, and act out a load of joyous activities.

I have just re-read a post I wrote at the end of this week last year, and discovered some fabulous similarities with it.

Our relationship is really on a high at the moment, my son has been incredibly affectionate of late, and his behaviour has prompted a lot of positive tears from me over the last week or so.

I find him great fun most of the time in all honesty, but at the moment, his company is something I really crave and enjoy. So a whole week with him, however tiring it may end up being and however much I may end up regret saying it has come at the right time.

This is something I also noted this time last year.

We have yet to mutilate a pumpkin, but we are actually planning on doing a job on one grown by Mr Hughes later in the week.

The week has kicked off at one of Max’s nursery friends this morning.

Thanks to those who reassured me about being exposed to chickenpox again on Twitter last night. I eventually found some chickenpox information on the NHS website, it offered no concrete reason to rob my son of a play date he was very much looking forward to.

On top of the pumpkin carving, we also have visits planned to Alton Towers, West Midlands Safari Park, the grandparents, a Halloween extravaganza, fireworks and a birthday party.

Some of which we shall do in the company of the wonderful aforementioned Hughes family.

I have some work to fit in around all that, which means for a fun, yet even more tiring than usual, seven day period.

There is some downtime for me before the weekend, as I am going to a Pink concert – I hope I get to tickle her, or her me.

Thus I hope a happy balance has been struck.

But my main hope is that my smile is still as wide by the end of it all.