Tuesday, 23 September 2008

Clumsy Clot


I’ve written before about how, or how not, a child can be like their parents.

Without blowing a trumpet, I don’t actually own one, I don’t have to think very hard about the traits I hope to pass onto my son.

My sense of humour is probably top of the list.

Not because I think mine is brilliant, or the best, but because mine has helped me through so much.

I’d be a much lesser man without it.

If he gets some of my positivity, and a shim of the enormous amount my wife used to emanate, then that would be great too.

One thing I hope he manages to avoid is my somewhat clumsy nature.

My aforementioned wife used to laugh at my inability to perform minor tasks without the maximum disaster.

Forgetting oven gloves are a necessity, falling over when simply trying to stand still and making all sorts of mess when using a potato peeler or letter opener.

Yes, all very amusing.

Except for me, who should really be typing this post with a safety net.

She used to call me 'Cliffy', after a clumsy character from one of the programmes she used to watch that I wasn’t familiar with.

I’ve tried to find this fellow, but without success.

Perhaps she made it up.

However it isn’t something that has changed since her demise, and often in minor injury infliction there is part of me that is warmed to feel the laughter and amusement it would have brought about.

Only a week ago I had three incredible similar incidents spread over two lunch times.

I’d bought four ciabatta rolls from the supermarche which were planned for my next two days of mid-day sustenance.

I put the first in my left hand to cut through it with a bread knife within my right.
Not a great technique, as I caught my left hand in my effort to get all the way through my posh Italian bread.

The thing is a normal person would correct this method immeadiately.

Me?

Well, let’s just say by the fourth roll on the following day I managed to avoid any sort of injury.

I do hope my son is like his much more elegant mother, problem is I already suspect that he isn’t.

Shares in Band-Aid it is then.
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10 comments:

Penelope said...

By the 4th you'd stopped slicing yourself open? Wow! That is pretty impressive!
I particularly like that you can fall over just standing still - I can do that, with a little help from Messrs. G & T ;o)

dadshouse said...

Laughing at mistakes is a great thing to pass on to kids! Good for you. As for trumpeting - I played trumpet and am passing that on to my son. It's not too late for you to take it up! (smile)

Mama Nabi said...

Once, so many things went wrong that I had to stop to laugh. It helps.

How was the bread, then?

Maybe you should open a PO Box (or whatever equivalent over yonder) and let the readers send you boxes of band-aids now and then.

Kori said...

Sadly, the ONLY thing ANY of the kids have gotten from me is my clumsiness. I fell off my rolling chair here at work on my first say-yeah. I'm cool.

Crash Course Widow said...

I had to laugh at this one. Not because you're a clutz, but because it reminded me of my own brilliant [snort] knife-slicing incident and Charley. I was about 8 weeks pregnant (and thus highly hormonal, even though I didn't think I was all THAT bad) and sliced my finger with one our brand-new, wedding-gift kitchen knives (or maybe it was the kitchen shears--I can't remember). It was a pretty nasty cut although not THAT bad, but I just cried and cried and cried for about 20 minutes--which was COMPLETELY unlike me--and Charley was looking at me like an alien had invaded his normally quite unemotional wife. And I guess an alien HAD invaded me in one way--although she turned out to be a delightful little baby and girl in the end. =)

Thanks for sharing, and for the pleasant reminder. =)

T said...

Aw! I too can be a klutz. My daughter says to me, "You're the cut-tiest Mommy I've ever seen!" because I seem to cut myself when I have a knife.

Its good to not take ourselves quite so seriously, right?

harassedmomsramblings said...

LOL shame man!!!!

My daughter is a bit of a klutz - not sure where she got it from but she is forever bumping and falling - we have a box of plasters just for her!

roads said...

My theory is that if you're told you're clumsy, you will be.

Jenny was always told the same as a child, and at first acquaintance, the little accidents tended to follow her around.

But gradually, I came to understand that it was all about positioning, and confidence. The positioning of her coffee cup on the edge of the table, or on the arm of the sofa. Always being told that she was clumsy had somehow excused her from taking elementary action to prevent mishaps.

And because she expected to make mistakes, her hand wasn't always as steady under pressure as it might have been. As the lasagne on the living room carpet certainly showed.

I've always told the children that they are wonderfully adept with their fingers. And, more subtly, I've gently reminded them about the importance of putting things down on the middle of a stable and flat surface.

So far, that focus on boosting both confidence and planning has worked well. It might be an approach worth trying with Max.

Single Parent Dad said...

Yes Penelope, and I don't even need booze to help!

dadshouse - I'll let you blow it for me!

mama nabi - Bread was BLOODY lovely ;-)

Kori - Wicked

CCW - Thanks for sharing too.

T - Absolutely

Harassedmom - I know, and you won't find any spare plasters here.

Roads - Interesting theorem. I believe some of my clumsiness is down to laziness. Not preparing properly etc.

I think by instinct I try to be positive with Max. When he drove into the hedge last week, I did tell him how well he'd managed it, and got him to focus on the number of hedges he missed or road past before his little fall.

Anonymous said...

Regarding Cliffie, your wife might have been talking about Clifford the Big Red Dog. He is a character in a very successful childrens cartoon in the US. He is 100 times the size of a normal dog, but his owner still loves him. His size makes him quite clumsy...always turning over houses, bushes, shrubs.

alice

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