#flattenthecurve Episode 25

Trackie Bottoms

I know I have mentioned trackie bottoms before, but history shows I am not afraid to approach a subject again so I make no apolgies. This time they were the cause of a little disagreement with the wife as I politely inferred (ahem) that some underhand washing tactics had caused me to run out of clean pairs.

I can no longer recall the last time I wore anything other than trackie bottoms, so they are becoming a vital facet of daily life. Even more so since NEXT cancelled all orders, so my strategically planned, competitively tendered and wife vetted additional WFH pair (could I have claimed them as home working expenses?) are still sat in a warehouse somewhere in Leicestershire, no doubt pining for me.

I know PPE shortages are probably more pressing than trackie bottom shortages right now, so I don't want to overstate the problem here, but suffice to say the next step is shorts and we really don't want to go there this early in the year. #milkbottlelegs

The wife temporarily extracted herself from her online flour sourcing activities (flour seems to be the new toilet rolls - not literally, I don't think anybody is advocating dusting yourself down with a handful of self raising in place of Andrex's finest, I mean it is now in short supply) to vehemently deny having any washing tactics, let alone any that could be considered underhand. She also mumbled something about me knowing where the washing machine was myself. I've left out the expletive she used for emphasis to prevent offending delicate ears.

She further went on to cite the fact that I unearthed a pair in the deepest depths of the wardrobe as evidence against me.

My defence was that the pair I found were very old (they have a somewhat bobbly appearance) I don't wear them very often (they have a strange green tinge to them, which clashes with my classic peachy skin tones and ginger beard) and I had actually forgotten about them, but it was water off a ducks back as she crowed about being right.

I did get a little bit of retribution when she later wielded an item of clothing above her head triumphantly declaring "ha, and what are these!" before uncharacteristically acknowledging defeat when said item of clothing revealed itself to in fact be a jumper.

Less considerate husband's would have laughed at this point. I am pleased to confirm I am a less considerate husband, I know you'd expect nothing less of me.


Cats

I'm conscious that I haven't mentioned the cats for a little while. They're both ok, so no need to worry. They have both taken to cowering in quiet corners until the kids go to bed while Belle has even started venturing outside, though I suspect that's only to annoy Jessie in the traditional child/parent way.

I'm seriously considering the same tactics as the cats. The cowering in quiet corners to avoid the kids tactic, that is, rather than the going outside to annoy Jessie, which frankly would just be weird.

Your last bit of cat news for today - I have been nominated to administer their flea and worming tablets later, so that's something to look forward too.

A later, and previously unanticipated, cat update.
Jessie went for me. Not when I was administering the tablet, no that went fine. But later on, for no obvious reason, she hissed and made like she was going to bite me.

As I escorted her off the premises (she's got to learn) I'm sure I caught her grinning sarcastically at me. I reckon she'd waited all day to get me back.


Distracted Conversations

Conversations with a child can be hard work. Kids are weird, illogical, imaginitive (overly imaginitive?) forgetful, inconsiderate, and prone to get upset and fly off the handle at the drop of a hat, whilst admittedly, on occasion, being fun, kind and loving. Sometimes they can be all of these things (and more besides) at the same time.

For those of us foolish enough to think that one child was an insufficient test of human endurance, we regularly have to contend with with two such conversations running simultaneously.

(Anybody who has more than two kids, just stop reading and seek help now.)

The pain of parenthood is even more accutely felt when you're dotted along the road on bikes, needing to field random questions whilst also being mindful of the safety both of overly ambitious but still wobbly kids and the general public, and finding the correct carrot/stick combination to maintain sufficient progress.

I give you now a little snippet of yesterday by way of an example:

Henry: Dad, what does ups mean?

Me: (* wondering why Eva is quiet) You mean oops, Henry?

Henry: No, ups like those vans say.

Me: Eva, watch out for the woman with the buggy. Henry, when do vans say oops?

Eva: whatttt?

Me: the woman with the buggy!

Eva: which woman?

Me: (*grimacing) the one that just jumped out your way!

Henry: Ups! Dad, ups!

Eva: why didn't you say! (* wobbles towards road cos she's too busy shouting at me and not busy enough watching where she's going. She gets scared and stops, so we all have to stop. Again.)

Me: What have you done Henry?

Henry: Who? Me? Nothing!

Me: you said 'oops?'

Henry: Ups! Brown vans, why do they say ups?

Eva: I am ti-erred! (Translation "I'm tired")

Me: We'll stop for a snack in the park very soon Eva, don't worry.

Eva: Where's the park, I don't know where the park is, my legs are ti-erred!

Me: (* quietly) Shame your mouth isn't as tired as your ...

Henry: Eva! Dad says he wishes your ...

Me: Shush Henry! (* And on seeing a UPS van drive past) oh, ups on brown vans is an abbreviation, you say it as U.P.S.

Eva: Dad says what?

Me: Dad says that we're stopping for a snack soon swertheart (*glares at Henry)

Henry: Right (*rolls eyes) So what does U.P.S. mean?

Me: I don't know.

Henry: *Tuts

Eva: You already said that! Where's the park? (*stops again, presumably cos her legs are really ti-erred)

Me: you see that big green area right next to us?

Eva: Yes.

Me: With the trees? And the plants?

Eva: Yes

Me: And the pond and the seats?

Eva: (* realising it was a stupid question) yeah ...

Me: That's the park, I can chuck you over this spikey metal fence or we can use the gate down the road. Your choice.

Henry: Dad ... (* Still grumbling that I don't know what U.P.S. stands for)

Me: (*Make something up, make something up) Oh, er, yeah, just remembered Henry, U.P.S means Universal Parcel Service.

Henry: Ok (* smiles)

Eva: I'm hung-gry!

Me: and ti-erred?

Henry: (* laughs)

Eva: (* scowls)

Well, you can't win them all, but the snack did the trick and all was well again.

UPS update
I was close with 'Universal', though I realised it didn't sound quite right at the time. The U is actually 'United'. I haven't told Henry, he's probably still imagining strange brown vans with slidey driver side doors pootling all over the universe right now delivering important parcels to all known alien life forms. And who am I to destroy a child's imagination?

Alternatively, there's a very good chance he hasn't given it a second thought and doesn't even remember asking me, in which case mentioning it to him will just cause massive confusion. So yeah, better to keep quiet either way.


A Token WFH Related Section - Technological Advances

After days of struggling to manage with a smaller computer screen and balance screen content (to minimise scrolling) with text size (to avoid eye strain) I have made a startling discovery. I can just move the screen closer to me. Works a treat. Genius.


Music

Henry has decided to start playing Eva's mostly unused, I-told-you-it-would-be-a-waste-of-money Christmas present, keyboard. His style would currently be described as loud and random.

Think 'plinky plinky plink plonk' and you wouldn't be too far off being right.

Good news: I've found his headphones, and they're plugged into the keyboard.

Bad news: he's started singing along too. And because he can't hear himself properly because of the headphones, he's singing really loudly.

He'll stop soon ... surely.

-

Later
Throughout the day his preferred genre evolved and moved on to what can probably best be described as a mash up of Thrash Metal and Popular Musicals, with a Brian Blessed-esque booming vocal.

And just as I thought I was going to have to take myself off for a calm down walk, he randomly segued into a really rather good rendition of Happy Together by The Turtles. No idea where he got that one from.


Cake

The wife has baked a cake. She is a superb baker, but I can't eat it. She and the kids have tucked into generous portions each, but I cannot.

It's still too sore a subject to discuss in detail, hopefully I'll find the strength to confront the issue tomorrow.