This is the 5th in an ongoing series about how I parent my children in extremely mediocre style. I have read no books on parenting, and base my practices purely on selfish and desperate measures.
It is just sometimes, I do not like them very much.
Yesterday was one of those days. For one of them anyway.
I had picked Jack up from the bus stop (Harry had a RDO from school. They are both allowed one a term. We call them mental health days. For when it is all getting to much. I know. Call DOCS.) We went to tennis lessons. Jack had the wild look in his eye that 5 year olds get when they are a precise mixture of exhaustion and excitement. The perfect tantrum storm was brewing.
When we got home, he was playing with his friend from next door when he thought it was a great idea to give Harry a king hit, Tyson style. Which would have all gone down ok I suspect, if I had not chosen that exact same moment to take yet another steaming pile of festy clothes to the laundry, and witness the entire event.
I asked his little friend to go home. Jack was not happy and flew into a rage that is mainly only saved for shopping centres or for when Harry is leaving to go to a birthday party. Real, unadulterated rage, you know like when your face turns red, bits of spit come out and fists start flying and screams are emitted that send the neighbourhood dogs into a frenzy..
I cautiously carried Jack into his room, taking great care to staying of the way of his punching and kicking. I placed him onto his bed and left, closing the door behind me, wondering "Where the hell did that come from?"
His room fell silent, so I got on with my mundane afternoon chores, which ironically consisted of doing things to make Jack's life more pleasant. Such as running his bath and preparing him a nutritious meal for him to later refuse to eat.
I heard his door open a short time later and stuck my head into the hall to see him standing there with his shoes on and a bag packed. After a short exchange, it was determined that he was running away to find a new family, and it was at this point that I agreed that that was the best possible time to end to our 5 and a half years together.
"Now darling, just tell your new family that you are not allergic to anything, but they will have to change the batteries in your hearing aids once a week." I explained before yelling "Harry, come and say goodbye to your brother. He is leaving!"
It was at that point that Mr Woog arrived home from work. He quickly surveyed the scene at the front door and asked what was going on.
"Jack is leaving." I told him.
Mr Woog patted Jack on the head and told him he would be greatly missed before heading inside.
I escorted Jack out the front door and gave him a kiss goodbye. The whole time, I could see Jack thinking "Hey, none of this is going according to my evil plan of guilt spreading......." and with that, he dropped his bag (which by the way contained 2 pairs of underpants and 57 squinkies) and leaped up into my arms with a big apology. I did not even mind that the 2 snot bubbles exploded onto my shoulder.
And that, my friends, is how you call kids bluff.
Any Questions?
