I’m a mug snob. I judge EVERYONE by the mug they give me to drink out of. Thus I judge myself by the mugs I give my family and friends to drink from.
The mug rules are quite simple:
1. It must have straight sides
2. It must be the same width at the bottom and top. NO Tapering mugs!
3. Graphics must be plain, stylish and simple and NOT funny (Unless vintage!)
When we picked up Boy from his week with Nanna he greeted us with hugs and a big shout of “I got you presents“. Inwardly I groan never being one to shield my dislike of a gift I don’t like. (Even from a seven year old with a great big smile on his face. I know – BOO HISS ME…. )
So….A bar of chocolate for me – great, inoffensive it was instantly opened and shared then Wife was given the most revolting mug I’ve ever seen. Two colours purple with a graphic which I still see when I close my eyes. It features her name and the following crass little poem:
Wife’s the one whose special
A well cool babe its true
Because she’s such a groovy gal
and funky through and through.
The thought of this abomination on my open kitchen mug shelf turns my tummy. It sits there amongst mugs I’ve taken a lifetime choosing, gloating and being all purple. I can’t bring myself to ‘accidentally‘ break it so have resolved to only give this mug to people I’m upset or cross with. Boys getting it for the next year such will be my revenge for his causing this Abomination to enter my home.
Going away for the weekend and we still have Mango the hamster we are looking after for neighbours. Our first few hours with him were a tiny bit fraught to say the least! (See here) . What to do?
Cracking Idea – Tufty Club over the road will look after him. They are qualified:
1. They used to have a pet Rat.
2. They have two brilliant young boys
3. Mummy Tufty is a whizz with animals
I sent a text – Will you look after Mango? She sent one back Yes? Don’t think I explained what Mango was but thats Tuftys lookout. I got the important YES!
This morning I popped Mango over and sat down for a coffee. Oldest Tufty boy came down for a look and Mango was placed in his walking ball. Our backs were turned two mins and he was off then the ball lid spilled open and Mango made his dash for freedom. He was eventually found behind a box of lego and recovered by Oldest but it did scare the hell out of me again. I left feeling less confident in their abilities.
Then Mummy Tufty sent this picture……with the ominous tag line – THINGS CAN ONLY GET WORSE.
I don’t think I’ll sleep tonight…
We uncovered the strongest evidence of Time Travel yesterday when we spotted what seemed to be a Blackberry mobile phone on the kitchen table of the house at Waltons mountain. Boy thinks that Dr Who could be responsible.
Was going to sent Boy off to cricket camp this morning with lunchbox full of the healthiest food in the universe:
1. Peanut Butter, Cheese and Mayo on White Bread. (A sandwich of my teenage years!)
2. A KitKat Chocolate Bar – 2 Fingers
3. A Banana
4. An Orange
5. A packet of Quavers
6. A large bottle of spring water
Then thought better of it and substituted the PB-CM sandwich for a straight Peanut Butter one. Have already eaten the PB-CM washed down with a Diet Coke!
Yum Yum – I can actually feel my arteries clogging!
“I’m hungry“. Said Boy
“I’m Working“. Said Dad
“But I’m Hungry – hungry, hungry, hungry…..”
“Make yourself a sandwich Boy… Or I can make you something in 10 mins“
Sounds come from the kitchen….
“What are you making?” I call out
“Yoghurt Sandwich!” Said Boy
“Fair enough” I said grabbing my phone and dashing to take a picture – It tasted good.
Work was not that important after all!
Over the weekend I took axe to the London Denim archive and cleared out to textile recycling over 200 wash and customised jean samples. I re-discovered a stash of other London Denim T’s. Some of which never made it into the collection. Have given them all to Boy. Boy choses his own clothes so I had a nice surprise when he rocked up to the Kitchen this morning in the Speaker T! Made 7 years ago by glueing 2000 silver nail heads onto a silk cotton jersey….Brain numbing work which I still have nightmares about. (That year I placed over 2 million little pieces onto clothing, I’ve just about recovered)
I was always the last kid to know the rules of a game and remember countless times not wanting to play because I just didn’t understand. Football, Rugby or Cricket. In each of these sports I remember vividly my first time playing them and being either told off, laughed at or simply being utterly confused by the game.
My first football match not taking a throw in properly, being offside not knowing how to kick a ball. My first time with a cricket bat not holding it properly, not understanding when to run, being told I was a slogger and should calm down (Whats a slogger I thought!) My first Rugby match not understanding when another kid palmed me in the face. The first ever swimming competition I entered having the adult head of the Boys Brigade I belonged to reduce me to tears because no-one had bothered to find out if the nine year old understood that Free Style meant should swim your fastest stroke (Front Crawl) rather than your best (Breast Stroke) – Sun Tzu says in the Art of War if you don’t explain things properly you are to blame, if you want a Kid swim freestyle and win perhaps try explaining that its not your BEST STYLE its your QUICKEST STYLE.
Adults continually assume that Kids know more than they do and when they get there more often than not . We send our Kids to schools and summer camps and if they’ve had no experience of the sport / activity then there is a larger than not chance that they won’t have a good time.
I’ve booked Boy in to do cricket for a week and he’s never played before. Thinking about my experiences I sent out an eMail to feMATES asking if anyone knew of a young adult in the school who could spend a couple of hours with Boy teaching him the ground rules. Mother Bear replied and Master T a fifteen year old senior was hired at a rate of £6 an hour.
Yesterday morning I sat on a bench with my Kindle and read while 7 year old Boy was enthused with a love of a sport he’d never played before by 15 year old Master T. He covered all of the ground rules and talked Boy through batting, fielding, bowling. Boy came home, grabbed the cricket bat and ball from the garage and spent the next hour hitting the ball into the washing hanging in the garden – a great result.
Now he’s primed with a basic understanding of the sport I hope he’ll pick it up and have a bit more of a love for a sport than his old man does.