Real Tart

I’ve been a bit quiet lately because it’s been a bit noisy.
I’ve been trying to stop Six and Three from inflicting grevious wounds on each other while playing with toy fire engines, sticks, swords, or even soft pillows. Yes, the nippers are on their two week winter holidays.
For me it’s a full-time gig aside from when they’re asleep at night though even that often turns nasty with one or other of them variously falling out of bed, coming down telling me they’ve had a nightmare involving a dinosaur, a chicken, some honey and a badly rising souffle (they’ve been watching Masterchef), or they simply want to stay up and watch So You Think You Can Dance.
They argue all the time about the most inane things.
The other day Six had a friend over for a play morning, The mother decided I could have him all day – well thanks for that madam – and basically I spent all day separating the three of them. Boys.
When we took the friend home his younger brother Nate was there at the window. On the way home in the Bentley Three said, “I waved to Nate.” Six said, “But I waved to him first.”
Three: No you didn’t.
Six: I did. You just didn’t see me.
Three: I saw you fine.
Six: You didn’t. You were too busy waving.
Three: I waved more times than you.
Six: I waved eight times.
Three: I waved even double the times you waved.
Six: No, I was wrong. I waved sixty billion times and I saw him first.
Three: Did not!
Six: Did!
Three: Stop looking out of my window.
About then I’m gritting my teeth and holding the steering wheel so tight if it were a living thing it’d be dead, and I stop the Bentley quickly, usually sliding it off the road into the verge (and once into a ditch, but that’s another story) and give them a good talking to.
Of course it does no good and soon another subject is being argued about as though it’s an Olympic sport.
Roll on next week, I say.

There are some really silly Ads on TV here at the moment.
When I say silly I don’t mean amusing, I just mean real stupid.
One is a government jobby where a child is shown shouting at her doll. The idea here is if you shout at your children they will give the doll a serve.
Aside from the obvious – this is an Ad made by people who don’t have children – frankly I’d be quite happy if my kids shouted at their bears rather than abusing me all day long.
There’s another one which has been banned in several States. It comes on in the evening and features a bloke and his girlfriend in bed. She groans and turns away from him and then three copper-type blokes enter the room and the one says, “Now sir, you were speeding.”
Yes, it’s to do with premature ejaculation and it’s for some snake-oil type product that apparently can prolong the moment. Me personally, if indeed I had that problem madam, would like some idea of just what amount of extra time you could expect for your $29.99. I suppose though looking at your watch during the business could be a bit off-putting.
Anyway, it seems there have been many complaints to the advertising standards people along the lines of it makes men feel small (another problem, surely?) or inadequate. Er, yes...I think that’s the idea.
To be honest, I’m wondering what a bloke with this problem is doing watching TV when really he should be upstairs practising the too-and-fro and getting it right.
And the final one today is for some snack biscuits type thing where the woman comes on and daintily takes one and nibbles it and says, “they taste so good you’ll eat them straight out of the packet.”
Wow! That’s incredible! I’ll go and get me some of those right now!

I took Three to the doctor’s yesterday to get his sickness looked at because it seems to be because he’s really congested. Not that that stops him running around like a dervish, as they say, but still it might be something serious.
Now, Three likes to speak his mind, is afraid of no-one (except for the mythical ‘men’ who I threaten I will call to come and take him away if he keeps misbehaving...), and is very vocal.
We got in the doctor’s surgery and on duty was a plump, middle-aged, nervous looking woman, busy wiping her glasses with the bottom of her blouse as if trying to summon a genie.
Personally I thought she should see a doctor, but then I’m no expert.
Three stood in the corner, glaring at her as Six and I sat down. Then he pointed a finger at her and shouted,
"I will not come near you. You will not put that stellyscope near me. I will turn you into a monster because I am a Transformer. Leave me alone. You are a witch."
The doctor started flapping her hands and fanning herself. “My word!,” she said, “I have never come across a boy like this before."
I managed to get him to sit on my lap eventually with the threat he would have to go straight to hospital. She managed to look in his ears in amongst the screaming and howling but couldn't get him to take any breaths because he held his breath.
She reckoned he’s probably got a chest infection because his temperature was a bit high, but really she couldn’t be sure because he wouldn’t let her examine him.
At one stage she said, "I don't really know what to do because I've never experienced a boy like this before."
Well, welcome to my world.
The best bit was, when we were leaving he said to her, all innocent and kind and fluttering his eyelashes, “Could I please have my lolly now?”
She looked at him, frightened at this child who I’m sure she thought was the spawn of the devil himself and muttered, hands shaking, “I’m afraid we’re right out of lollies at the moment.”
Three stared at her, his brows knitting like Heathcliff’s. I picked him up under one arm and carried him out. “I want my lolly!,” he shouted as I bundled him into the Bentley.
Six, who now has one science lesson a week and is learning far too much for my liking, said, “Three, if we have to go to hospital they will carry out an examination of you and your bones. An infernal examination. Now, you don’t want one of those.”
No, indeed.