Afternoon of daddy-care ends with trauma over testicle ...
ON SUNDAY afternoon, I got a text message from the Child Genius:
CG: Hi mum, are you busy?
Me: A little bit, we're at the hospital with your brother.
CG: What happened?
Me: He came off day's bike and we can't find one testicle.
Me: Dad's (I so love autocorrect).
CG: WHAT?! ARE YOU SERIOUS?!
Me: Yes I'm bloody serious. It's there now but they just need to check with a surgeon. Let me know if you need anything at the shops.
Yep, I left the men in my life unsupervised for two short hours while I took the She-Devil to a birthday party, and came home to 25% fewer testicles in my house.
After I posted this information on Facebook, because clearly I have no sense of propriety or shame, the question on most of my friends' fingertips was the same as mine.
My Small Boy is a very cautious lad. His sister will fling herself headfirst into a situation, fall over a hundred times and then wonder whether that was such a good idea, whereas he will carefully and cautiously consider all the potential hazards involved in a particular activity before dipping a toe in.
If the tide is high and the moon is in the seventh house.
And this cautiousness has caused particular friction between him and Modern Dad when it comes to the matter of bike riding.
I don't particularly get the appeal of bike riding, probably because I can't ride one myself.
This particular titbit was met with horror and dismay when it was first revealed to Modern Dad, but I don't really see that it's such a big deal.
I just never learned how. So I don't see that the Boy not being able to ride a bike is a catastrophe; I can't do it, and I am a fully functional human being - most of the time.
To Modern Dad, it's almost a personal affront that the Boy can't ride a bike on two wheels.
In trying to learn how, there have been tears, and tantrums, and things being chucked around, and that's just from Modern Dad.
And so, like we all do even though we say we won't, he resorted to bribery.
With the bribe stakes in place, he's agreed to not push the Boy too much and let him set the pace.
Which is how they somehow ended up racing on Sunday, the Boy on his scooter and Modern Dad on his pushie.
Which somehow led to the Boy being doubled on Modern Dad's handlebars. And then being off said handlebars.
And unfortunately not being tall enough for his feet to hit the ground before his genital region hit the tyre.
Luckily, for both of them really, the phantom testicle returned without the need for intervention.
And while the whole thing has led to some very colourful dinner time conversation, I think that bike riding is off the table for a while though, bribery or no.
Maroons, just spare a thought for those NSW kids
IT'S the time of year when I ordinarily go into hiding. State of Origin.
Look, my beverage of choice has gone from VB to XXXX. I say togs, and port rack, and Nikko. But you'll never get me in a Maroon jersey.
It was pretty good being a New South Welshwoman living in Queensland last week.
It's not normally like that. My poor boy, who turns 8 in a few short weeks, was born the day after the last time NSW won a series. He's never known what it's like to win.
When he decided he wanted to play footy, I was terrified. What if he was good at it? Like really good? He couldn't play for Queensland!
Luckily he was pretty ordinary and only wanted to play one season, so that crisis was averted.
I'm not going to say this year is our year, because I've been saying that for a while now and clearly I am very wrong. Except that it is. It has to be, surely. Please?
Do it for the kids. For those poor losers like my son who have never seen their home state win a series.
Be a good sharer Queensland, and you can have it back next year. Mum said.