An irrational fear of adults

You know what's a strange experience the first time you do it alone? ...hold on, I'll give you a second to come up with your own answers before I remind it's not that kind of blog I'm writing. Okay, are we good? Well my actual answer is: Picking up your Stepson from school. Don't get me wrong, it's truly amazing to be that involved and trusted with the little man's daily life that you get sent on such a mission solo. However it's also one of the times you feel most like a outsider. Think about it, a lot of parents and kids who don't  know who you are and what your relation to this child you're meeting is. You can really feel like you stand out. You wonder if you look parent-y enough to be there. Even if there was such a thing as a "standard generic parent" look then I doubt I would subscribe to it.

The thing that struck me most about this experience is how it made me feel like a nervous child myself. I don't know if this something specific to being a NotDad, but I as I stood and waited for the bell to ring and the school to empty with all the other awaiting parents and guardians I found myself thinking this:

"Oh god, I'm surrounded by grownups"

Now let's be honest, this statement is just ridiculous. The first time I picked the MiniMosher up from school I was a 31 year old man not a premature teenage father. Plus, if I'm totally honest with myself, there is a pretty good chance that a number of the "grownups" that surrounded me were probably significantly younger than me. Only physically though.

On the other hand when the school doors finally opened and a flurry of kids filled the play ground I felt almost a sigh of relief that the place was then filled with minds I could probably relate to much more.

Maybe it's because the experience sprung it on me that all of a sudden I was the responsible adult. Me? The one in charge? What is the world coming to. I mean, it's great, fantastic even, but have we really thought this all the way through?

I'd like to think that in terms of parenting my reaction to "grownups" might give me a bit of an advantage. The jump from living alone to living with someone and their child might be a far scarier prospect to someone who doesn't already feel like they have a bit of common ground with the little one. After all most people are more intimidated by room full of kids than room full of people around the same age as them. Which of course is natural, especially if you don't have kids of your own or spend time with any. Kids think differently, talk differently, have different social boundaries, they're small, they're fast and they have razor sharp fangs capable of administering a venom that kills you in less than ninety seconds.* It can be a daunting challenge.

Or maybe it's simply that I lack the context that all the other parents have. They are, in a sense, a community that have all come and gone to same place everyday for years. They see each other, they see each other's children. Then one day they all arrive and out of the blue some beardy heavy metal, geeky bloke with a mohawk in a demin cut-off has shown up there with them. Must be odd for them too.

I may still be an outsider to that community, but I guess the reason I'm there in first place is because of my own little community of me, My Lady and the MiniMosher. I reckon that's worth feeling like the kid among the grownups for.

*For those who didn't realise, that description was obviously over exaggerated for both comic effect and to give an idea how intimidated some people get by kids. I can assure you that, at worst, child venom only causes temporary paralysis.

Tales of MiniMosher mirth

 Wow, been a while, hasn't it? I mean it's now a new year and I haven't updated this blog since August. It's been a busy latter half of the year and, unfortunately, this blog has been one of things that have fallen by the way side. But I shall be rectifying that now and getting back into it.

 I thought about how I would restart this as I still had a lot things I was gonna talk about. I planned to say lots of serious and insightful things about being a step-parent, because I'm deep like that. And I can say that without irony or self-depreciation because this is my blog and I can say what I like and get away with it. So there.

 But you know what? Me and the family don't spend 24 hours a day making fathomless observations on the ramifications our lives have on each other. Oh no, it's not constant epiphanies all year round. Sometimes we just, you know, arse about. Sometimes we are just silly. Sometimes being NotDad is just a laugh. So this post is to share a few of the more humorous stories I have of my time with My Lady and the MiniMosher.

 Enjoy.

Roll your R's
 Not sure if I've mentioned this before, but I'm a Scot living in England. I've lived there for over 10 years now. It's a positive experience on the whole ...you do get the occasional get a bit of ribbing about your accent. Especially if you live with My Lady and the MiniMosher. In fact, with them it can be more of a constant onslaught. Of course, with them both being Scouse there is absolutely nothing funny sounding about their accents so they have to take amusement in mine.
 On one particular day this took the form of them both competing against each other to decide who could do the best Scottish accent.
 After several attempts My Lady finally declared "I can't roll my R's well enough to do a proper Scottish accent."
 This prompted the MiniMosher to say "I can roll my R's, look!" and with that he jumped to his feet, turned his back on us and rotated his bum zumba style at us.

The Bumming Incident
 I suppose it's not all a one way street when it comes to teasing, I can really wind up the MiniMosher pretty well when we are messing about too. Usually to the point where he ends up saying that he's gonna get me when we get home. Often he claims he's gonna bash me, suplex me or put me in a submission hold. One time when all three of us were all out on on car journey he hit me with an entirely new threat.
 I was good naturely winding the little guy up when he came out with the following:
 "When we get home I'm gonna bum you"
 Now, I think it's safe to say that the moment's silence which promptly followed his statement was suitably uncomfortable. I mean, how do you react when an eight year old threatens to bum you.
 Upon further questioning on why he had just said he qualified his statement with "You know, like the Big Show"
 Now, for those not in the know, the MiniMosher is fond of professional wrestling and the Big Show is a large 7 foot tall, 500 pound wrestler. This did not quite explain gwhy he thinks the Big Show "bums" people though. It certainly wasn't something I had observed happening in all my years watching
So it begs the obvious question, which we had to ask, "When does the Big Show bum people"
 The MiniMosher's explanation was as follows: "Well, he throws them into the corner of the wrestling ring. Then he turns around and crushes them in the corner with his bum ...he bums them!"

The World's Greatest Profession

In terms of completely inappropriate outbursts from the wee man this one still stands tall as king.
I can't remember exactly what we were watching but the MiniMosher had taken a particular dislike to a certain character or person. His final outburst of frustration with this person/character/entity came when muttered the phrase "What a Puff" at the TV.
Now this is one of those trying parental moments. Because it sounded like he had used a certain derogatory phrase that is aimed at homosexuals. This is something that couldn't and wouldn't stand for because, well, it's just not right.
So we sternly asked if he knew why he shouldn't have said it.
His reply came as "Because it's rude?"
So we calmly explained how it wasn't just rude but just plain nasty and discriminatory. We explained what it meant and how it just wasn't right to call someone that.
Job done. Good parents.
....except it wasn't over just like that because he then smugly replied with "It doesn't mean that".
I won't lie, we were somewhat baffled by this and had to ask what it mean.
"I can't tell you that ...it's rude"
And just like that, he had. If we wanted to know what was going on we had give him permission to say something naughty. Classic trap. Of course we bit and told him he could say it to explain it to us.
"Puff ...P.U.F.F ...it stands for Professional Underwater Fanny Feeler"
Now this is another one of those trying parental moments. Now we had to remain stoic and make sure he knows it's not funny to be so puerile. That's the adult thing to do.
...what we actually did was fall over ourselves laughing for five or ten minutes. What can I say? Maturity can't win all the time.
Plus I couldn't help wondering how much harder I would tried at swimming lessons at school if that had been real viable career option.