Learning To Ride A Bike…

Tags

children, kids, love, musings, outdoors, Parenting, park

I remember when I learned to ride a bike.

 

I was on my own.

 

No mum, no dad.

 

Just me, wheeling round my local estate.

 

Freewheeling, and then it just…’clicked’.

 

I was filled up with joy, elated.

 

I wanted to share it with someone.

 

But I was alone.

 

I never wanted this to happen to you though, son.

 

We’ve done it together, me and you.

 

In the park, on a bright sunny day.

 

Mummy and your sister are watching, over near the swings.

 

You are so happy,  a huge smile spread across your face.

 

You’ve got it, it’s ‘clicked’ for you, like it did for me.

 

But you’re not alone.

 

We’ll remember this day for years to come.

 

And we’ll always be together.

I Never Thought I’d Say That To My Son…

Tags

children, cycling, Humor, kids, melt down, outdoors, Parenting, park

 

Little legs push the pink bike up the garden path, there’s merriment twinkling in those young eyes. But then the pedalling stops. Hands dart through pockets, frantically searching. Big eyes scour the grass, eyelashes blink and there are the first hints of tears welling up. ‘Where’s my lip-gloss?’ the plaintive cry echoes around the garden.

 

My son has lost his lip-gloss. He is sat on a pink bike crying about it. I am OK with this. I am OK with this.

 

This is all my fault.

 

We are visiting friends for the afternoon, friends who have kids that have grown up with ours via a shared nursery. We head to the local park to let them have a bit of fun. It’s here that I spy the lip-gloss on the floor. I wouldn’t ordinarily give something like this to my son (for fairly obvious reasons), but it comes with a ‘Moshi Monster’ tag attached to it, which I know he loves, so I do. It looks like this:

 

 

He’s pleased as punch with it, and even more so when we find a second one, which he actually prefers, so he gives the first one to his sister. This leads to cries of ‘But I don’t have one!’ from his friend Alex. Alex’s sister is also with us, but she could care less about the lip-gloss. Not the boys though. In a park filled with rides and swings, they seem more interested in the tube of bright pink lip decoration than anything else.

 

We head back to our friend’s house and continue to play in the garden. Alex has a bike, but he’s a big lad, and so it’s far too large for my son to ride. Alex’s sister’s bike however, is just right for my son. In size if not in colour, anyway.

 

We while away the next hour or so in a delightful mix of the kids leaving the garden on their various two-wheeled modes of transport, and me chasing them back in the garden. It’s stressful, but fun. Until my son realises that he’s lost his lip-gloss.

 

We go hunting for it in the garden, no result. We head back out towards the park, eyes glued to the ground, me leading a search party of four kids, but no luck there either. We look in the house, in the toilet, even places where we haven’t been. It’s gone.

 

I look at my my little boy, sat on his pink bike, his eyes filled with tears, and I utter a sentence I never thought I would, to my nearly-six-year-old son: ‘It’s OK’ I say to him, ‘We’ll find your lip-gloss’*.

 

 

 

 

*We didn’t.

Fun Times At Pleasure Island Cleethorpes, On The Last Day Of The Holidays

Tags

children, fun, funny, holidays, Humor, kids, outdoors, Parenting, park

My son and I have a tradition. As he isn’t six yet it’s not exactly a longstanding one, but it is one I hope to enjoy with him for many years to come. On the last day of the long summer holidays we take a trip to Cleethorpes, in Yorkshire, and enjoy a day at Pleasure Island, a theme park. It’s not the most popular theme park in the UK, but therein lies its attraction.

 

Not for us the lengthy queue-times, or wallet-cripplingly high entrance fees, oh no. We get to enjoy a day of pretty much instantly going on any rides we like (and that my son is tall enough for) at a reasonable rate. OK, so some of the rides aren’t exactly top-of-the-range, but my son is young, and he doesn’t care.

 

So here for you are a selection of photos from our day out together.

 

(Oh, and in case you are wondering why my daughter isn’t with us, that’s because she’s in nursery. Take them both to the theme park? on my own? are you insane?).

 

The start of the day. A gloomy start, but we were lucky and the weather held off for the most part. We got there ten minutes before they opened, and my son managed to beat his personal best score of 110 utterances of the question ‘Is it open yet Daddy?’ in that space of time. New record is 121.

We always go on the peddaloes first, and the guy always tells us ‘stay away from the sides of the lake’ and my son always steers us into the sides of the lake.

Waiting for the train, it transports you around the park. It’s not an especially large park, but it’s a nice touch.

My son, who is quite timid as a rule, made me go on this. A log-flume like ride in a dark wet tunnel. I don’t like heights. Look at how high that thing is.

The obligatory cuddly toy. I got it from a ‘guaranteed win’ machine for £2. Took me ten minutes, he was very specific. Had to be brown. I was sweaty and aggressive by the time I finally grabbed the thing.

An Alpaca that, despite the warning signs, steadfastly refused to spit at my son. That would have made his day.

On the monorail. Giving us epic views of everything from 8 feet in the air.

This looks like Cape Canaveral (is that spelled right?) as opposed to a gloomy day in Cleethorpes.

Can’t go to the seaside without buying an ice cream.

Mr happy. He was put out because I didn’t want to lose more money playing games that you can’t win – where you have to knock down three tins – and thus meaning he wouldn’t be going home with a three-foot-tall Super Mario.

All smiles again.

The chap manning this ride was bereft of intelligence, wit, charm and, almost, his trousers, due to an unfortunate lack of belt. Seriously, I thought he’d wandered in from the set of Hot Fuzz (yarp!).

Inappropriate Arnold Schwarzenegger Impersonations In The Park

Tags

children, cinema, entertainment, film, Humor, kids, Parenting, park

I don’t know why I started doing this, but they’re laughing their heads off and it would be a shame to stop now.

We’re at the local park, the one with two swings, a bench and nothing else. This is the lesser of two parks in my village, the other one has climbing frames, slides, carousels…you name it, the other park has it. There’s clearly a disparity in the allocation of fun, maybe there were some midnight-thefts, or maybe someone with an eye on having the best park slept with the right person to ensure their park came out on top. I don’t know, but that’s the way it is.

We don’t mind though. The swings are ideal, one is for bigger kids – my son – and the other is designed for toddlers – my daughter. It’s great as I can push them at the same time, they have fun and I can see how far I can swing them before they start doing that ominous wobbling thing that all swings do, when they are reaching dangerous altitudes.

As I swing them I just happen to say, in a strong Austrian accent ‘I am the Swinginator’.

My lad loves this and immediately starts laughing, as does his sister. ‘Again daddy, again’ He cries. I oblige with ‘My mission is…to swing you’. They laugh and clearly want more, but I really can’t think of any more swing-related phrases and so lapse into actual lines from The Terminator franchise to appease them. This really gets them laughing.

‘Skynet becomes self-aware, and launches nuclear missiles at targets in Russia, knowing that the counter strike will take out its targets here in America’ more laughter follows.

‘The man most directly responsible for Skynet’s creation is Miles Bennet Dyson’ both kids are red in the face with glee.

‘Mimetic Polyalloy, whatever it touches it becomes…it cannot form items that contain complex moving parts,but it can form knives and stabbing weapons’ I start to worry that my son will wet himself, he’s laughing that hard.

As I’m pushing them, trying to think up more Schwarzenegger pearls, I wonder why I started coming out with this robot-themed narration.

I watched Terminator Genisys at the weekend, so that must be it.

I didn’t understand it.

There were robots coming from the future, the past and the possible-future. Arnold was in it, but he was old.

Also someone sent Arnold back to before all the other Terminator films, but nobody explained that part.

And the Golden Gate Bridge had an action scene on it, in what must now be a pre-requisite of action films.

Back to the swings and the kids are still in gales of laughter, but I’m running on empty with Terminator-talk.

I know, let’s switch to that other kiddie-favourite: Darth Vader.

‘You are part of a rebel-alliance, and you will give me the information I need’ I say, channelling James Earl Jones so well it’s scary. The kids crack up.

‘I changed our deal, pray I do not change it further’ and ‘Obi Wan has taught you well’ are both met with similar levels of amusement.

At this point my son decides to lift up his feet and squat on his swing, he looks a bit precarious to me. ‘I’m doing it like Spiderman daddy’ he says ‘Are you safe?’ I ask him. This makes me consider doing a Laurence Olivier ‘Is it safe?’ impersonation from Marathon Man.

I decide against it though, and we leave the park having exhausted our inappropriate banter.

Well, for today at least.

32 bikes at the bottom of the lake

Tags

children, cycling, Humor, kids, musings, Parenting, park

I wish you’d make up your bloody mind son, this is the third time this month we’ve come out to the lake and every time it’s the same.

 

‘Can I bring my bike Daddy?’ you say to me, your big eyes even larger than usual.

 

Of course I agree.

And now look at me – I’ve got a bike on my shoulder.

 

Halfway round the lake and a slight incline causes my son to stop pedaling.

 

The going’s got, slightly, tough. The tough have got off their bike.

 

He’s alright. He’s running in the fallen leaves, playing with his stick.

 

You ever tried carrying a bike (suitable for ages 3 – 6) home?

It’s great

 

 

They aren’t designed for adults (They’re suitable for ages 3-6) so pain’s involved any which way you choose.

 

 

You can walk along holding it, you will be guaranteed to look like Caesar, the simian leader from Rise Of The Planet Of The Apes if you do this, shuffling along, bent over (unless you are Tom Cruise, then this does not apply).

 

Carry it, see how long that lasts, it’s surprising how quickly these things start giving your muscles that lovely burning sensation.

 

I plump for wedging it on my shoulder, using the gap between the seat and rear wheel. This is painful, but I can bear it. I can’t turn my head though. Pedals in the way. I did that once, it hurt.

 

I pass people as I walk round the lake, they give me strange looks. Not the dads though. They know my pain, their eyes say, my son does it every time too.

 

My son’s happy, he’s jumping between ditches now, getting his new shoes nice and dirty. I look at the lake, I bet if they dredged it, I think to myself, they’d find 3 shopping trolleys, a car and 32 bikes (suitable for ages 3-6). Chucked in by dads like me, who’d finally snapped.

 

 

I look ahead, only another mile-and-a-half to go. By the way, did I mention I’m pushing his sister along on her trike too?

 

 

Soon there will be 33 bikes (suitable for ages 3-6) in that lake, I think, as the bike bites into my shoulder.

Can’t get you out of my head…

Tags

children, kids, melt down, park, public, stay-at-home Dad

‘La,la,la,la,la’ says my son as he walks through the leafy park, ‘La,la,la,la’. This would be nice, if he was singing a tuneful ditty, or maybe humming along to himself.

But he’s not. He’s holding his left arm out to the side in a bid to stop it hurting him. He’s just had a tumble in a new park, or should I say new to us. Our first visit to this green and pleasant area (with pond!) and it’s already shaping up to be memorable for all the wrong reasons.

‘La, la, la,’ he says again, in what is surely the world’s worst Kylie Minogue impression. Maybe we should go back to the car, I suggest. Oh no, no we can’t do that. Go back to the car and get some aid? Maybe use it to go home to put a plaster on the offending arm (it’s bleeding, and even to my eyes looks bad). ‘I want to stay here for five more minutes daddy’ he says, between la, la las, and with tears streaming down his face.

So we stay. Me pushing his 18-month-old sister in the wonderfully maneuverable trike, and him walking along like a mini-member of The Walking Dead.

‘Hurts me daddy, it hurts me’. I know, I tell him, but it will get better. ‘Will it?’ He asks with his big four-year-old eyes full of hope. Yes, it will, but it will just take a while I say.

‘la, la, la’ he continues heading through the park. And of course because these kind of things can never happen in a nice quiet area, we have company. The man with the dog, and in fact his dog, are wondering what’s going on with the wailing kid.

The lady from playgroup, and her daughter, who will now remember me as ‘that bloke who wouldn’t take his kid home after he hurt his arm’ she’s also there. We bumped into her when we first got here.

That all seems like a long time ago.

‘La,la,la’ He’s heading out of the park now, towards a well-to-do looking housing estate. There’s a little path leading to it. At the head of the path are two snogging teenagers. I remember being a teenager. The world disappeared when I was kissing a girl, nothing else mattered. That being said, I never enjoyed a tryst with a girl while a four-year-old shakily approached me, crying and holding his arm. They look around. They stare. I stare back. “He’s had a little tumble” I explain. ‘aww’ goes the girl. “But he won’t go back in the car” I continue. The girl nods as if in sympathy. “So here I am”, I finish, looking like father-of-the-year. The boy doesn’t say anything, he just wants us to go so he can reattach himself to the girl.

We continue forward into the (blessedly) quiet estate. Maybe we should go home now, I suggest. My son looks at me, big eyes turned up to 11. ‘It hurts Daddy, why does it hurt?’. I draw on all my 11-months experience of being a stay-at-home dad. “Well”, I begin, “if we go home we can put a plaster on it, and then If you let me clean it and you’re a brave boy I can give you a Moshi Monster sticker as a reward”. ‘Will that make it better daddy?’ he asks me. “Yes” I lie, to his face.” Yes it will”.