Why Zelda Will Always Be A Link To The Past For My Son And I…

Tags

children, entertainment, Family, games, Gaming, Learning, Nintendo, Relationships, technology

 

December 2011, I’m flicking my WiiMote around in order to make my onscreen character – Link – defeat Ganon. The game I’m playing is Skyward Sword the swansong for the Wii console, and a fitting game for me to play to completion. The game concerns Link’s ongoing efforts to save the land of Hyrule from the main bad-guy, the aforementioned Ganon.

 

My almost-one-year-old son has been avidly watching me play it, which is fine as it’s a fairly cartoony, non-violent game (well, there are monsters to kill, but they aren’t gruesome kills, and there’s no blood). His big eyes follow my every move and, when I nip for a cup of tea, or to the toilet, I often return to find him waving the WiiMote at the screen. It’s a great moment when I finally defeat Ganon and give my son a cuddle, knowing I’ll never forget this moment.

 

Jump forward to 2017, my son is now 6-and-a-half and has his own gaming system, the Wii’s successor, the Nintendo WiiU. I say it’s his, but I bought it for myself, so he’s effectively stolen it from me, in that way that kids do. I don’t mind though, because I’ve bought myself a Nintendo Switch (which he will inevitably steal from me one day down the line). The one thing these two systems have in common? Zelda: Breath Of The Wild.

 

In a move that apes Nintendo’s previous one, this game is the swansong for the WiiU, but also a launch title for the Switch. It’s also an incredibly bonding experience for me and my son. He’s now of an age where he can play these games and understand most – if not all – of the game mechanics. Some of it is lost on him – the reams and reams of text detailing the various quests clearly go over his head. But that’s where daddy comes in.

 

As I am playing the game at the same time as he is – and am further ahead too – I’m always on hand to offer him guidance when he gets stuck. He talks about it nonstop, from the moment he wakes up, till the moment he goes to bed. I personally have no problem whatsoever with this, but it can wear on his mother’s nerves, as he is effectively speaking a different language to her when he talks about the game.

 

It’s incredible how far he’s come since those days back in 2011, when he was merely an observer. Indeed he’s even teaching me a few tricks; it’s like having a mini co-pilot. These games aren’t released very often, so I’m savouring it, trying to make it last. I can see he wants to rush through though, but thankfully his lack of grasping the finer details means that I can slow the pace down.

 

His time on the game is monitored (I fully believe that he would play it from sun-up to sun-down if he could) and it’s taken away if he misbehaves. I’m a parent who believes that gaming, in reasonable doses, is not only a positive thing for kids but beneficial too. Gaming is much more interactive than just watching a film, or a TV series. It also enhances hand-eye coordination and improves fine-motor skills.

 

I love the discussions we have, the thousand-and-one questions he hurls at me every day, the many, many drawings he does, of the many, many characters in the game. He’s even created pictorial books – yes, books! – detailing the adventures he’s undertaken in the game. When he himself runs out of steam, or finds a certain character a bit too difficult to draw, then he calls on me to aid him (I’m OK at tracing but have no real natural talent, my son does though, he has a certain style that I think is fantastic).

 

It’s a fantastic thing to see, his big eyes shining with awe as he talks about his latest run-in with one of the game’s baddies. The many fist-bumps we share with each other when one, or the other, solves a riddle, or defeats a particularly troublesome baddie. He’s got a lot of patience too, for a six-year-old, I’ve yet to see him get angry. Whenever he gets defeated – even if it’s for the 20th time – he simply dusts himself off (metaphorically speaking) and gets stuck right back in.

 

It won’t be long though before we meet Ganon, and defeat him, bringing this fantastic game to an end. This time however we won’t only do it together, but also together: he on his system and me on mine.

 

Then it will just be a case of waiting another 5 years or so for the next instalment…then I’m fairly sure he will be the master, and I the apprentice…

Things I Miss About The UK: My Overprotective Smoke Alarm…

Tags

annoyances, cultural differences, France, funny, Humor, technology, uk

 

 

One day in the kitchen…

 

My Smoke Alarm: ‘Aww hey there Phil, how you doing today, say, what’s that you’re cooking hon?’

 

Me: ‘Oh nothing special, just a bit of toast’

 

My Smoke Alarm: ‘To..toast? Did you say Toast?! FIRE FIRE FIRE CALL THE FIRE BRIGADE FIRE GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT!’

 

Me: (wafting tea-towel desperately, to halt the piercing noise) ‘Stop! Stop! It’s not a fire it’s just toast!!!!’

 

 

 

 

Another day in the kitchen…

 

Me: (Stretching and rubbing sleep out of my eyes) ‘Mmm think me and the kids’ll have a taste of France for breakfast’

 

My Smoke Alarm: ‘Morning Phil, what’s that you say, fancy something different?’

 

Me: ‘Yep, just slid a couple of pain au chocolats in to the mini oven, don’t take but 30 seconds to co..’

 

My Smoke Alarm: ‘PASTRIES! PASTRIES! FIRE FIRE!!! GET OUT CALL THE POLICE!!! THE HOUSE IS GONNA BURN DOWN!!!!’

 

Me: (going deaf in one ear due to pitch of alarm) ‘Where’s the tea-towel gone? stop making that noise!!!!’

 

 

 

One day in the garden…

 

Me: ‘The sausages are nearly done, who wants some first, hey son, don’t open the kitchen door you’ll let the smoke insi…’

 

My Smoke Alarm: ‘OOOOOH LORDY LORDY!!! WE ALL GONNA BURN!!! FIRE FIRE CALL THE POLICE!!! FIRE!!!’

 

Me: ‘Son, just close the door, she’ll quiet down soon enough’

 

 

 

One day in the living-room…

 

Me: ‘Okay kids, that’s the pumpkins all carved up, now lets put some candles inside th…’

 

My Smoke Alarm: ‘SAVE YOURSELVES!!! FORGET ABOUT ME!!! RUN, RUN FOR YOUR LIVESSSSS!!!!’

 

 

 

 

 

 

The kitchen here in France is lovely…but it’s awful quiet…

My Achilles’ Heel: The Washing Machine

Tags

children, cleaning, Humor, stay-at-home Dad, technology

 

OK, let’s get one thing clear: that is not what the front panel on our washing machine looks like. But it may as well do.

 

I’ve taken on-board a lot of tasks since becoming a stay-at-home dad, certain areas are very clearly outlined – by myself I might add – as my domain. Vacuuming – that’s all mine, and I love it. Does that make me sound sad or strange? I don’t care, I love the look of a nice, clean carpet – it generally stays clean for three minutes due to my children somehow generating crumbs even when there is no food in the nearby vicinity; but those three minutes are glorious.

 

Washing up? That’s all me too. I am master of the dishwasher, I know where all the different crockery, pans, storage tubs go. I even like a nice bit of old-fashioned washing up, just to make sure everything is spick and span. I do get grief for this though, as my partner cannot understand why I would manually wash up when we have a machine to do it. I just like to, isn’t that enough?

 

Ironing? Another area of expertise for me. I take care of all my own and the kids’ clothing. On the days when all the little items of clothing are dry it can seem like you are ‘at the board’ forever. And just when you think you are at the bottom of the pile another lot will be revealed. I never iron my partners clothes though – this is because the majority of them are composed of a material so man-made that they generally go ‘pfffffft’ and shrivel up on contact with anything hotter than, say, the heat generated by a small mouse breathing out.

 

You can also ‘treat’ yourself by ironing towels. Towels are so easy, just big oblongs of material, that take no time to do but, and here’s the main thing, a pile of nicely ironed and folded towels always looks great, and like you’ve expended much more effort than you actually have. You know what? I never thought I’d ever type out a sentence like that.

 

Yet one thing in the household still eludes me: understanding the washing machine. I constantly think that the aforementioned towels – of any shape or size – can be put in with any wash. They are just towels after all. This is incorrect. I additionally think that certain items, say ones that have been worn for years, will be fine in the washing-machine with anything else. This is incorrect. I often think that the pile of clothes in front of the half-full washing machine can also be stuffed inside, as they must simply be waiting to go in there. This is also incorrect.

 

Then there are these things:

 

At the last count we had approximately 86 of these scattered around the house. I tried to cull them one week but was told off as they were ‘needed’. Really? how many does one house really need? And why are they all in different colours? and different sizes? I know they go inside the washing machine, but how much liquid do I put in them? And, most crucially, where do they come from? I have never seen one of these in the shopping basket, or attached to any washing powder/liquid, so I must simply assume that my partner bought a pair to breed and they have simply created an army of…these….things… I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT THEY ARE CALLED!

 

Oh and that brings me onto washing powders/liquids. Non bio..Bio…Powder..liquid…I’m lost. I once tried to buy some, trying to make an independent decision for once. The incorrect box of detergent has been sat in the back of my car for so long that I am going to hold a birthday party for it soon. But on the plus side it did make my car smell nice.

 

And as if the control panel on the washing machine itself isn’t complicated enough, then there’s the labelling on clothing. It’s like the makers of clothes and the manufacturers of washing machines got together and decided to create a system to drive men insane. Here’s a very accurate description of how my eyes perceive clothes’ labelling, apologies in advance as it does contain swear-words, but I feel it gets my point across better than words alone could:

 

 

Look at those symbols, it’s like some hellish form of Hieroglyphics. How do I understand these? Is there a training course? Do I need to go on retreat for two weeks to a special monastery to study the ancient arts of clothes-washing?

 

Our previous washing-machine broke a month ago, and we had to get a new one. When the delivery guys came to fit it I took one look at this shiny-white baffling contraption and simply stated ‘I hate washing machines’. One of the guys looked at me, instantly understanding ‘They’re not designed for us to use’. I had to agree, and that’s why, in this household anyway, the washing machine will never fall under my jurisdiction.

 

 

 

 

 

Please note if any of this comes across in anyway as sexist then I do apologise, that’s not my intent, rather I just wanted to illustrate the fact that it is all just a total mystery to me.

I’m Going To Marry My Vacuum Cleaner

Tags

children, chores, cleaning, fun, Humor, kids, love, melt down, musings, Parenting, technology

Why do I bother vacuuming?

I get on this hamster wheel every day.

I follow the trails my children leave around the house like Hansel, or Gretel. But there’s no sanctuary at the end of my trail of breadcrumbs. There’s no witch waiting to fatten me up, and then put me in an oven either.

No, there’s only more breadcrumbs. And the occasional piece of shrivelled up ham.

I treasure those brief moments where everything looks nice and clean. Admiring the vacuum cleaner’s marks on the carpet, like contrails in the sky.

It lasts overnight sometimes.

Then the kids wake up.

And the lovely sucker goes back to work, eating all the food that doesn’t quite hit the target.

She’s got the best diet of anyone in our household, despite just being an appliance. There’s not a day goes by when she doesn’t gorge herself on cereal, bread, cheese, meat and the occasional sock (good for roughage are socks).

She’s better than a dog when it comes to finishing meals. She’s not fussy. And she’ll never leave you a present in your slippers.

She’s my first, and last, line of defence against the enemies of cleanliness in my household – my children.

Sometimes, they even create work while I’m vacuuming. Following me round while I hoover up.

They eat biscuits while they watch me.

Their eyes glint with mirth, while they chow down on Mr Crumblie’s Extra Mega Crumbly Biscuit (NOW WITH 50% MORE CRUMBS KIDS!). They leave a trail that is all but guaranteed to lure ET into the house, if he ever comes back to see Elliot again.

I’m going to marry my hoover, I might as well, we spend so much time together. One can’t work without the other.

I spend more time touching it than I do my partner. That’s not sick, or warped.

Or is it?

No. That’s just one more part of being a stay-at-home dad.

Tune in next week for:

‘WHAT I DID WITH THE DISHWASHER, AND HOW I JUSTIFIED IT TO MY PARTNER’