Friday, April 28, 2006

I'm the Daddy, get me out of here...

I came across the concept of Meme’s years ago, and loved the thought of cultural evolution via viral distribution of concepts by word or deed. Blogs being the things they are (and inherently a form of Memetic distribution) have mutated the word into the distribution of an action or a list from blog to blog (which is indeed a subset of the concept). So, it being Friday, and I have to waste some time before meeting friends for dinner, my meme of the week. The basis for this is from Petite, who joyfully expounded on her latest of the same theme.

My top three, most hole digging, face reddening, eye shutting, get me the hell out of here, things my kids have done.

  1. On taking my young Princess into the pool while the boys where having their swimming lesson. We’re having a lovely time, playing and splashing together. There is no sign, no auger that something is amiss. Then, as she’s climbing out of the pool, a dark sludge starts running down her legs and stains the edge of the pool. Of course there is a life guard standing right there who gives me a horrified look, then runs off shouting, “Get the mop, quick!”. I jump out and run holding her at arms length leaving a trail of dribbling mess. Into the loos, and I strip her out of her swimming costume. The interior is a sight no human should have to behold. So, of course, as I leave the cubicle to take it to the sinks I walk straight into another chap leaving the loos…
  2. On taking Number One Son into a set of train station loos when he was just learning to speak. We share a cubicle, he goes first, I second. He says in his exuberant, loud voice, “Daddy! You have such a big willie!” I rush us out, to a horrified look of the attendant, don’t even wash hands, and stand waiting for the train certain an officer of the law will come tapping me on the shoulder in a second and haul me away on child abuse claims…
  3. On sitting and waiting for a plane, Number Two Son turns to me and points to a rather distinguished older looking Sikh gentlemen beside us. “Daddy, why does that man have a cushion on his head?” This situation, which could have been aweful was redeemed by said Sikh gentlemen who laughed delightedly, got a roll of cloth from his bag and proceeded to tell my young boy of his faith while he wrapped his young head up in the turban. He didn't remove it for days. I have rarely been so grateful for the kindness of a stranger.

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