Claire was recently invited to a hen do, which she was very excited about – partly because it was a friends hen do, but also partly due to the fact she hadn’t been drunk in nearly two years, and was looking forward to this now rare activity.
Because our family run under the law of ‘If it can go wrong, it will’ this obviously meant that the three of us all developed a particularly nasty stomach bug, a day before the hen do. Being the true hero she is, she managed to drag herself out of bed, and out of the door.
This left me and Ned at home, without the care or a responsible adult – it felt very much like those situations during your childhood where an unspecified timetable error had resulted in your teacher not making it to your lesson. Chaos ruled supreme these days, as did a form of martial law.
As I’m bigger, stronger, and far more intelligent than my son, I assumed leadership for the evening. Looking after him for an evening as oppoed to a usual weekend day differed in that Neds bedtime would arrive before Claire got home, meaning I was tasked with putting him to bed – a feat I have approximately had success with twice during his existence on this planet. Needless to say, I was dubious about my chances with this task.
The evening started fairly well – I popped over my parents for a while, let him tire himself out (it didn’t work) before bringing him home to relax/sleep. We played hide and seek – our version of hide and seek being that I lay in the middle of the living room with my hands over my eyes, Ned pulls my hands away and I shout ‘Hello’. Ned laughs, runs off, I lay back down and repeat the process until either of us get bored. The game was cut short, however, when Ned, in a bizzare twist on the game rules, sat on my head while I was laying down with my hands over my eyes, and broke wind. On my head. I’m not sure it was intentional, but we haven’t played hide and seek since.
It swiftly dawned on me that Ned just refused to sleep. He gets fed to sleep still, and I didn’t have enough petrol in the car to drive him to sleep. I resigned myself to an entire night of entertaining, with activities including an hour long marathon of imagination movers songs, Marching around the house with hats on (mine was a bowler hat, Neds was a builders hard hat) and eating rasins.
By the time Claire got home it was about 10:45. She smiled, took Ned upstairs, and him and her were asleep in about ten minutes.
All in all, it was a pretty good boys night, though with slightly more raisins than I’m used to.