I WOULD be proud … but …

I managed to catch Monkey Boy’s teacher this afternoon at school. I approached her regarding Chippie’s behaviour after spending an hour in her classroom yesterday.

“WHAT did you teach him?” I asked.

“If it was anyone, it was your HUSBAND!” she fired back.

I explained Chippie’s behaviour and what he came home saying. She advised me that Grumpy Pants had the kids crawling around the floor so they could see what it would be like without any legs. His defence was that he was with the group working on the skeletal system and “they asked so I had to tell them”.

Clearly seeing a need to intervene before their IQs dropped and they presented a factually incorrect project, she explained to the children that whilst they could get around on their knees if they lost their lower legs, it would require a considerable amount of padding and reinforcement, and also that feet help to stabilise and balance the body, and without feet people would fall over a lot.

Grumpy Pants encouraged the children to test it, and had them running up and down the classroom on their knees, feet held to their bottoms. Then he explained to the teacher that “It’s ok, because when you walk around on your knees all the time, eventually they flay out and are just like feet.”

The teacher asked me not to bring him to school any more to help in the classroom. I collected my children and took them home.

Then it was out for dinner with The Favourite Uncle, over from Sweden for a week or two, and various others. The children were most upset that The Other Uncle (on my side, they have about 6 more Uncles on Grumpy’s side) wasn’t in Melbourne as they had planned an Uncle-Off Event, to determine which Uncle is actually Best Uncle In The Universe.

We had to suffice with this particular Uncle, who also happens to be reigning Best Uncle In The Universe. Currently, he’s my least favourite as he was my most reliable babysitter and he buggered off, leaving me to fend for myself and go slowly insaner.

Dinner was consumed and we had a great catch up chat with everyone. Grumpy joined us after work, and we wandered down Fitzroy Street for some ice-creams, by-passing a tattoo parlour on the way.

I indicated I’d like to go in and get myself one. Grumpy shuddered (he’s not a fan of tattoos). Monkey Boy said “cool” and suggested “Maybe you could get a self portrait?”

And pointed to this on the shop window: 

I would have been proud, but that’s not unconditional; for just a second I was impressed with his Quick Wit. Then I realised I was the butt of his quick wit, so grounded him for the next 400 years.

Ice-creams ordered, we sit around and eat, dribble them down our fronts and share cones for licking. The Favourite Uncle scooped up some of Monkey Boy’s ice-cream and said “Uncle Tax”.

The reply was a rather speedy “A Favourite Uncle who taxes very quickly becomes Not Favourite Uncle any more.”

Nothing like a bit of blackmail to go with your dessert.

Suitably sticky and feeling ill (particularly Godzilla, who opted for a bubble gum flavoured ice-cream mixed with Wizz Fizz) we wander back to the car, The Favourite Uncle attempting some very poor magic tricks with this nephews.

Monkey Boy starts making bets with him, so he starts the “If this coin lands on ‘heads’ you can have it” routine.

Funnily enough, Monkey Boy kept losing, until I pointed out that I thought he was clever and he was totally being jibbed by his Favourite Uncle and he hadn’t picked up on it yet.

The Favourite Uncle had been flipping the coin, catching it in his hand and checking out it. If it was ‘heads’, he flipped his hand over, resting the coin on his arm and saying “Nup, it’s ‘tails’. Double or nothing?”

If it was ‘tails’ in his hand, he kept it there, and said “Nup, it’s ‘tails’, double or nothing?”

Clearly miffed – both at his Uncle and himself for missing it – he suggested “One more go?”

The Favourite Uncle entertained him one last time. It was the last time, because as he said “Nup, it’s ‘tails'” Monkey Boy said “Show me!”

The Favourite Uncle held out his hand to show my clearly gifted and exceptionally talented eleven-year-old who yoinked the $2 coin of out his hand and ran.

Not without adding “I WIN!” as he did so.

Maybe I am proud of him after all.