Paul (smugly) told me this morning that he’s figured out parenting. Yeah, that was my face, too. But seriously, he does. I went to F45 this morning at the exact time Ben was supposed to be getting ready for his football match. Paul reckons he said to Ben – “MATE. I’ve got no clue where you’re supposed to be and when you’re supposed to be there. So, y’know, it’s on you. Good luck.” And – according to Super-Dad (or Snoop Daddy Dad, as he’d now like to be referred to as) – Ben was READY and RARING to go a solid 20 minutes before the due departure time. If Paul/Snoop is to be believed, Ben had his SHOES on and BAG in hand, while saying, “C’mon Paul, we’d better go now if we want to get there in good time.”
He tried a similar trick on Frankie. Instead of asking him what he wants for breakfast – which I always do, religiously, for I am a fool – Paul just GAVE him breakfast. He GAVE him food without a discussion about food beforehand. And Frankie ate it. He fucking ate it.
Snoop 2. Notorious nil.
We are – collectively, as a family – obsessed with Childish Gambino’s This is America. All of us, from Alice upwards. I haven’t been this obsessed with a song and its accompanying video since Kylie Minogue’s I Should Be So Lucky, c1988. Frankie’s doing the same thing that I used to do as a kid, which is write down the lyrics as he plays and pauses, plays and pauses. (Poor kid hasn’t figured out Genius yet.) We were rocking out to it in the car on the way to the movies last night, Frankie and Alice giving it ALL the moves. After the film – which was, appropriately, Solo – Ben shook his head and said, “God, Frankie said the guy from This is America was going to be in the film. What an IDIOT.” And we were, like, “Dude. He was.” “He wasn’t.” “He categorically was.” “But his HAIR was different.” “You’re a dickhead.” Etc.
Frankie says he wants a laborigine when he grows up. I believe that he means a Lamborghini.
Alice asked Frankie what he’s going to buy her for her fifth birthday in one month. Frankie says he’s going to buy her two iPhones (one for her, one for him), and if he hasn’t got enough money in his wallet, she’ll have to settle for a FitBit instead.
Paul went for a run this morning and collected up all the debris that’d washed up on to the beach in the great storm of 2018. He photographed his collection and posted it in our suburb’s Facebook group, because if it didn’t happen on social media, did it even happen, bro? A woman commented, saying: “You guys are awesome!” and now Paul’s all bummed because it wasn’t GUYS plural it was GUY singular and he think I’m getting the credit for sitting on my arse and not picking up debris. I am.
Paul played the kids Getting Jiggy With It and they all hated it. Ben said, scornfully: “Is this one of those old-fashioned rappers, like Jay-Z?” I felt a million years’ old.
Frankie (6) asked Ben (12) if he knew who Michael Faraday was. And Ben was, like, YEAH, of course, that’s Big Shaq’s real name. Frankie shook his head and goes, “No, dickhead. He’s the father of modern electrics.”
I need to be at the airport in one hour. I already miss my normal life.