RIP throne of contemplation

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Four days post arrival BB had to go to Delaware for a meet and greet with her fellow scholars. She was off the reserve for a total of 102.5 consecutive hours. No one died. Well no one living and breathing.

BB’s departure did however signal the end to one of my great loves. The Throne of Contemplation is dead. It is now a Throne of Inquisition.

In our previous life the door handles were too high for Hurricane or Chaos to reach. Privacy was just a swing on the hinges away. Now they can both reach them, and this is very exciting for their little worlds. Especially since the bathroom door doesn’t have a functioning lock.

Men have always been able to spend ample time on the throne to plan out our days, or more commonly to relive our greatest sporting feats. Now, on a good day, I get to sit there and have Hurricane quiz me on what every single sea creature in his 199 creatures under the sea book eats. I can’t get away with saying little fish. It has to be a species. For example, a bull shark eats mullet, while a great white eats seals and tuna. John Dory eat baby snapper and trevally. A gulper eel eats penguins (they don’t actually, but one tried to eat Peso in Octonauts so he can’t be convinced otherwise).

It can take a long time to get through this book. Chaos can get very bored and helpfully stage an intervention by trying to reach between my legs or find the flush, either of which will quickly remind me of the setting for this book club.

Then there are the bad days, when I have to call on the power of the pinch, up-seat and stage an intervention of my own in a crab-hand fight before Chaos gets her rage face on and bares her chompers. It is very funny to watch our adorable little bug clench her fists and morph into an angry Pac-man, but apparently good parents must curtail such behaviour. Nip it in the bud, as they say. Which would be a lot easier to do without your pants around your ankles.

The shower doesn’t offer much respite, except that I can hang onto the glass door to stop them from trying to get in. That way I just have to put up with the staring and Hurricane’s emerging career as a paparazzi (yes that photo is me in the shower protecting my modesty in the nick of time).

In the recent past I was quite happy to shower with them, but it’s a lot more dangerous now given their height and reach. And the sound-proofing in our building isn’t flash, which means I keep thinking about a story my mate Doc told me that played out at the Urenui campground. Doc’s brother was taking his two young daughters in for a post-swim shower in the shared, and very busy, utility block when the eldest (4) suddenly yells out: ‘Get that penis away from me!’ It’s a very impersonal way to describe a penis too. THAT penis. Needless to say there were a few concerned voices in the block and his wife handled the showers from then on.

I feel like I’ll take those learnings on too. I don’t really want to have to explain to a neighbour that the penis being yelled about was mine, but it’s ok because I’m their dad and they were just surprised by the proximity of it to their face, hence the yelling. Chalk that up under conversations you never want to have.

Anyway, the rest of BB’s absence was quite uneventful. Play, eat and sleep. Well the sleeping was a nightmare. But four 19 hour days was manageable. I don’t really want her leaving again though.

 

2 thoughts on “RIP throne of contemplation

  1. Our ensuite has no door… and it’s like they have a sixth sense that I have gone to the toilet and I am now trapped there to listen to their stories, answer questions, view their artworks. Or sometimes they come in just to insist that they need to use the toilet… we have 3 but apparently they need the one I am using!

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    1. Sounds like you’re getting a sweet ride. Just today the little bug rocked on in butt naked wanting to join me. I don’t think she quite thought through the logistics of trying to squeeze two of us on the one seat. Wasn’t happening, much to her very clear displeasure.

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