When the robots came to town.

My elder two boys are 20 months apart and they’ve always ‘had’ each other as long as they can remember. The majority of the time, it is a beautiful thing how close they are. However, there are times when middle son cannot have the same life experiences as eldest son at exactly the same time. Infant school being one of these. When his big brother first graduated from nursery, middle boy was not impressed. I told him that when he turned four, he’d be able to go to school too. He turns 4 next week. I fear that not only will he expect to start then, but he’ll be holding out for a place in the same class as his sibling – two academic years above. There may be a full scale rebellion once this realisation dawns on him.

What do robots have to do with any of this? Well, yesterday was ‘Internet Safety day’. Eldest was tasked with dressing up like a robot. We had a great time at the weekend: putting together his costume, cutting it to size and discussing it. All was very positive until the actual morning he needed to wear it to school. I did not plan ahead very well, in fact I did not plan ahead at all. I foolishly thought that I would simply be able to apply my regular ‘school morning’ tactics. This was very naïve of me. Middle child was unimpressed. He felt it most unfair that he wasn’t also wearing a robot costume. No amount of wishing that you can turn back the clock and make two costumes instead, is any help in this situation. Getting him to put his shoes on was challenging, getting him out of the door even more problematic and getting him to start walking was nigh on impossible.

Through his grimace and tears, middle son was adamant that he wanted to scoot (see previous blog post re: walking to school). This wasn’t really an option given that eldest boy didn’t have the peripheral vision from behind his robot head in order to scoot safely, Mummy had no space on the pram to carry this robot head and of course middle boy couldn’t scoot unless eldest boy did. Not only would this result in Mummy finding herself in the exact same predicament, just with a different child sobbing on the driveway but also for practical reasons. My boys walk at a speed that could match the pace of an injured snail but I’m pretty sure they scoot faster than a Boeing 747, with a strong tailwind. At these contrasting speeds, I’d need a second parent to escort the child I wasn’t with. After a quick check, I established that there was definitely only one of me and put middle child’s feet on the bar of the basket, which sits below youngest boy’s pram. This prompted some significant rocking – as he decided that this buggy was actually his personal surfboard. I’ll admit to feeling slightly sea sick but I can’t complain too much as youngest boy seemed to appreciate this motion, using it to fall asleep. Nothing takes your mind off that fact you aren’t wearing a robot costume, like helping Mummy look after baby (and apparently being better at it than she is on this occasion too).

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