IT'S A DAD'S LIFE:Chattering five year olds leave my head in a spin
I’M STRAPPING three five year olds into the back seat after aqua camp while serenading them with a little Dean Martin, “When the moon hits the sky like a big pizza pie . . . ”
The one in the middle giggles and tells me I'm funny. I'm tempted to go all Joe Pesci in Goodfellason her: "I make you laugh? I'm here to f***kin' amuse you?", but she probably won't get the cultural reference. My New York accent is ropey and I don't want her to start crying, she's a nice kid. Instead, I admit that's the general response I get from women – funny amusing and sometimes funny weird – but they tend to laugh at me.
She goes on, “Yeah, you’re funny, but you’re way too big for your wife.” She’s right. My wife is 5’4” and I’m 6’6” – we look ridiculous together. I suggest informing wife of the child’s observation, but she gets a little worried that the wife may react badly (hardly likely, she’s the first to point out how ridiculous we look) and tells me to keep it to myself.
Out on the road the three of them sing a song my daughter has composed, which boils down to how much fun it is to flash your bum on the main street. This is her favourite topic of the moment and flashing itself has become something of a habit. We have thus far managed to contain it to family gatherings, but it’s only a matter of time before I round a supermarket aisle to the sight of the younger’s arse on display to everyone in the market for domestic cleaning products.
She likes to wiggle and sing while she flashes. Sometimes she’ll call me from afar, begging for help with a convoluted task. I’ll turn up and walk straight through the door into a bright shining butt at which point she’ll roll a tumble and collapse laughing on the floor.
In my day this was called mooning, which sounds a bit precious now. We treated it as a bit of a speed event, a quick shot of cheek, rebuckle the belt and leg it. The process seems to have become far more extravagant, like a Brazilian carnival version of mooning.
The girls continue with their song, “Flash your bum, it’s so much fun” until one of them realises we’re stopped in traffic on the ring road. She tuts and informs me we should have gone through town. “We’re going to be here for ages now.” I apologise, doff my cap and assure her that I will request directions the next time.
The one in the middle pipes up that she’s getting a goldfish. I ask her how many pets she has. None, she says. Ah, you’re lucky, I tell her, a goldfish is a great entry-level pet. They’re easy to manage, don’t make a mess and will convince your parents that all pets are easy. You should put in a request for a hamster, kitten or puppy within three weeks of the fish’s arrival and before you know it you’ll have lions and elephants in the back garden.
She goes quiet. “I don’t want a pet lion, he might eat me.” Dope, I’ve overstretched it. The younger assures her I’m only messing and they don’t sell lions or elephants in the pet shop. She says they’d have to steal them from the zoo and there would be no way to get them back to the house afterwards – how would a lion or an elephant fit in the car?
The three of them think on this for a moment, nodding heads, before resuming their flashing song.
On arrival at the house they notice a man working in the back garden. He’s ripping up the rotting deck and replacing it with freshly seasoned wood. They stand over him and barrage with questions, how much wood he needs, if his nails are sharp and whether or not they could live under the deck when he’s finished.
They offer to help but when he declines, run hooting inside the house to grab the dog and give her a bath. The dog bolts behind the couch and the missus manages to cut them off before they traumatise the mutt. She shepherds them towards the bedroom where they can destruct as they wish.
Unfortunately our ant infestation is in full flow and a stream of insects runs across the hall, disdainfully skipping round the salt and poison we have laid. Both visitors shriek, but the daughter explains that there’s no need to be afraid.
I leave them building a Lego castle and discussing whether or not the dog would prefer to eat ants, spiders or rabbits.