The Rooster, bless him, prefers not to take all 5 kids shopping alone. He's willing to do it if I'm there as well, or another adult - but something about the idea of 5 young children all running in different directions and grabbing at different items on shelves, and quite possibly ending up with those shelves on top of them and then being pursued by an angry store manager ............... well, it seems to give him chills. .
He is, however, quite willing to take a couple of the kids with him. Especially if it means he can head for the nearest supermarket under the guise of buying bread, and "just happen" to pass the cold section and pick up an Ice Break (iced coffee) while he's there! I'm not sure but I suspect his addiction to these regular shots of caffeine and sugar have something to do with being a Dad of 5??!!
Sometimes, even being the Dad of just 2 is a struggle! Like his recent outing with a couple of the youngsters. .......
He headed into town with a short list, his wallet, his mobile phone and the Honey Girl & Pants. According to all sources they had a pleasant morning together, collecting the items on the list, coming up with new items which just happened to be over by the *ahem cough cough* COLD section, and chatting together. They paid for their purchases and after loading the car and preparing to head home, Pants made the announcement that he needed the toilet.
Now given we've taken over 12 months to toilet train this boy, when he says he needs the toilet, he NEEDS THE TOILET! So the Rooster grabbed both kids by the hand and headed for the parents room/disabled toilet.
As they entered the small cubicle, they stepped back for the woman hurrying out of the same room, and heading for her nearby car. Upon entering the toilet, the Rooster and kids were knocked back by the overpowering odour of cigarette smoke, and pile of ash beside the actual toilet was a clear indicator of what the previous occupant had been doing in here!
So with breath held and a little spluttering, the Rooster tended to the children, and when finished they rushed for the door to breathe some fresh air again. At this point, the Rooster decided to call me at home, perhaps to boast a little about his successful and pleasant morning with his charming and co-operative offspring.
But no sooner had he finished telling me just how delightful these children were, I heard him mutter "No, don't do that".
Followed by a hushed "Honey Girl, stop it." and then a slightly louder "Pants, NO!" and rounded off with an "I've got to go.... ..... Kids, GET UP and GET in the car...." And the phone disconnected.
I waited as patiently as a knowing mother who has just witnessed the destruction of her husband's smugness concerning the behaviour of our children in public, can possibly wait. And eventually they arrived home, with full details which the Rooster managed to deliver after several deep, long swigs of the Ice break he appeared to desperately need!
On leaving the smoke-filled change room, Pants and the Honey Girl had spotted the previous occupant of the toilet, in her parked car, with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. The Rooster noticed that she looked a little scary, a bit rough around the edges. So he rethought his previous intentions of perhaps suggesting to her that smoking in the confined space of a toilet cubicle whilst relieving yourself, when other people are going to need to use the same smoke-filled room, was not such a smart idea. Better to leave well enough alone.
Just as they passed in front of her car, this woman began coughing - that awful, hacking, bringing-up-a-chunk-of-your-lungs cough that smokers develop.
And being sensitive little souls, the children went out in sympathy with her. First the Honey Girl gave a little cough. Then Pants gave a louder, longer cough and reached for his throat. Within seconds they had a complete and dramatic demonstration going on - coughing and spluttering, hands gripped on their throats, eyes bulging and both in death throes on the footpath.
It was at this point the Rooster abruptly ended our chat on the phone, scooped up both children and bolted to the car.
We still haven't worked out how to abbreviate "We really shouldn't pretend to be the nice lady who smoked, by rolling on the ground pretending to die with your hands on your throat and your eyes popping out. It might hurt her feelings"
Perhaps they'd have a spot for these two budding young starlets in the next anti-smoking campaign?!
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