Monday 10 February 2014

Out of the mouths of babes...



My 11 year old son is trying to get voted on the Student Rep Council.  He had to prepare a speech for his class mates.  He asked me to read it when he was done and see if there was anything I would change.

Nope son.  Not a word.

*27 February 2014 update
He was not voted into the Student Rep Council and the feedback that he received from his teacher was that he didn't use enough persuasive language about HIMSELF.  My kid was focused on what he could do for others, and wasn't interested in talking himself up.  I thought that's what public service was about.  Maybe we're both too idealistic?

Thursday 6 February 2014

I'm your Number One Fan



My 15 year old received a $15 voucher for K-Mart over Christmas from an elderly aunt. We both wondered what he would spend his money on.  I was the one who had the joy of trailing behind him while he looked at games, Cd's, clothes and lollies.

He (and I) had given up hope and started to walk out of the store when he walked past a fan.  He's been bugging me about getting one for his room for years (he likes the constant hum) but I'm not one for increasing my electricity bill so I've dragged my heels about getting one.  His face split into a wide grin when he saw the fan was on sale for $15. VOUCHER+RIGHT PRICE=15 YEAR OLD BOY CARRYING HUGE FAN BOX TO MY CAR.

He waited a week to put it together.  Now I am the Queen of Putting Things Together.  Nearly every piece of (thanks Ikea!) furniture in my house I've put together.  The only thing that wasn't, was my coffee table.  My dad put that together.  It fell apart after 6 months.  Handy is not his thing.  Long winded stories about the ships of Australia and the history of Kangaroo Island are.

I asked my son if he wanted me to put it together for him, but apparently that was treading on his newly formed man toes (as opposed to pudgy piggies that go to market).

So one night at 10pm he decided that was the perfect time to put the fan together.

"Make sure you check you have all the parts, before you start" I offer helpfully.

"MUM I AM NOT AN IDIOT I CAN DO THIS" was the grateful reply.  So I settle back on the lounge with my book and soda water, sip loudly and slowly and flip my pages noisily.

Thirty minutes later with what I am sure was mumbled swearing he comes in and asks for help.  Because I'm a good and loving parent, I hide my smug "I knew you would ask for help" smile.

The fan pieces are strewn across the floor and the instructions are nowhere to be seen.

So first things first I find the instructions and together we start to build the fan.  The cool thing is that we also got to build our relationship a little by saying awesome things to each other like "hold the damn blade still" and "that's too small to go in there" and "why is this bloody screw going in wonky" "where is the plastic clip thingy - I JUST gave it to you to hold/You didn't give me any plastic clip thingy/Oh here it is, under my foot" and "OMG it's hot in here I wish we had a fan".

Seriously, we actually work together well.  He's good at holding the heavy stuff.  I'm good at the fiddly stuff where his rapidly expanding man-hands can't fit.  Together we get to the last step before the fan is complete.

Except there are no more pieces.  It's the long slidey-shiny metal thing that helps adjust the height of the fan (yes that is the technical term, thank you very much).  So we assume he's put it down in another room while he searched for the philips head screwdriver (which we didn't need).

So I ask the fatal question, 'Did you check you had all the parts before you started?'  He looks at me, guilt written over his face.  (I swear it's in male DNA that instructions are the enemy and to be feared).  We turn the house upside down and no luck.  I swear we look for 30 minutes and it's pushing 11pm - on a school night

So I say "Well mate, we've got to take it apart and take it back to the shop."  He's angry and disappointed.  But I tell him he's learnt the first rule of any construction.  Make sure you've got all the right tools and all the right parts.

We turn the bottom base pole upside down to remove a set of screws and lo and behold the long slidey-shiny metal thing falls out.  HALLELUJAH. LORD JESUS WE'RE SAVED.

The fan has now been running for a week and he will need to get a job to pay for the electricity bill.  But hey, he's happy. He's got a fan.  Everyone should have at least one fan.  He's lucky he's got two - because I'm his Number One fan.