Day 93

It doesn’t take much to get Stormy out of bed this morning. A gough prod and before I know it she’s on the sofa waiting for her toast. I ask how she’d like it cut. I then need to explain that star is not an option. A square, rectangle and triangle later she’s finished her toast and is ready to face the day. I’d rather curl back in bed. Nevertheless I carry on. And carry her. Out to the bus stop. Because she doesn’t want to walk. Her legs hurt.

It’s either growing pains or Machiavellian. Or it could be both. It’s probably both.

After work I come home and she asks if she play her computer games. Not a problem, except that when she tries to turn her tablet on it’s out of power. Before I can offer my phone she starts to get whingy. Now I have to tell her she can only play her games if she calms down and doesn’t whinge. That was the wrong thing to say. Now I have to deal with a full-on tantrum. She has also completely lost game rights for the next few days. She eventually calms herself down and we play with her toys for a little bit. Soon enough, it’s dinner time — home-made chicken soup. I serve a bowl for her and she takes one look and refuses to eat. Why? Because there is a tiny speck of parsley in her bowl. She can’t find a toy when it’s right in front of her, but she can see a molecule of green in her dinner from across the room. I deal with the offending green and she deigns to selectively eat only the Bokki. It’ll do.

After a quick bath and Skype with mummy (yes those happened at the same time) it’s time for bed. She refuses. I have a work video conference and she decides to join and say hello. There’s not much I can do, but I do eventually bundle her into bed. She asks for the “breathing thing”. I start to go through the meditation exercise. “Focus on your toes… Now breath out”. “Woosh — it comes into the rocketship and blasts away into the stars!”. I stare at her. I’m proud that rocketships make it into her imaginary play. I just wish it wasn’t now. I ask her to be quiet. Now everytime I ask her to breath out she mutter “woosh” under her breath.

When I was younger I believed that religion had been invented by early humanity to explain the world and reduce the fear of death before they had science. Now I believe it was invented by early parents. An all powerful being to see everything and punish the bad makes for an excellent final threat (especially when banning caveman-TV is no longer effective) and even better surrogate parent when they no longer listen to their parents. I think we atheists have a harder job parenting without it.

« First Day | ‹ Yesterday (Day 92) | Tomorrow (Day 94) › | Final Day »