Monday, 13 July 2015

The young female of the species is often a cheeky bitch

With Vanessa away on a sun-kissed girlie weekend...

....(I get to go to the North West 200 motorbike races every year to get soaked), for the past four days I was in sole charge of Jamie and Charlotte's personal development.

So, taking my responsibilities most seriously, I invited them to treat me to the Minions movie before returning the favour with a spin on the tea cups.

But I have to say, Mummy was missed - especially by Charlotte.

Miss White isn't really a fan of moving in general and walking in particular. And, because of circumstance - i.e. I still haven't passed my driving test (SHUT....UP!!!) - there was quite a bit of walking involved.

Charlotte was generally frustrated by this.  And, as we waited for our third massively delayed bus of the day on Saturday afternoon, her brewing ire bubbled over.  

"Daddy!" she spat.

"Yes, Charlotte."

"I wish you were away and Mummy was here because then she could drive us around!"

There's nothing worse than kicking a man when he's unlicensed.

But there was more hurt to come.

Other than being bad at steering a car around corners, another of my many weaknesses as a dad is an inability to do anything constructive with my daughter's hair.

Believe me I've tried.  I can brush it, yes.  (I once had a dog).  But putting clips, bobbles and similar restraining implements into Charlotte's hair and making them "stick" is very much beyond my talents.

So much so that, by day three, Charlotte told me not to bother with any accessories and she'd manage without seeing where she was going.

As Mummy's return from hols drew closer yesterday afternoon, I suggested that Charlotte put on a pretty dress. She was happy with that.  But then I pushed my luck.

"And do you want to have your hair done too?"

"Yes," she said.  "But not by you."

It is often said that God loves a trier.  I can only hope that 4-year-old trainee princesses do too.