The 5 Stages of Owning Noisy Toys

1. EXCITEMENT

Wow! A new toy. How cool! And it sings three different songs too. That's a relief as I was slightly tired of the other ones but this one seems different. Much less annoying.

We'll have endless fun with this one, kids. That's for sure!

2. YOU LEARN THE WORDS

Look, everyone!

*presses button, sings along, feeling great*

This is better than karaoke. Hit that button again! Whooo!

3. YOU SING THE WORDS AT ALL TIMES

Bloody hell, that song is a real earworm isn’t it? Catchier than Ebola. Can't stop singing it.

Losing my mind a bit actually. Like those Tetris dreams I used to have.

4. IT ENTERS YOUR SOUL

Oh, that SHITTING SONG. I can't think straight. I swear I heard it in my sleep last night.

This is hell on earth. In fact it's worse because I can't even hear myself scream - all I can hear is that frigging song.

5. LOSS OF RATIONAL THOUGHT

I'd do time for that fucking thing. As soon as everyone's asleep I'm taking a lump hammer to the bastard.

Or maybe throw it in the bath, drown the repetitive prick. That'll be quieter.

Although the whole street will be awake when they hear me celebrating the demise of that mind-numbing, monotonous motherfucker.

DO YOU HEAR ME, BEATBO?

I'M COMING FOR YOU.

Get my book 'Confessions of a Learner Parent' on hardback, e-book and audio by clicking here.

Comments

The Time I Screamed at my Kids

Before my kids arrived I swore I’d never shout at them. But choosing how to approach parenthood before your kids are born is like a caterpillar deciding what kind of butterfly they’re gonna be while they’re still building the cocoon. ‘I’ll still do loads of charity work, of course. And I’ll be REALLY nice to moths too, even though they’ll probably hate me because I’ll be so bloody gorgeous.’ Theory and reality are like sugar and shit. I’ve raised my voice to my kids more times than I can count. Often just to shout ‘STOP SHOUTING!’ which I’m aware doesn’t set a great example. ‘You should NEVER shout at your kids.’ And that’s fine. In theory. Because everything’s fine in theory. The Slimfast diet is a piece of piss until day two when you’ve had three hours sleep and someone offers you a Wagon Wheel. Of course, I never WANT to shout at them. I love them more than words can describe. But those you love are also the ones blessed with the innate ability to boil your piss q

The Time I Smeared Shit on the Duvet

My wife and I developed our parenting systems through trial and error. One of the earliest rules we’d introduced was that if it was after 5am and one of the babies became unsettled, we wouldn’t waste our time trying to get them back down in their cot - we’d just bring them in with us. After a nice cuddle in our bed, they’d normally settle back down, barring the occasional impromptu fanny gouge or affable bollock kick. (Babies are the most violent sleepers on the planet, easily capable of committing GBH in the middle of reaching for their dummy.) Our twins were six months old. I was fast asleep. At least, the deepest sleep you can get once your kids arrive. My pre-kids sleep used to be the nocturnal equivalent of deep sea diving. Nowadays I’m lucky if I can submerge my toes in a puddle. Early on, my sleep was lighter than a Ryvita biscuit who’d been having it off with a helium canister they’d met on Tinder. Everything woke me up. Some nights I’d just lie there, bewi

The Time I Got Sent to the Naughty Step

The naughty step is only as powerful as the child allows it to be. I once sent my son there and 20 seconds later he came racing through the living room on his fucking bike. I briefly tried to return him to his pleasantly carpeted penitentiary but I was far too busy giggling. On another occasion, my lad wouldn’t go to bed and instead plonked himself down on the bottom of the stairs in defiance. I started to threaten him with a trip to the dreaded step of naughtiness. ‘IF YOU DON’T GET TO BED RIGHT NOW, I’ll, erm….’ I tailed off as I realised he was already sitting on the effing naughty step and my threat now made less sense than Welsh hip-hop. I could see on his little face, he’d worked this out too. He threw me a smirk that said, ‘You’ll do what, knobhead?’ I felt it crucial not to back down. So I continued: ‘I’LL PUT YOU ON THE NAUGHTY STEP, YOUNG MAN!’ ‘But I’m already on it!’ he snorted. My brain turned to scrambled egg. ‘WELL THEN!’ I had nothing. Bu

Sam Avery

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