Ties, Time and Tension

It had been a late night. It meant that the morning was not greeted with bright eyes and bushy tails. The initial adrenalin rush spurred by the leap out of bed, when I realise that I was THAT late, is exhausted by the time I reach the bedroom door. What to do in situations like this – PANIC! YELL!

“Hey! Out of bed! Breakfast!” The poor boy levitates out of his bunk bed by the volume of the wakeup call alone. He hits the ground half way to the dining room and sits at the table as a bowl of coco pops shoots past. “Eat! Dress! I am in the shower!”

One quick shower routine later added a small component of humanness. Wishing I had one of those machines from Wallace and Grommit, I glance in to see a small body contorting into various pieces of clothes, while I proceed to pull on items of apparel as they fell from the cupboard. He runs to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

FREEZE!

“What are you wearing?” I ask in a slow motion voice to cover the exasperation that was about to erupt.

“PT clothes” he replies confidently.

“PT is only tomorrow! CHANGE!”

The small body rushed into the bedroom again, tracksuit flying in one direction, takkies in another. I rush to the kitchen to get lunch and cold drink ready.

“I need help with my tie”

I tie the modern day instrument of torture with both hands, while wishing that I were flexible enough to make a peanut nut butter sandwich with my feet. “People paint portraits with their feet and mouths, why not?” I wonder, as hysteria begins to set in...

“Tighten it and fasten your collar!” I order. “Grab your blazer! Let’s go”

The small green and yellow striped missile careers down the passage way on the way to the car.

“STOP! What on earth have you done?”

The lapels of the blazer are tucked up under the jersey in a fashion that would stun an origami master. But this is not important, because your attention is immediately distracted by the fashion statement made by the tie. It has promoted itself to outerwear and is sitting on top of the collar. I grab a chair to sit at eye level to give full attention to the matter at hand. Dads can rarely concentrate on more than one thing at once.

I lift the tie and realise the battle is lost...

One wing of the collar is poking into his cheek while the other points towards the belly button. The shirt is fastened but is two buttons out of sync.

The hysteria breaks. I burst out laughing and kiss his forehead. We take a leisurely stroll to the car with the tie around his shoulder.

Some battles are just not worth fighting...