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MC Getto Grand Master WolfMC Getto Grand Master Wolf

The Fallen

Just a quick word, to confirm that yes, we're back from France. I'd like to say we got back in one piece, but that would be incorrect.

We had a lovely time, two weeks of nothing but sunshine. We spent our time in the pool and on the beach, with the occasional excursion to nearby towns. But unfortunately some of these excursions were for medical reasons. We went to the local baby doctor twice to have a check-up after Mrs.B felt there might be something wrong. Luckily, both times it turned out everything was A-Ok.

Our third medical excursion was for an entirely different reason, but it did involve Mrs.B. It was on the morning of our departure, when she and Wolf went out to get some 'croissants' from the camping store. They had barely left when I heard screams and shouting from both my wife and my son.

I raced out and found both lying on the ground, Wolf crying and panicking while my wife was crying out in pain. It turned out she had stumbled and did something terribly wrong with her ancle. Wolf was Ok, but very frightened by the whole experience.

The local ambulance refused to come for a broken foot, so I had to haul Mrs.B in the car and drive her to the nearest hospital - which was 45 minutes away. Luckily-luckily-luckily I'd bought a GPS before we went to France, I don't know what I would have done without that thing.

A couple of hours later - the French medical care system is about as fast as any African country's - we got the verdict: the ankle was not broken but severely strained. Mrs.B got a plastic clamp around her lower leg and we could drive back home.

Easier said than done: with my wife in one chair and her foot in another, it was up to me to clean the bungalow, get everything into the car (luckily we'd packed the previous evening), return the key, get out the garbage, chase Wolf and his dirty paws out of the bungalow, etc. etc. But in the afternoon we could finally leave.

But it was not  the end of our troubles, because you try to drag a pregnant woman without crutches to the second floor of your hotel when there's no lift. Going to the restaurant alone was an endurance test in hopping.

So the first thing we did when we returned was go get some crutches. To be on the safe side, we made an appointment with our own physician. But he didn't need much time to conclude that something more serious was wrong with that ankle. A couple of X-rays later it was confirmed that a tendon (or part of it, I forgot) got loose and took a bit of bone with it. So recovery will take six to eight weeks, instead of three.

So ever since that fall, I've been running around like crazy. Not only do I have to take care of Mrs.B, but I also have to keep the house clean, do the laundry, do the dishes, get Wolf in and out of bed, get him dressed, bring him to the daycare centre, get him back in the evening, cook...

Six more weeks of this and I'll definitely need another vacation. Too bad that we'll have another newborn baby right about that time.



Welcome to the House of Bart, for another tale of terror and woe!

It was a cold rainy night, some time after midnight - as is customary in horror stories. On the second floor, a small child cries.

Dog tired, I drag my butt up the stairs to check on Wolf. In the dim light coming from behind me in the hallway, I see that he is sitting on his knees in the bed. But there's something strange about his face and arms. So I switch on the light, seeing that he's awake anyway.

I'm struck by the horror of the scene. Wolf's face and neck are covered in blood, as are his hands and arms up to the elbows. He whimpers softly. As I pick him up to inspect, I see there's blood in his hair and on his sleeping bag, with a large spot under his left ear. His bed is covered in blood stains too; his pillow is practically drenched in blood.

'What happened', I ask him, but he doesn't answer. I look for a cut on his head - maybe he's fallen out of bed - but I can't find anything wrong. So I take him downstairs, put him on the cupboard next to the kitchen sink and start to wash his face and arms. 'My hands are red', he says.

When he's all cleaned up he looks like a little boy again instead of a  character out of a Hitchcock film. There are not cuts on his head after all, it seems he must have had a bloody nose.

I return to his room to put clean bed linen on his bed, while he plays downstairs. When around 2.30AM, I'm finally ready to put him to bed, he protests that he wants to play and not go to sleep. But when I put him in bed, it doesn't take long before he dozes off.

I on the other hand, have more problems to go back to sleep. That image of his bloodied up face and the shock of fear I felt still keep my adrenaline levels way up.


Formation Flying

Last Wednesday, after a gruelling night-time flight and a couple of hours of sleep at home, I went to Wolf's child minder to pick him up. He was bouncing around like a rubber ball when he saw me, and flooded me with stories about what he'd done the last couple of days.

When we returned home in the car, I proudly told him that daddy had flown in an aeroplane. 'Me too!', he yelled.

You see, the funfair is in town and his teacher took the whole class there for a couple of rides on the merry-go-round. And so Wolf had flown in a real plane that goes up and down when you pull/push the stick.

I guess his flight was more comfortable. At least he didn't have to put up with a snoring, farting, armrest-hogging fat arse next to him for the entire duration of the flight.

Fine Young Cannibal

I was taking Wolf to bed the other night. He was doing his usual stalling routine of drinking-peeing-kissing-gathering his toys-drinking again-poo poo-kissing again etc.

He took two of his toys cars, than halfway up the stairs he decided to 'let them sleep' in the living room. When we were about to go up again, he changed his mind another time. So I got fed up, and took him in my arms to carry him to bed. He screamed and yelled and wanted me to let him go and fetch his cars.

And then he bit me in the shoulder.

Not just a little nip! No, he bit me like a starving tyrannosaur would attack a 4x4 full of cute little Hollywood children.

At this point, I would like to say that I remained calm and dignified and started an open dialogue with my son explaining him that he'd hurt me and that this was socially unacceptable behaviour.

But I didn't.

So I did my very best while reading his bed-time story, with extra sound effects and much kissing afterwards to show that, yes, I love him dearly.


Itchy And Scratchy

Wolf has the chicken pox. I'm told that this is a good thing, because if you don't get it at an early age, you will suffer much more when you catch the infection as an adult.

I disagree. Now we have to get up each night to put drops of that red disinfectant stuff on his pox and cuddle him and calm him down and read him bedtime stories, only to restart the whole procedure thirty minutes later. If he's grown up, he'll be able to tend for himself and we'll have a quiet night.

Although we thought on a number of occasions that Wolf would get it, because on of his buddies at the daycare or at school had it, we didn't see it coming this time. Last Friday I took him to the doctor because he was coughing like a Russian diesel engine that comes to life after a harsh Siberian winter on the open steppes. But then the doc said it was just a mild infection in his throat.

Incidentally, on that very occasion Wolf managed to crap in his pants just moments before we saw the doctor. So in addition to his cough, he smelled like a tank of manure in the blazing sun.

Anyway, according to the doctor (second visit, this time with clean shorts) it will all be over by the end of the week. Which is just as well, or he'll infect the Easter bunny.

Abolish Mornings Now!

6.27 AM/6.30 AM: Mrs.B's alarm goes off, with its high pitched voice. 'Time to get up', she shouts in the optimistic voice of a true morning person.

I ignore her. I will not listen to her, nor wake up, because it's not 6.30 yet. Her alarm clock is wrong and mine is right. My alarm clock/radio says it is 6.27, so hers is wrong. I don't care if she says that hers is right because it has the same time as the television's clock downstairs (which gets its time from the cable company). I don't need to verify my alarm clock's time because I know I am right and she is wrong.

Moreover, it is entirely besides the point whether it is 6.30 or not. I do not get up before 6.35. My schedule would fall apart in shambles if I got out five - nay seven! - minutes before my waking up time.

Mrs.B will not listen to reason, especially not when it's proclaimed as a series of mumbling noises and grunts from under the duvet. She throws the blankets away. My body is suddenly confronted with the winter cold and goes in shock.

Before I can recover and smash my wife to death, she's already stomping around and opening closets and making noise and throwing items on clothing on the bed. I feebly reach for the duvet but she's on to me and uses physical violence to get me up.

I'm very tickly.

So she storms out and I follow her down the stairs, trying not to trip over and mentally preparing myself for another glorious day.


6.57 AM/7.00 AM: Mrs.B barges into Wolf's room and yells in a high pitched voice: 'Time to get up'.

Wolf ignores her. He will not listen to her, nor wake up. Mum is wrong and his biological clock is right. It's still too early to play, so mum is wrong. He don't cares if she says that its 'waky-waky time' because he doens't have to pee. If he doesn't have to pee it is clear the he is right and she is wrong.

Mrs.B will not listen to reason, especially not when it's proclaimed as a series of mumbling noises and grunts from under the duvet. She throws the blankets away. His little body is suddenly confronted with the winter cold and goes in shock.

Before he can recover and smack his mother on the head, she's already stomping around and opening closets and making noise and throwing items on clothing on the bed. Wolf feebly reaches for the duvet but she's on to him and puts him on his potty.

Ok, he DOES have to pee.

So she pushes him out of the room and he climbs down the stairs, trying not to trip over and mentally preparing himself for another glorious sandwich with chocolate paste.


First Day Of School

Today was a big day for little Wolf, because he went to school for the first time. Anxious mommy and worried daddy brought him to the school gate in the early morning. It has been snowing here a lot these last couple of days, so we literally had to wade through centimeters of snow to get there.

Wolf was a bit apprehensive when we waited on the playing ground. When the bell rang, we found his teacher and met his new classmates. After all the toddlers were sorted, they went hand in hand in pairs to their classrooms. We went along to help him get his coat off, but we had barely taken his winter hat off when he stormed inside to check out all those cool toys (he barely has any at home of course).

And that was it. No tears, barely time to give a goodbye kiss because he was too busy prying toys out of other childrens' arms, no drama, nothing.

We scuffled off to the big city, to do some shopping (it is the winter sales period, hooray!). When we returned, Wolf was still as cool as the Fonz'. No mad dash to escape the clutches of his teacher, no never-leave-me-here-again. He said he had played a bit, and done a bit of painting and stuff. Painting! He's never painted before! It's a first, but for Wolf it was all in a days work.

It's hard to impress a toddler these days.

A Wee Little Incident

There is a reason why people don’t take cows into their house as pets. They would piss and poo all over the floor. But who would guess you’d run the same risk with your toddler’s cuddly toy cow?

The other day, it was a bit hectic when we all came home. I was busy in the kitchen making the evening meal. Mrs.B was on the telephone with her sister. Meanwhile, Wolf was happily playing along with his little friends: Bear and Horse and Booh. They were the children and his was the parent, teaching them to use the potty. An innocent game, you know how children imitate their parents.

But then, someone who shall remain nameless and who was too busy calling with her sister had forgotten to empty the potty after Wolf had done a wee. So when Booh went on the potty, Booh’s bottom became wet. And when Wolf noticed that his little friend had dripped all over the floor and living room table, he decided to clean it up himself.

He is such a clean little boy, I don’t know whom he gets it from.

So he used Booh’s pee-soaked bum to rub it all over the living room floor and table. Meanwhile, Mrs.B who was still talking on the phone just looked at her son play and didn’t notice that something was wrong.

It was only when I came in to set the table that I noticed that something was very wrong. It was as if someone had mopped the floor. Then I realized that Mrs.B hadn’t mopped the floor. Then I noticed the potty and the wet trail leading from it. And then Wolf showed me Booh and I could feel that Booh’s bottom was very very wet and very very smelly.

So in the end, Booh went into the washing machine, while Wolf’s negligent mother mopped the floor and cleaned the table - with water and cleaning agent.

Wolf trying out his new trolley

Wolf trying out his new trolley
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