Communication

There are so many things you don't want to hear your sons say and so many things you do. So many things you don't want to hear yourself say but invariably do.
Last night as I was saying goodnight to Lewis, totally unprompted or scripted, he told me he loved me. We were lying next to each other on his bed testing out his new sheets and talking over the days events and there it was. It stuns me every time. I never take it for granted nor take it lightly, I would trade anything for those moments. I should not be surprised though, I told my dad I loved him practically every day and still do. We hug and I hold him tight whenever I see him.
The list of things not to say seems far larger and comes to mind far more easily. Would you believe I have actually uttered these words to my eldest. " You are BANNED from Nutella". Yes, I have been so stressed at his excessive consumption of the delicious chocolaty spread that I spoke the words out loud, and at the time was deadly serious. Upon reflection, probably not the best use of the English language. You really do have to appreciated the expectation I have that an $8 jar of spread will last more than 2 days. I am tempted to employ similar tactics to combat similar consumptions of Milo Cereal or Nurtigrain, the little bagged biscuits reserved for school lunches and of course, Milo itself. Jane has herself said "Milo is no longer allowed in the house", but as I reserve the right to ignore any instructions that impact my own consumption of chocolate powdered drinks, I have on occasion purchased said product but then had to hide it from the kids. That's is a great game for anyone interested. Let's play find the Milo tin. Can I say, they never did until given clues by a mother that shall remain nameless.
I want to hear the boys tell us truths. Whatever it is, the truth. It strikes me though that as I look back at my teenage lies to my dad, at the time I thought I was being clever but upon reflection, know he knew the facts. Dad had a 1973 V8 Leyland P76. It was a monster of a car and I loved the sound of that motor. Being the teenager i was and having the brilliant criminal mind that I do, I once (at around 14 years old) stole away to a locksmith with his keys and had my own car key cut. On occasions when my parents were away, I could then use the car without having to worry about if he took his keys. The plan was brilliant. I did take the car one night and after collecting a few friends, drove around Goulburn city on the lookout for an open liquor outlet. As the RSL Club was the only thing open, we decided to drive to Bredalbane Hotel some 25km down the highway. What were we thinking? Believe it or not, I was an A student, I used to be smart. Judgement however was lacking that night. I recall the laughter and fun ans we oh so cool teenagers drove down the freeway but then the horror as I looked down to see the car odometer was on 00003! It has clocked over! OMG!!! the hole in my plan was suddenly exposed. Boys notice odometer milestones being met. If we see it nearing a 1000 or even better a 10000 we get all excited and want to watch it happen. watching a clock over from 99999 to 00000 is ENORMOUS. I returned the car to its garage, shaking in my boots at what was to follow. As dad had a work car and mum had her car, the P76 didn't see the light of day much so it was literally weeks later when on a trip to the dump (the P76 had the tow bar) that dad turns to me and says, "Did you notice the car had clocked over?" That is something I did not want to hear my dad say. My blank stare and pale complexion must have confirmed his suspicions but he never said anything else except "You're mother must have been in the car when it happened". We both knew mum never drove that car but I relaxed in the knowledge my plan had worked after all and I the teenager still ruled the world. At the age of 46 looking back to that kid in the passenger seat, the lying little piece of shit. If ever I hear someone complain about the cost of having a car key  cut these days with the transponder and codes and stuff, I hear  myself thanking god.
Lewis heard me say yesterday "sorry". I had blamed him for the loss of a set of drill bits that I knew he had used somewhere and lost. I knew it!! I found them in the shed yesterday in the pop rivet tool box. I like to say sorry to the kids, its something I don't recall much when I was a kid. And they like to hear it too.
I do want to hear one thing though. A few years back, I found a hammer and a broken terracotta tile beside the pool. "Did you bang it just to see what would happen Lewis?" "No Dad, it must have just broken by itself". I still want to hear him say it but maybe I'll have to wait til he is 46 and writing his second blog.