Crumpled Home

Towards the end of last year, LR decided she wanted to help some endangered species in whatever way she could. She remembered our local zoo has an orangutan conservation and breeding program with several large, well designed enclosures, and decided that donating money to their program would be a great way to make a difference.

Her idea was to hold an art show where kids at her school could donate two dollars to enter. In return, they would get a certificate and also a chance to win a huge jar of lollies. She hung several of these signs around the school and recruited a few of her friends to help collect money during their lunch breaks.

LR printed out these posters and hung them around the school.

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(a few weeks ago)

So RJ just had a massive meltdown, a full-on tantrum. We had the whole deal: screaming, tears, rage and finally just incredibly sad and dejected… The reason this time?

We refused to buy him a book.

Yes, we are cruel, harsh parents and yes, we are aware he’ll always have trouble fitting in with the other kids at school, but we refuse to have silly, made-up stories taking up so much of our childrens’ time. If we let them, they’d spend hours just sitting there on the couch doing absolutely nothing except filling their heads with empty nonsense. Half of the books appear to be filled with advertising anyway, to get you to buy the following books in the series. Mr. Dickens, we are sooooo onto you.

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A couple of weeks ago LR headed off to camp and we decided to have a movie night with RJ so he could enjoy something special. Considering his imagination, we picked an older movie with a fun story (The Adventures of Baron Munchausen). Things went fairly well, although he was a bit bored during the beginning. Part way through, Mom and I briefly turned and discussed something. I’m not sure what it was, but it was probably something critically important, like what the dismembered body parts that the cat recently dragged in originally belonged to, or when I would finally get around to gluing down the plastic strips on the edges of the cabinet doors in the kitchen.

Conversation over, we looked up and saw RJ, eyes very wide, staring at the screen. On screen, in the typically surreal and maniacal styling of Terry Gilliam, a horrifying, winged variant of the Grim Reaper / Angel of Death loomed over someones body, coaxing a soul from their mouth as flames and screaming noises roared in the background.

I quickly realised I had forgotten a fairly important part of the movie… and that I’m no longer in the running for the Parent of the Year Award. Less than a moment later, the movie was paused, the screen was blanked and we were asking RJ if he wanted to watch something else.

RJ: (quietly) Yes, please.

The movie got switched off and replaced with the safe, inoffensive (yet mildly nauseating) world of “The Land Before Time“, but it appears the damage was already done. To be fair, the scene was only thirty seconds long, but it does set up the young girl in her role as heroine, so it’s fairly important. Considering the last time I watched the movie was twenty years ago, I’m not surprised I had forgotten it.

My memory — or more accurately, my lack of memory — is an impressive thing. Yesterday I went to the shops to buy a few things, most importantly some spinach.  Now spinach was not only requested before I left, but was actually written down on a shopping list that I carried in my hand and it (spinach, not the shopping list) was a critical ingredient of the evening’s meal. Spinach was therefore very important and more than once while walking through the store I told myself, “Must not forget the spinach.” Much to my poor, suffering wife’s chagrin, the spinach is still sitting uneaten on a shelf in the vegetable department, quite safe from our hungry family.

The fallout from the movie incident didn’t occur until the next day and considering our previous experiences with RJ, it was pretty mild. It all started with RJ spending some time with his lego, working hard on a secret project.

RJ: I made something. Do you like it?

Dad: (channelling Keanu Reeves)… whoah….

RJ: It’s the Death Fairy.

Dad: It’s awesome. How long did that take?

RJ: Just this morning, but some bits are falling off, can you help me get them to stay?

Dad: Sure thing.

(Progress is made reinforcing some sections and changing others.)

RJ: Did you know the Death Fairy can smell better than a bear? That’s how he knows you are going to die.

Dad: Most people call him the Angel of Death. He’s not real, you know.

RJ: I know. It’s just a story.

Dad: Are you scared of it?

RJ: Not really. I already know lots about him.

Dad: Like what?

RJ: He can never be killed because he has no weakness. He also has many children that do what he says and help protect him… and a mum that stays at home and protects his house.

Dad: So he’s pretty dangerous then.

RJ: YES! Do you know the worst part?

Dad: What’s that?

RJ: He takes your soul and your ideas and puts them in a jar and he never lets them out. He loves to look at the little stars in it.

Dad: How does he do that?

RJ: He has the closest looker microscope, with the closest looking sensors. It’s the only way to see the stars.

Dad: So where did he come from anyway?

RJ: Well… Death Fairies used to be normal people and they lived on another planet. They were living in a house and it got buried under rocks and they died. After that, they felt a bit zombieish and woke up again… and then they were Death Fairies.

RJ's rendition of the Death Fairy, aka the Angel of Death.

We have a holiday coming up, in which we’ll be travelling overseas to spend some time on a tropical island. As part of our preparation, and to generate some excitement in the kids, Mom was reading through some of the possible destinations, an elephant park, a sea turtle rescue habitat, the Enchanted Monkey Forest…

Whoah! Everyone’s eyes lit up. A monkey forest? And not just any boring monkey forest… an ENCHANTED Monkey Forest! That sounded awesome!

Visions of tree houses and hundreds of friendly monkeys chattering away filled our heads. They’d do tricks for us, we’d clap and laugh; they’d dance for treats. A hat salesman would offer a dazzling array of coloured caps for just fifty cents each beneath a tree full of becapped monkeys. The kids might find a very friendly one and carry it to us, begging to bring it home as a pet. Perhaps a man with a yellow hat would wave, ‘Hello’. It just sounded magical…

A few webby clicks later later, reality had set in. The truth, as it turns out, is not as wonderful, full of glitter and simian camaraderie as our imaginations would have us believe.

The monkey forest is infested with Balinese long tailed macaques. Generally, they keep to themselves and the temple area. Although from time to time, much like hordes of school kids descending on the mall after school, bands of them will get together and raid nearby villages.

Now despite the fact that there are signs up, saying “Do not feed the monkeys”, there is usually someone nearby selling bananas (I presume he’s equipped with an electric monkey prod, monkey mace or a full suit of medieval armour). Feeding the monkeys, however, is not recommended. Nor is carrying food, shiny objects, or anything of any sort potentially appealing to a monkey, because the large macaques have no compunction against climbing people and beating them over the head, snarling ferociously, and brutally tearing whatever objects they might have on them away. Finally, monkeys can be infected by rabies and Hepatitis C, so any bites, scratches or broken skin are a serious infection risk. Monkey business is surprisingly serious stuff.

A useful guide to surviving the monkey forest provides these confidence inspiring tips:

• Watch your step, because monkeys can become aggressive if they are stepped on.
• Stay on paved paths, because monkeys can become aggressive if you wander into forested areas.
• Feeding the monkeys can be very dangerous.
• Loose items should be kept in the car or bus and kept out of the sight of the monkeys.
• Do not try to retrieve food or objects taken by the monkeys.
• Never threaten a monkey or try to tug an object back from a monkey.
• Keep a close watch on children.
• Do not try to touch the monkeys.
• If they attempt to climb on you, just walk away slowly.
• Do not tease the monkeys.
• Do not stare directly at a monkey.

This information was hammered home when we talked to a friend of ours who was actually bitten by a monkey while visiting. According to her, it was about as much fun as it sounds, i.e. about as much fun as a barrel full of rabid macaques.

So, with enthusiasm blunted and hopes singed, it looks like we’ll be giving the monkey forest a miss this time around. My dreams of driving across the countryside in a big rig with a new found monkey pal will have to be set aside. Fortunately, there are plenty of other exciting destinations on the island.

And not to fear, we wont be bored — this year there’s a new bit of tropical excitement infesting the Balinesian isle. Toxic caterpillars! Apparently plagues of horrible wriggly little caterpillars have been sweeping across the island, leaving the locals with itchy, red rashes when they come into contact with uncovered skin.

Tropical paradise, here we come!

While we were up at Gingin helping with the yearly wine making, a few cute little arachnids happily made their way across the floor to say, ‘Hi‘. Of course, the kids spotted them before anyone else. At first, we thought one of them had been crushed, but it turns out they are just deceptive little creatures and relish disguising themselves in places where they have the opportunity to attack your toes.

We found a suitable plastic container (one with multiple latches, locks, a secondary containment unit and an airlock) and collected them up so we could have a closer look.

Meet "Stingo", a (hopefully temporary) new addition to our family. We think he is a "Lychas spinatus spinatus", but we haven't identified him properly yet. A lot of people just seem to call them "Little Marbled Scorpions".

Unlike our last pet from Gingin (Mr. Bitey), these guys don’t have a disturbing taste for meat (raw, cooked or still attached to your body). They also don’t inspire the same deep, visceral fear that a vividly-coloured, 8 inch venomous predator with the alarming ability to scale any surface at surprisingly high speeds does… And the legs…. Oh god, so many legs…

We did a little research and discovered that they are terrific for getting rid of garden pests! Amazingly, they are happy to feast on slaters (pill bugs), which our garden beds are always crawling with.

Of course, the inevitable question came from RJ. “I can keep these as pets, right? Forever?”

…

…

…

Four hours later, the car was packed and we were driving home to Perth. As I drove, I had visions of our news friends escaping… Our first clue being a yelp from the dog, then yells from the kids, “The scorpions are out!!!”, followed by a lovely evening by the side of the road unpacking our gear and madly stomping around on the ground, eventually ending with us hitching a ride back, our car abandoned on the side of the road with a rough sign in the window, “Danger!!! SCORPIONS!!!!”

Fortunately, we made it home without a problem.

So… We’ve adopted three “Little Marbled Scorpions” for at least a week, just to see how they do. RJ can be responsible for finding food for them, and he’s already named them: “Fango”, “Stingo” and “Pinchers”. Unfortunately, they are venomous.

We wont be bringing them out for cuddles or playtime, but we have Bob for that.

(LR and Dad are assembling some Ikea furniture, while RJ mucks around and keeps us company)

Dad: Okay LR, we’ve got another drawer to put together.

RJ: (in his own world) The spice is here to stop the aliens. It’s the only thing that can stop them…

Dad: LR, hand me one of those bolt thingies.

LR: (handing over a bolt) One of these?

Dad: Yep. Perfect.

RJ: (busily arranging things) Without the spice, you would all be dead.

Dad: Okay, now I need one of those round locking nut thingies. Actually, can you put one of those in each of the big holes?

LR: (enthusiastically gets to work) Sure!

RJ: I’ll leave the spice bomb here. It will protect you.

Dad: Looking good LR. Let’s start putting those bits together.

LR: (inserting the bolts into the holes) Like this?

Dad: (turning to grab the next piece) Perfec…

(There’s a sudden loud bang and a huge cloud of ground cloves flies into the air as a plastic container and several carefully balanced pieces of wood fall to the ground.)

(Dad and LR are overwhelmed with spice in nostrils and eyes.)

Dad & LR: Arrgh, my eyes!! What the?! What was that?!

RJ: It’s the spice! You set off the bomb!

Dad: It’s on me and everywhere! What was in there exactly?

RJ: Well, it’s mostly spice… but it has a bit of sugar added.

LR: (yelling in absolute frustration) ARRRGGGH!! RJ! That’s a chest of drawers we’re building!! You’ve got spice in there! All my stuff will smell like cloves!

RJ: But that’s okay!!!   They are clothes!!!

(The spice-aliens connection is a new one to us. No, we haven’t been reading RJ any of the Dune series.)

During the Summer holidays, the family spent a lot of time down at the beach. Its a pretty great spot: calm, predictable surf (i.e. none) and these days the kids are old enough that we aren’t perpetually worried that they’ll drown, eat a toxic blowfish or get carried off by a seabird or something.

The afternoons are filled with splashing, riding their boogie boards, chasing each other and snorkeling along the shore – your typical beach-side activity. Their cousins even came over from Melbourne for a few weeks, so the games and activities were correspondingly more intense. With so much going on, you might think they wouldn’t need a lot of extra entertainment… and for most kids, that would be true.

Unfortunately, RJ is not quite like most kids.

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Ever since our country lost Brislantis, and gained an extra 800km of fresh coastline over in Queensland, we over here in the West have been feeling a little left out. In all things cultural weather-related, Perth and Western Australia are often left out. Hey Australia, we have culture weather over here too!

So we were all looking forward to a little weather action… A little meteorological tabasco to spice things up, if you will… to add some excitement perhaps… That’s when I read the official weather report on Friday night…

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On the weekend, we took the kids fishing on the beach. The best bait for this area is frozen prawns (similar to shrimp). After throwing a couple of lines in the water, and getting no immediate response from the fish, the kids lost interest. It was time to start building sand castles.

A few minutes later, RJ wandered back over and asked if he could have a prawn to play with for a little while. Unaware of the commitment involved, I agreed.

For the next thirty minutes, that dead crustacean must have been the happiest in the world. He had castles built for him. He was carefully washed in the waves lapping against the shore. He was taken for a splash and boogie boarding in the waves. A bathtub was dug in the sand for him, so that he could relax safely without the risk of being washed away.

No expired decapod crustacean, belonging to the sub-order Dendrobranchiata, has ever been treated so well.

When the time came to pack up and leave the beach, I broke the bad news to RJ.

Dad: RJ. It’s time to go. Prawny can’t come with us.

RJ: But he’s my friend! We have to bring him!

LR: He’s a dead prawn, RJ.

Dad: I’m sorry mate, but he’s a prawn and we’re people… and prawns belong in the ocean, not in a house.

RJ: (pleading) I’ll take really good care of him.

LR: He’s stinky, RJ. He’s gross.

Dad: It’s time to set him free. Let him go in the ocean, where a lovely stingray or other bottom feeder will scoop him up in his mouth and take him for a ride. He’ll be happier there.

(LR giggles)

RJ: (turning on his sister) You’re not allowed to be mean to him! Don’t laugh!

…

RJ: (sighing) Okay… (walks down to the ocean and gently releases Prawny) Goodbye Prawny!!!

We returned home and RJ was uncharacteristically quiet. After walking through the door, his eyes brimming with tears, RJ told mum about his friend and everything that had happened.

To her credit, she managed to keep a straight face.

“I loved him. Even though he was smelly and dead, I still loved him.”
RJ, age 4

Yesterday afternoon, while building a new raised planter box for an extension to the veggie patch, RJ and LR came out to help. Putting on my “Responsible Father” hat, I decided against letting them carve up the planks of wood with the  saw. Determined to help do something, they chose to attack the rose bushes with the hedge trimmers.

This wasn’t a problem — the roses are scheduled to be deleted sometime soon when Mum reformats the gardens. To give the kids some purpose, I suggested we try to make perfume or rosewater out of the rose blooms. “Great,” they said, and asked how to make it.

I managed to describe the processes while trying to sink the posts for the garden bed without destroying the incredibly convoluted system of pipes and tubes that make up our irrigation system. LR picked rosewater and immediately ran off and got to work. RJ decided to make perfume, and then asked where he could get alcohol.

(out in our fairly small back yard, neighbours just a few metres away in all directions)

RJ: Can you get me some alcohol?

Dad: I need to finish this bit of the project, RJ. I can’t help you right now.

RJ: (getting upset) But I need it now. I need to make perfume.

Dad: I understand. You really want to get started, but I can’t help yet. You have to wait.

(this repeats a few times as RJ gets more and more upset)

RJ: (angry and screaming) I NEED ALCOHOL. YOU NEED TO GIVE ME ALCOHOL NOW!

Dad: No! No alcohol for you until later!

RJ: (at the top of his lungs) I WONT WAIT! GIVE ME SOME ALCOHOL! I NEED ALCOHOL.

(this repeats a few more times and eventually he breaks down into tears)

RJ: (sobbing, yet still somehow very loud) Please daddy, please get me some alcohol. I only need a little bit.

I’m just waiting for a knock on the door from family services… They’ll probably be taking my “Responsible Father” hat with them.