Writing on the wall for the Wee Lad as he faces a hosepipe ban
The writing was on the wall for the Wee Lad these last couple of days, or should I more accurately say that the writing was on paper for him as not only did he receive ‘ lines’ as a punishment for messing at the weekend, this was followed by his second-ever school report, which praised and despaired of him in almost equal measure.
To the lines first. He’s only six and a half, but those who find themselves in his company often wonder what on earth they have to do to ensure that he actually does what he’s told. He is incorrigible, as has been said here a number of times. He pretends to listen, nodding his head like one of those toy dogs in the back window of a car and the inexperienced think they have got through to him.
The Lads and myself were visiting a friend of mine on Friday. She has a lovely garden that the Lads enjoy playing in, but on previous occasions, the Wee Lad has disgraced himself and the family name by being ‘over-zealous’ with her garden hose. She doesn’t really mind him playing with it, but he usually ‘goes too far’ and ends up soaking everything, including himself and his brother, and anything else around him.
On a previous visit, she had made it clear to him that he shouldn’t touch the hose at all. But of course he did. Then, he was reprimanded by her (not my job in someone else’s house, is it?) and informed there would be consequences if he did it again. Consequences? The Wee Lad hasn’t a clue what they are.
On Friday, she gently reminded him not to go near the hose and the pair of Lads headed outside for a run about, while she and I settled down for a natter. I wouldn’t say that ten minutes went by, more like eight, before the Big Lad comes in, carrying Niagara Falls in his pocket, spluttering through a mouth that continuously filled with water pouring down from his saturated head that his younger brother had ‘soaked’ him with the hose.
I took a side glance at the friend, whose eyes had narrowed to slits. Moments later, the Wee Lad schleps in, looking like he’s been practising for the Irish swim team for the Olympics. As he stood making puddles on her kitchen floor, the friend asked him to repeat to her what she had told him not ten minutes previously.
Of course, being the obstreperous little hallion he is, he refused to answer her, giving her his A-list pout instead. It didn’t work. She asked him what she should do ‘ to make sure you get the message’. He said that he wouldn’t do it again, which, in fairness, he always says, about everything.
But she wanted to ensure that this time he DID get the message. She pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil and wrote something at the top of the page. The Wee Lad looked at me and I shrugged. It’s not my house, son, my look replied. At the top of the paper was ‘I must not use the hose’ and she told him that he would write out the sentence five times, on lines she had helpfully numbered on the sheet.
He initially baulked, turning his blonde head away. But she persisted while I tried not to laugh. After seeing that he had no back-up at all (the Big Lad had slunk away outside again) and I was no use to him, he ill-temperedly grabbed the paper and pencil and started writing. I was amazed. He handed it over, lines complete, to my friend who looked at it and told him that it was good and now she KNEW he wouldn’t do it again.
On Monday, the school report arrived. The Wee Lad’s wonderful teacher wrote lots of good things about him, many of which I was reluctant to believe, even though the woman is the nearest thing to a saint. He ‘struggles sometimes with his emotions’ was her way of saying how grumpy he can be if he doesn’t get his own way. And she used the word ‘vivacious’ to describe him. Unlike the Wee Lad with the hose, I won’t pour cold water on his achievements.