Every time Kings comes home after being away for days, Rockstar acts up. Suddenly he doesn’t eat hard-boiled eggs (normally has two almost every morning!), or just won’t eat, or wants tv, or….
So this time is no different, and while Kings is in front of the tv, in his room with his new Lego, facing a forkful of char bihun (and hard-boiled egg) the Rockstar throws his head back and bawls hopefully. Like he’s possessed. One minute he’s fine and busy with Lego, the next big fat tears are rolling down his cheeks, as I close the door after telling him I’ll be back when he stops. And yes he has to eat that mouthful (which brings forth a fresh flood of tragic tears).
Every 5 minutes I check on him to see if he’s ready to eat, when it sounds like the muffled sobbing through the door has stopped. Kings manages to stay out of it, staring steadfastly at the tv.
Who knew I’d be beholden to Stephen Chow?
20, 30 minutes and I’ve had enough. “We’re leaving for (walk in park) in 5 minutes. If you’re still crying when I get back, you’re staying behind. Oh, and remember to stop in time to finish that mouthful in your bowl.”
When I return, Rockstar strikes up a conversation about the names of the more obscure Cars movie characters. Though it’s Kings who has to put the forkful of bihun in his mouth, I’m not allowed. A final defiance – fine by me. As we finally get out the door (Little black Pumas – check! Wagging tail – check!) Rockstar pauses to take a call from Zippety:
Me: Is he calling because he heard the racket you were making all the way on the moon?
Rockstar: <has the grace to look sheepish> No-oo, it wasn’t that loud. He’s outside in his ship.
Me: Oh then he definitely heard you. If the bawling and carrying on might make it through the vacuum of space, it can definitely pierce metal.
Rockstar: No! He didn’t hear me. He – he had the vacuum cleaner on. He had to clean Lunar Sand off the floor.
Me: Well your face is all puffy from crying, I’m sure he’ll ask what that’s about.
Rockstar: No, don’t tell him. Just don’t say anything.
So we have an early lunch since breakfast was a wash, and Rockstar completely cleans his plate. Tandoori salmon steak, buttered naan bread, some broccoli and carrots.
Rockstar: Mum. Now you can tell him.
Me: What, the whole thing about your meltdown, but ending with you finishing your salmon? (Rockstar’s already nodding)
Rockstar: <satisfied> Yeah.