Hi! <Waves>

Funny and honest tales from a made-to-work Dad of three, wobbling, graying, and laughing his way through parenthood. Armed to the teeth with Nerf guns, full of pie, fighting a chocolate addiction, but genuinely honoured to be at least half of Team Parents (yay!).
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14 May 2015

She Can’t Sleep (Nor Can I)...

‘I can’t get to sleep’ says Miss4.


Well... <takes deep, deeeeeep, breath>
That’s because you’re stood in kitchen, where all the lights are on. Not in your lovely soft bed. I’d find sleeping here a bit of a push. Not impossible mind, if you could start up one of your never ending stories for me, then I could really show you how to sleep.


(I was actually looking for a picture of a Dad falling asleep at work surrounded by thousands of tea cups but couldn't find one on google... wait… Selfie tomoz!).


‘I’m not tired Daddy’

Er.. actually you are. You’re bloody tired. 
You’re more tired than me, and I have been pouring tea down my throat all day to stop me falling asleep where I stand (please swap places with me, zzz). You are so tired that earlier you threw a shoe at Mrs. Amazing in anger (Wrong to be a bit proud?) .
You fell asleep whilst eating your evening-breakfast cereal (don’t ask) and only didn't get a face full of milk and wheaty-crap because I saved you which I now regret doing.
I march / push / poke Miss4 back up to bed. 

‘Can I have some water’


Piss off Urgh! Ok fine. Water is a basic necessity and I cannot begrudge it, blah blah blah.... I like water next to me when I sleep. You can have water. I will get you water. Yes, fresh water (grr).


Even though WE ALL know that

a) you won’t touch a drop of it
b) you’ll neck the lot and need a wee later. Or worse.


Oh and FYI, just for next time, if you asked me for water when I was still in the kitchen, well that would have been good.

Thud thud down stairs. Trip over fussy cat (git).
All tippy cups have gone into hiding (HOW? We have 6!). 
I consider a normal cup, but spills, electrics, floorboards, Miss4’s world record spillage record.

I wash a tippy cup up quickly and badly, get half way back upstairs before I am overcome with germ guilt, and then turn around, go back downstairs and re-wash the tippy cup again properly. Then have to rinse it as well, as I used too much washing up liquid, for one fecking cup.


(Tommy Tippee cups - Not spilling stuff since 19<cough cough>)
(Tommy Tippee cups - Stopping my daughter from spilling everything, always, every time, on everything)


Thud thud up stairs. Knees make audible creak on the stairs, just in case I wasn’t feeling old enough, thanks guys. Shove cup of water into her hands, tuck her in Hou-bloody-dini tight, seriously nothing could escape that, and kiss her lovingly on the noggin.

‘Ow you’re spikey’


Yes I am. Me man. I have stubble. My face for no good reason that I know of seems to want to be covered in hair. Nose and ears especially. Happy days. 

It is part of me and lovely though you are - I am not smegging shaving to please you.

I’ll do tea parties, run around wearing capes singing, I’ll even play with that scary-arse doll you have (it's eye is wrong!!!), but I am not shaving to please you. That has to be going too far, surely.

I’ll shave for your Mum (Mrs. Amazing) and maybe mine, if it’s a very special occasion. Very. Rich uncle died, that kind of thing. But please know, that in general, this face, my face, your father’s face, as god intended, will be hairy at times.

‘Daddy I like Mummy best’


Oh good!… (I’ll shave later)...


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