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!).

18 October 2015

Work You Utter Bar Steward...

I don't like work (and no I don't work as a bar steward).
And not because I'm lazy and want to lounge around eating pie and playing on my computer.
I obviously would like to do that, but only every now and then. 
Not for a living, that would be awesome rubbish.

I like to be active, I like to do things. I always have some plan or another that I want to do.
However, work (the butts) tends to make everything all about them, not so keen on the personal projects...

'What are you working on?'
Well! I thought a really good idea would be to have a machine that automatically makes the perfect cup of tea!
Here are the blueprints
<Is speechless>
I know!
<Gets a look>
Now this robot arm here, leans in, and stirs the tea bag very precisely
And this beam detects when the perfect colour is reached
Good huh!?
'Yes, it's great...  but...' <Rubs temples>
'Do you even know what business we do do?'
And no

The main reason me and work don't get on is because it makes me miss stuff with the children monkeys. 
Attending work makes me miss moments of their lives. New, first time events, golden memory moments, one off brilliant stuff.
And that sucks.

Mrs. Amazing is aware of my opinion of work (the bastards) and sends me messages to 'soften' the blow and keep me up to date:

'Look what BabyBoy1 is doing!'
'Look who's climbed in the dryer'
'Here's all of us having a right laugh, without you!'
'Can you believe we ran into Mr. Lucas outside the house...'
'There was looting in town... We hit the chocolate shop! You would have loved it'

And I thank her for each and every message as they are like a knife in my heart great.
I'd rather get messages than not.

But really I would like to be there, looting living it with them.
Not hearing about it. Even when they the children are being utterly horrible and whiny... I'd rather be there. Yes really.

My main chance (apart from lovely weekends) to hear about their day is after work. 
During the one hour window between me getting from work (swine) and them going to bed.
When they are tired, needing food, and winding down and I'm tired as well.
So it is not really what you would call quality time. 
Except it has to be quality time as there is no other choice. Mornings and me don't really get on. I wish we did, but we don't. I am a night owl. <Hoots>
Post work is my best time to bond and listen to the madness of their lives...

How was your day?
‘Well you know Fredrena’
No Uh-huh
‘Well she said to Essex that Bingly was going to play in the hut’
'You know the hut?'
No Uh-huh
'Well anyway, Bingly was all' <Does weird action>
OK... <Is confused>
‘Then I said "House your face" and we all laughed’
Why? Oh ha ha
'It was sick'
Who was sick?
Were you sick?

However hard as I try, I am always playing catchup.

I don't drop Boy8 off at school any more so I don't see his friends, or hear what's going on. New friends come and go and it's hard to keep track of them.
Boy8 had a new mate over recently and I was just about to throw the 'intruder' out of the house, when Mrs. Amazing appeared and stopped me from releasing the hounds.

BabyBoy1 goes to lots of groups (singing, dancing, bashing each other, dribbling on stuff, biscuit classes, etc..) and is starting to make friends. But the groups are during the week, during work times.
I've no idea who his homies are. 
Are they fly? 
They may be, I do not know.

But I do get to drop Miss4 off at school at the moment.
Which is an utter blessing and something I love and treasure. As I've some idea who she is talking about, during her near endless tales.
I at least exist in the school and her life.
But the drop offs is on a three month trial with work (the kind, understanding, scum) and could be taken away at any moment.

Back when Boy8 was born my plan was to get rich or work from home, so I could be there to watch him grow up.
It didn't work out. Turns out I am not the reincarnation of Jimi Hendrix, shame.
I knew the second he was born that every moment I was not there with him, would be a moment I'd regret.
Oh all right not every moment, some I am sure have been utterly boring or annoying, or both.
But I would rather moan about the bad, than miss the good.

When Miss4 was born, I had a new plan to get rich or work from home.
That failed too. Turns out I do not have a secret tunnel that leads to pots of gold, shame.

And now, right bloody now, as I type (lunch hour).
It's happening again for BabyBoy1. Turns out the house does always win.
Which really hurts.

This is last child Team Parents can cope with will have. I spoke to the Chief Executive Governing Administrator, and she was adamant. A vote was held but only those with girl bits were allowed to vote, and they got triple votes as well. A landslide.

So for each new development of BabyBoy1 that I miss, I really have missed it.

And what for...
For the love of work? Er... nope.
For a life defining career? No, not really.
Because I like making someone else rich? Foff.
For the soul enriching change and difference I bring to the world everyday by my efforts at work? Not so much.

So it's the money then.
The money that is hidden from us all. No one sees the money.
The kids don't see the money, Mrs. Amazing doesn't see the money, I definitely don't see the money.

(He get’s it… )

Instead of actual money, all I get is a very boring pay slip with not enough numbers on it.
Which means that work (the sod), the thing that drags me away from my kids and Mrs. Amazing five days a week, the thing that the kids associate me most with, the one thing I spend the most time doing, work...
Work produces nothing they can see.
That's weird isn't it.

I think it would be much better to come home once a month with a roll of fivers (£5 notes) that everyone can see.
Or a big bag of meat.
Or dragging a money bag.
Or gold.
Any of those would be better...

Tada! <Puts out hand> This month's earnings!
Look closer... See it?
Next to that freckle
Not the big freckle, the tiny one...
'Oh yeah!... it's bigger than normal'
'Well done Dad'
<Skips off happy>

(They said if you pay peanuts you monkeys… They gave me potatoes? Maybe they think I'm Irish?)

But that isn't what happens.
My pay goes to the bank and then is leached away by bills. No one sees it.
I spend so much time working, but never have anything to show for it.
Now that really is weird isn't it.
No wonder Dads can become so money focused. They work for it all the time, but never get it (insert own joke here).

And before you say it... I know... I know...
I'm lucky to have a job. I'm lucky to earn what I do, as it keeps all of us fed and happy. Not everyone has that.
I'm lucky that I get to drop off Miss4 sometimes. I know Dads that leave at 5am and don't get back until late.
I get enough holiday. Work is OK really. There's weekends.
I'm lucky in a million ways.
I shouldn't complain...

But did you know BabyBoy1 has started saying 'please' when he wants stuff, well 'dease'. (It's hella cute).


Well neither did I... He started doing it when I was at work, I missed it.
Stupid work.