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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Showing posts with label baby. Show all posts
Showing posts with label baby. Show all posts

21 February 2016

Parental Guilt...

I have parental guilt.
Quite a lot it seems. It stems from lack of time.

When Boy8 rocked up was born.
The newly founded Parents Republic of Children (bo!) had time and money flowing out of our ears. We did, looking back. Boy8 had both of us at his beck and call.

When Miss5 descended from on high to grace us with her presence, like sleet. 
The Democratic Union of Parents of Children and Fun (bonza!) still managed to distribute our time, so that Miss5 got all the attention Boy8 got. Not necessarily with both parents at the same time. Which is a shame. But Miss5 at least got the same quantity hours of attention Boy8 would’ve had.
Happy days.

(Miss5's original landing site...)

When BabyBoy1 swaggered on the scene.
Team Parents (yay!) never had a chance. Two does not divide into three. Well it does, but it’s not neat and tidy and there’s messy little bits left over and stuff. Eww.
No matter how hard I try there is no way I can spend as much time as I did with Boy8, or even Miss5, with BabyBoy1.
Which is why I have parental guilt.

And it's worse because I love BabyBoy1 a lot.
He utter rocks and is a class A dude to boot.
He shouts Daddy the loudest when I get home.
He brings me my shoes. Alright not when I want or ask for them, but he does it anyway.
He heard ‘Know Your Enemy’ by Green Day today and started rocking out to it. Then he made sure I saw him rocking out, so I could join in.
The little dude is a dude.

Anyhoo...

Mrs. Amazing (sweetly) shoved a news paper article under my nose t'other day.
‘Read this bit in the middle, you’ll like it’
OK
‘It lists lots of great Dad things, most of which you already do’
REALLY? HELL YEAH, GIVE ME READ NOW!
‘But don’t read the stuff of the left, it will make you mad’
OK
‘Nor this stuff on the right, it’ll make you sweary
Gotcha. Blinkers on.

The read was nice. I enjoyed my self back patting session, but got many funny looks.
But my takeaway point from the list was this:

Dad’s should spent thirty minutes a day, no screens, focused, sober time, with EACH child.

Shiiiit
Sober

Initially I thought, easy, do that every day no worries.
But then I thought again and realised, pants, actually I don’t.
Some mornings are such a rush I don’t even stop to chat to one child. 
Then when I get home I'm late, they are all going to bed early.
So actually I realised that some days... UH UH nope!
I don’t even manage five minutes with any child.
I am scum.

Yes I know...
It’s just an article and where on earth did that magic thirty minutes come from? Magic land.
What science was behind it? Was it even written by a human?
But... thirty minutes really isn't much. Is it.
I feel that thirty minutes is really the very least I should be doing.
I spend more time doing reading crap super important things on my phone.

So with that in mind, today I made sure I did that. 
I spend thirty minutes with each child, quality time too. I know I did. 
Sunday makes it WAY easier as there's less worky gubbins going on.
But I did it and it felt good. Really good.
I managed to sit down with Boy8, Miss5 and BabyBoy1 all separately and just hang with them.
It was nice.


(Eating pizza still counts as quality time... It does...)

Whoever wrote that list knew that comments like that can hurt. 
Which is rare, they normal have knives. Say for a Dad that spends a lot of time at work, reading things like that could really, really hurt. It can read 'you are failing'.
My parental guilt comes from the same place, and I don’t work crazy hours, or commute miles.
So I appreciate the softening someone felt was needed on the list. 
They said that if thirty minutes seemed impossible, or too hard. 
Then start with ten minutes and build up.

Can you imagine life so busy that you cannot spend ten minutes a day with each of your kids?
No? I can. It happens.
And worse I know some lovely Dads that have to do that 5/7 days a week.
They hate it.

But for me having a value, thirty minutes, in my head removes a lot of my parental guilt.
It’s changed the guilt from:

Brainzilla: ‘YOU NEVER SPEND ENOUGH TIME WITH EACH CHILD!’
I am trying, I've gotta work, I'm busy... a lot
Brainzilla: ‘LAME!’

Brainzilla: ‘THAT WAS NEVER THIRTY MINUTES!’
OH bugger off!
That was twenty four minutes, and yesterday I played snap for three damn hours!
Knob off!

See! 
I prefer that thinking.
Less punishing myself for failing to achieve an unquantified impossible task. Never knowing when I am close, or indeed succeed. 
More a realistic achievable goal.
They’re better they are. Cuddlier.

So Boy8, big moment coming up!
Boy8: ‘I know!'
We have played draughts (checkers) together for years, and not once have you beaten me
‘I did once...’
Didn't count, you had more pieces <Frowns>
<Mutters> ‘still won’
ANYway. Today, in less than two moves, and unless something happens to distract me
You are guaranteed to win this game of draughts
I have no choice of moves, and you cannot fail to choose the right moves.
Excited?
<Cannot talk from excitement>
My move <Takes move>
<Boy8 takes move at the speed of light>
Just picking up my piece… 
For my second move...
About to put it down...
<Little eyes watching and waiting>
Nearly there....
[BEEP][BEEP][BEEP][BEEP][BEEP][BEEP][BEEP]
OOOOO! Bad luck, you’re thirty minutes are up
Game discounted, the bell has been rung, last orders
<Boy8 weeps off>
<Miss5 arrives>
So Miss5... you've got one thousand and eight hundred seconds of my time
Make it count!
<Miss5 starts laying squares of fabric around the room>

(Oh no! I keep drinking my having to pieces! CHEERS! I mean… Your go... Hic <Grins>)



17 February 2016

Bragging About My Baby

Babies are brilliant.
They really are.

In my world, men don’t really talk about babies.
Well they do but it seems only through the tedious medium of moaning, or complaint.
Bragging about your baby may get you shot ignored.

Which is a shame.
I like to talk about things I love. I like to be in the pub library with other men, the ‘Lads’.
It would be nice to be able to talk about something incredibly important in my life without ridicule, looks of disgust, everyone else moving table, or being given a new girl's name for the evening.

(I'm off to the library again, lots of research... don't wait up...)

But don't cry for me South American nation.
I have a few Dad mates that are like me. Yes they exist and can visited at weekends.
But it’s a bit like a secret club at times. You can only meet in pairs. Anymore and we must all fall back to our default positions of low ‘Lad’ mentality. I assume it’s for safety.
And obviously you have to have known the person for at least fifteen...maybe twenty years...

'How's BabyBoy1?'
Brilliant, his balance is improving, his funky chicken rocks....
[Another male walks by]
... and the manifold sprocket bust, bits chuffing everywhere
'No! What a twat'
<Nods>
[Other male passes]
BabyBoy1's got new cars, he loves them, he holds them in his hands and walks about with them all the time. Proper car love. Hella cute
'That is so coo...'
[Lady brings Guinessess'ssess to the table]
'... so I said “Do your own damn numbers bunt”...'
[Lady leaves]
Wanna see some pics?
'DO I!'

Talking about babies is, and probably will always be, the arena of the baby creators.
Shame. <Sighs>

(So it says you just add fruit and veg... and you get a baby!
'Why didn't we have one of these before...?' <Weeps>)

Anyhoo...

I thought that instead of going quietly into the night I would instead demonstrate, through the magic or wordicles that, actually talking about babies is reet 'Lad' culture. A much as....
<Thinking of something PC to put>...
... as revelling and enjoying a shared experience of a third party's physical achievements whilst engaging in a pre-defined competitive environment.
Some may call it sport.

First, you need to see this picture. It tells one hell of a story.

(No comment is needed. None. Nadda. Comment less this shall remain)

A first glance it's my awesome little dude just BabyBoy1.
But it is more than that. A lot more. That's a Lego cup YEAH!
It’s BabyBoy1 using a spoon to open the Golden syrup tin. So he can eat it.
Here comes the science convincing wordicles…
<Winks>

1) BabyBoy1 has mad skillzs
BabyBoy1 is holding a spoon.
It has taken him nearly eighteen months to learn how to use a spoon like that.
Can you imagine the complex motor controls BabyBoy1 has had to master just to be able to jam that spoon into that lid. Finger muscles, arms muscles, brain thingy shouting at those things, pressure, grip.
Exactly the same fine motor control you need to smash an opponent's face into the floor weapon fighting on the Xii-Station. Eighteen months ago, BabyBoy1 could barely move his eyes.
Forget batting or 'amazing' feet skills. That my friends is some serious skills right there.

2) Physical perfection in action
BabyBoy1's whole body is doing one thing.
Think of a golf swing if you will, it's not the arms, it's not the head. It's just dull. It's the whole body. Take punching - it's not the fist that hurts, it's every other single muscle in the body focusing their energy into that punch that hurts. He's like a fielder diving for a ball, totally commitment to a single focused task.
BabyBoy1 is doing the same, his legs are twirled around the chair for grip and leverage. His shoulders are dropped like a rugby player would to get the most out of his arms. All muscles are working together to open that tin.
Hell yeah he wants that tin open.

3) BabyBoy1 is wearing R2-D2 jammies
That's hella cool, why don't they do those in adult sizes?
I need not expand any further.

4) Making a plan and sticking to it
BabyBoy1 knows it's Golden Syrup in that tin
He has watched and learnt. He has been taking mental notes like a feet skills manager would, he has mental stats of when and how the tin is used each morning. Miss5 spills it everywhere.
BabyBoy1 knows that if he could only get the lid off, he could the contents into his mouth, and he knows that would be good.
BabyBoy1 has developed a plan, a goal if that pleases you more, and he is driving himself towards success.
He may fail, he may succeed. BabyBoy1 doesn't care.
BabyBoy1 has a plan and he is sticking to it.

Image result for pouring golden syrup
(The plan... and the reward)

5) The right tool for the job
Like a carpenter's apprentice that has been watching his master carve delicate woodwork.
BabyBoy1 isn't holding a spatula, or a fork, or knife. He's watched and learnt. He's stolen got a spoon, the right tool for the job. #proud
Using the most complex and delicate of tools, the spoon of opening, the apprentice has taken his chance and has started to emulate his master(s), and open the damn tin.

6) He’s basically a syrup ninja
BabyBoy1 has gotten where he is right now, through stealth, guile and sneakiness.
Not unlike... a NINJA.
BabyBoy1 has quietly picked up a non-baby spoon (his are plastic) without anyone noticing  (I'm thinking Great Escape and dirt falling out of trousers that no one sees).
Without anyone noticing, he's managed to climb up onto the table and grab the syrup tin. NINJA!
And he had quite a few attempts at prising the lid open before the narks Team Parent (yay!) spotted him.
Whoop whoop... duck the police.

See!
That has to be something worth talking about at the pub library with your mates.
Tools, ninja's, surveillance, motor stuff, achievements, fighting the power... All winners.

As I said. Babies are brilliant. They really are.

And no, BabyBoy1 didn't manage to open the tin and make an enormous mess :)
Yet.


Epilogue:


[At the pub library, armed with the above]
Hey guys! I've got a great 'Lad' story to tell you...
Lad1: 'About the boy and the syrup?'
Yeah!
Lad1: Read it, liked it, it spoke to my soul was nice, moving on...'
<Lad 2,3,4,5 all nod>
Lad1: Oh and don't do the quotes around Lad anymore
Lad1: We all hate it
<Lads 2,3,4,5 all nod>
Fine <Does air quotes under the table>
Lad1: 'Now did anyone see that slow, drawn out, friendly draw match last night? Wasn't it brilliant'
Lads 2,3,4,5: 'Yeahhhh!'

No <Is bored> <Dreams of rainbows>