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>)

Flowers for Valentines...

<Whispers>

Pssst... In case you need to know or remember...

St. Valentines Day is this Sunday... and watch out not all garages are open 24 hours.

Anyhoo...

I buy flowers for Mrs. Amazing for Valentines day.

She likes them, I like giving them to her.

My fiscal side tells me it's an utter waste of money, and without doubt a poor investment.

However so is beer, and we all know where that ends up mere hours later.

And if you look at it like that, flowers versus beer, well then flowers last a lot longer, and are in a weird unbelievable way, a better investment.

Less fun though...

(For him, because he's worth it he likes being drunk...)

The lady in my local flower shop I know.

I have made a point of introducing myself. She knows my name. My first name Obi.

It benefits me greatly as she knows a few things about me.

She knows me and recognises me. She knows my 'budget' requirements. The style I want.

She knows that I have no idea of what any of the flowers are called, but I can describe the ones I want pretty well. She knows that I want to leave the shop holding flowers. Coming back later when I have a moment, is a not an option.

It helps.

For valentines last year I got Mrs. Amazing some lovely flowers, thanks to my lovely flower lady.

A nice bunch in Mrs. Amazing's colours and style. They were liked.

They were bloody awkward to walk home with, as I had a bike too, and could not ride.

But worth it.

I also got Miss5 some flowers too.

Not as many as I got Mrs. Amazing of course, that's a short cut to the sofa and no tea in the morning.

I got Miss5 a small bunch in her favourite colour. She only cared a bit.

But it doesn't matter. I thinks it is important Miss5 learns about gentlemen from her Dad. I have no hidden agenda. I just want her to stop talking love.

She'll remember those flowers in the future and her standards of men will be higher because of them.

Maybe. I hope.

I also got Boy8 a small bunch of flowers to give Mrs. Amazing.

I think it is important he learns how to be a gentleman and it's my job to teach him.

Even if it is through me handing him flowers, coaching him on what to say, and then pushing him in front of Mrs. Amazing, where he stumbles his lines and walks away confused and wiping kisses from his face.

He'll remember those flowers in the future when he wants to grab a girls attention.

And if I'm lucky (and him) it may stop him revving engines and doing power slides instead.

I also got a single red rose for BabyBoy1 to give Mrs. Amazing.

I thought it was a nice touch.

Sort of...

'Hey Mummy I love you'

'I've only been here a little'

'But already... I heart you'

'Have an overpriced spiky red flower to symbolise that'

(I shall name this a crapa-stink-spike bloom...)

A nice message I thought. Sweet.

Mrs. Amazing thought it was a bit puke inducing.

A year later I conclude she may well have been right.

I think Mrs. Amazing's point was: It is not mother's day. It's valentine's day.

So what the smeg was I doing? Despite my high intentions does Boy8 really want to be calling his Mum his valentine?

I think we all know what his answer may be...
Boy8: 'I like her, don't get me wrong. Lovely lady. Best Mum ever...'

'It's... just... You know... '

'There's this girl in year 5... and she's got R2-D2 hair bobbles in her hair and she can run really fast...'

He is only human.

(Just realised Miss5 absolutely needs more bows... for... er... medical reasons...)

Still I like getting Miss5 flowers.

I know that on one hand if Boy8 giving his Mum flowers on Valentines day seems a bit weird. Then equally me giving flowers to Miss5 is, at least flirting around, the same kind of weirdness.

But nobs to that. I think it's a nice thing to do for a little girl, and I shall continue.

Is that really so wrong? 
IS IT?

<Shakes flowers at you>

Bye Miss4... HELLO Miss5!!!

Miss4 has turned into Miss5. By magic.

It is was inevitable it is your destiny to be honest, she's been Miss4 for ages.

Years.

How's it feel to be five?

'Oh brilliant, very cool' <Nods a lot>

Oh yeah? How so?

'Well I'm five tall now' <Stands on tiptoes>

Yeah? Is that much taller than, let's say... yesterday?

'.. suppose not...' <Come off tip of toes>

'... But I am five strong now'

<Shows me her muscles>

<Looks> ... What are we looking at?

<Points> 'There'

<Looks harder>Where?

<Points> 'There!!!'

<Strains to see>

Oh yes! <Lies> I see!

'Told you. FIVE strong!'

You sure did. Very cool.

'...'

...

'Can I drive the car now I'm five?'

Nope

'Can I stay up late and watch violent Boy8's cartoons?'

Yeeee-Nooo

'Can I watch Star Wars Episode III?'

Nope

'Do I still have to go to school?'

Yes... and for quite some time

'Till I'm six?'

Yes, maybe even longer <Refrains for mentioning the ghastly truth>

'Am I old enough to light the fire now'?

No. But you can pass me logs and crumple paper

<Is unimpressed>

'Do I get any Super Powers at five?'

Try jumping through that wall

<Splat>

Ha ha! Seems not

Nope

'...'

'WHAT DO I GET AT FIVE THEN???'

<Thinks, but has no ideas>

... Show me that muscle again...

'This one?' <Points>

Oh yeah, Ooooo! That's big! You must be very strong…

'Five Strong actually'

Indeed

OO! I just thought of one thing you do get at five!

'Wot?'

<Gives a five hug>

I have seen on other blogs and websites that it is quite customary to write a gushing and frankly puke inducing list of things that you love about your child once, and whence, and whencever (all real words) they have a birthday.

I did contemplate writing a 'gusher' as it were. And I could.

But then I thought naaaa... No one wants to read that.

Miss5 (née Miss4) knows I love her.

Instead I thought I'd write a list of all the things the-artist-formally-known-Miss4 is and does that I think makes unique and rock quite so hard.

Essentially, a list of reasons why I would want to hang out with Miss4 in the pub library...

1. Miss4 claims all farts

If someone farts, and no one apologises or owns up, Miss4 will put up her hand and say she did it.

Even if she didn't.

Karmic-ally speaking that is mind blowing. What an amazing selfless gesture. On the road to inner peace she is already working out which exit she needs to take. What a star.

Try it yourself next time, take someone else's fart shame.

We should all do that.

2. Sweets

Miss4 shares her sweets with everyone around her, until they are gone.

She doesn't make a fuss. She just shares. Even if they are just for her, or it's a tiny bag of sweets. She shares.

In fact Miss4 will hunt you down and offer you a sweet. Which considering her little legs and the million stair gates we have through our house, is no mean feat for her.

It's not as though she doesn't like sweets, she loves them. But she wants to share them more than she wants to eat them all. What a weirdo. I've literally no idea where she's learnt this from. Me and Mrs. Amazing share, we do. But we are firm believers in 'snooze you lose', or 'be upstairs when the sweets are opened, get no sweets', or 'if you're not hiding in the cupboard with us whilst we eat all the sweets, you get none'.

Imagine Miss4 (in years to come obv.) in the pub, coming to find you, just to make sure you've got a drink. Blinding!

3. The need to rock

Despite loud noises hurting her teeny ears. Miss4 understands and appreciates the need to rock.

More specifically, Miss4 understands my need to rock, whilst driving.

The other day we got in the car and Muse, who do very much rock, were playing. Miss4 was in the front with me and the music was lovely guitar crunchy rock. 

Only it came on at a sensible volume. Ew. I left it that way as I didn't want to blast Miss4 with loud music. I need not have worried.

Whilst I drove off, Miss4 leant forward to the CD player, pressed and held the volume button until it hit suitable gurning volume.

Then with a smile, Miss4 sat back, put her fingers in her ears and we rocked out together.

(And now... Row, row, row your boat )

4. It's her world and we are but guests in it

I utterly love this about Miss4.

Miss4 doesn't need my approval, or yours, or Mrs. Amazings, or Boy8s. She'd like it, don't get me wrong, she loves fitting in. She likes being part of a team. She loves to get praise just like everyone else. 

But she won't pretend to enjoy something just to please you. If you're doing something she doesn't want to do, then she'll move on. None of this waiting and hoping crap.

You wanna play ball? I wanna play Lego. You play ball. I'm playing Lego.

You want into her world? And you do, then it's on her terms.

She does not exclude or ignore, she isn't mean and she isn't cold. She will happily play your game, do your challenge, be with you. But the moment she's not having fun, or she's bored. Your time is up.

It's her world and we are but guests in it.

5. Pom pom

Miss4 loves pom-poms. Little balls of string that you can glue to stuff. Lovely.

But for her it beyond that. She loves the words pom-pom too. In fact she uses it quite often as we talk.

How was your day?

'Pom-pom'

What did you have for lunch

'Chicken and pom-pom'

Did you do any sticking today, stick down any small balls of string?

Yes <Grins>

6. Miss4 is a master builder

I consider myself creative. 

And thus blessed / cursed with a good imagination.

Mrs. Amazing: 'What shall we do today?'

Let's invent a mega-fast-drive and fly to America, I will dress as an orange penguin and we can sneak onto George Lucas's ranch. Once on the ranch I will steal four horses, convince them through a new found horse whispering ability, that they want partake with me in a horse-penguin extravaganza show to grab Georges attention. As George watches, you swoop in and wow him with your youness, George befriends us, and we all fly about galaxy in the Falcon!

'... orrrr... we could visit your Mum for lunch?'

Yeah... we could do that instead...

My idea sounded more fun though

<Is a little huffy>

‘And nuts’

‘Maybe next week’ <Pats me on head>

I seem to have two LEGO modes. 

I can either allow my O.c.D. tendencies to rise up, like a big careful and precise monster, and follow the instructions TO THE LETTER! As the Lego Gods intended, ultimately tearing myself apart as I fail to achieve the perfection I strive.

Or I can don my snowboard, gloves, lipsill, and really head off off-piste. And build mad crap. Lego constructions without reason or use or logic. And whilst I consider the mad crap I make to be of highest... er... crapness madness.

I am but a student to Miss4's Lego creative master.

She builds with heart and soul.

(How long did that take you?... Two minutes… Shiiit)

But that's not the brilliant bit. The brilliant bit is that through her surreptitious use of the phrase pom-pom whilst I we singing along to songs, she can reduce me to tears of laughter. There is somewhere inside my little girl, a comedic genius lurking.

As always with comedy, it's the timing she does so well...

[John Lennon's - Imagine plays, I sing along]

“Imagine there's no heaven”

“It's easy if you try”

“No hell below us”

“Above us only...”

<Shouted from the back> 'POM-POM'

“Imagine all the people living for today”

<Giggles from the back>

<The seriousness and gravity of the lyrics are utterly undermined, I crack up, and end up laughing through the rest of the song>

<Mrs. Amazing gets in the car to find me and Miss4 dying of laughter to John Lennon's Imagine>

<Mrs. Amazing ignores us>

7. Miss4's favourite is not me

It's Mrs. Amazing. I know it. You know it. We all know it. BabyBoy1 knows it.

Miss4 is not subtle in her Team Parent (yay!) preference either. The t-shirt and matching hat are hurtful, even Daddies like hugs sometimes.

But it is fine. Being second to Mrs. Amazing is not a bad place to be. And those two do seem to have things in common, that I do not. Physical things. They both have long hair.

At present I find I have to work hard to win Miss4's love at the moment, and whilst that sucks on many, many levels, and really I wish Miss4 would be more Daddy friendly. We do have our moments.  

And there is one very clear silver lining to this. Miss4 has learnt, already, just how much she is worth to me and she uses it merciless against me. At only four, Miss4 understands her self worth better than most adults I know.

Long may it reign Miss4.

8. Miss can be as fierce as hell

I think other tales on here will explain how fierce you are better than I will now LINK.

But I will add this.

When Miss4 ripped her curtains, and rail, from the wall, pulling the raw plugs out too, when she did that at bedtime in anger and defiance because she didn't like the nice butterflies stickers on your wall.

All of a sudden.

That night, after I had calmed down and screamed into a pillow for a bit, had quite a few cups of tea, eaten a whole chocolate bar, bitched about how long it was going to take me to re-drill the holes for her curtain rail. After all that joy. It was then that I released just how fierce, spirited and full of fire you really are.

I am so bloody proud of you.

9. Nose picking

My rule is you can pick your nose as long as no one else sees. Which I think is fair.

Fingers fit nostrils for a reason.

Miss4 accepts this rule, and now hides under a blanket or duvet, so I can’t see. Whilst she picks her nose. 

Genius.

(Bye Miss4... You were magic!)

[Is putting Miss5 to bed after a lovely birthday]

Can I have big five year old hug?

<Asks because Miss5 does not want to be hugged sometimes><But hates having to>

'NO'

<Internal tears nearly start, but gets a grip, and instead thinks>

Then can I have... a big four year old hug?

'Yes'

<Secretly gives a five hug>