Man Hugs

I loves a good hug I does. 

Hugs are important. They are!

I hug my friends when I see them, my family, and hotties. Man hugs though are different, and normally require a few beers before hand.

I am an Englishman. A handshake is more normal between two blokes than a hug in my world.

Which is a shame.

As a hug says I love and trust you. I am happy to open my arms, making myself utterly defenceless, and then press my body against yours. Even if it's just for the briefest of moments. A hug shows a connection. A hug means something.

As a Dad of three, I have a lot of people at home that need hugging regularly and that has started affecting my hug boundaries.

I find I am hugging people more (I know them don’t worry).

(I have read this non-stop for the last 8 years, it may 

have had an effect on me… I do eat more bananas…)

BabyBoy1 loves a hug.

He doesn't like a long hug as he's a little boy full of energy and wants to climb and run and jump and doesn't tend to stop moving for most of the day.

But every now and then, when he's tired out, or ill, or just fallen off the bed face first again. He wants a big old hug.

Despite not being able to talk and having the IQ of a baby (because he is), even BabyBoy1 completely understands the benefits of a hug.

He's a wise, troublesome, slightly bonkers, little boy.

Miss4 loves a hug.

But mainly with Mummy. Me not so much.

Apparently I am either too spiky (stubble, can't help that, see She Can’t Sleep (Nor Can I)...) or I am too smelly (boy smells, can't help that either, without seriously changing my life-style choices).

Despite Miss4's reluctance, sometimes, to hug me I insist. I know how important hugs are. Which does makes me sound a bit desperate which I am and a bit of a weirdo, which I am not.

I could just ignore each hug rejection from Miss4 and then stop trying. But that would be terrible.

I'm her Dad. I have a special place and role in her life. I am, and will always be, the only man in her life that has no ulterior motives for her affections or time. As long as I don't abuse that trust, which I won't. I get to be a very unique person in her life.

Still, it feels like Miss4 and Mrs. Amazing are joined with Velcro sometimes. And she calls them ‘huggle wuggles’ which is way too icky for me and makes me want to puke on her head. But Mrs. Amazing doesn't mind it.

Meh.

Boy8 likes a good strong bear gripping, breath removing, hug.

Which is more my field of expertise.

He also likes being flattened, or laid on top of, or held upside down, or being thrown through the air.

Wanna try the Fastball Special?

‘YEAH!!!… wait... the what?’

<Picks up Boy8 and throws him>

<Boy8 splats against the wall comic book stylie>

Ooooooooo

First time! As planned

That didn't go as planned

<Runs>

(Ready?)

Still as boyish as Boy8 is, he still likes to snuggle up and hug it out.

Plus squeezing him to bit hugs are the best answer I've found so far for stopping grumps and anger. If I remembered to hug him more, I would.

Mrs. Amazing is a hug fan too. I won't go into it, but we have three kids. She likes a good [insert own joke verb here] hug.

(What verb did you go for? Really? <Slaps you> She is a lady you know! <Storms off>)

Anyhoo... we were talking about hugs.

I saw a good friend at school drop today. Another Dad of three.

I've known him for a lot of years and pretty much speak my mind at him. 

Mate! You look like utter, utter, crap

'Thanks you bastard'

Utter, utter, utter…

‘Yes I got it’

And he did.

He looked utterly exhausted. He looked like he had been up all night battling tiny terrors. Which is probably what he had been doing.

Still as he stood there looking tired and confused, a scooter in each hand, arms out, watching his youngest go into class. I felt really sorry for him.

I've been there, I imagine I will go there soon at some point, you cannot get away from there,  there is always there, until they leave home. (yep that passes my clarity tests... just... womble).

My friend is having one of those horrible days when the kids have almost beaten you, you are way too tired to adult today, and it's only 9am.

There's still work to attend.

Urghhhh.

We lost each other after that moment and I didn't catch up with him until we were at the school gates.

You alright?

<Does sad / happy nodding, that means no, but looks like yes>

<Notices the very puffy and red eyes>

Still drunk?

Hmmm... I understand

And I did. I understood, I fully empathised. I can do that, Mrs. Amazing taught me.

I knew his pain and the day he was about to face. A long slow drudgery day, with only more children in the evening and bed (for sleep) to look forward to.

We stood having this awesome conversation at the school gates, mums everywhere, some Dads. Headteacher just a few metres away. In plain view of all the classrooms and all the teachers.

My friend was heading off left, I was going right. So we had limited time, and I am not quite sure what came over me...

... I gave him a big hug there and then.

I managed to say nothing, which is good. Same rules as toilets.

Because for me, in those weird silent moments, I seem to put myself in, I do tend to say dumb things...

Mmmm... you're so warm

What that in your pocket?

It's better than I ever dreamt it would be

I don't have any pants on

<Inhales> You smell nice

You hug just like your wife does…

You ever seen Brokeback Mountain? ...Man it was boring 

See, best not to talk when hugging men. Looking back it still feels a little weird despite my silence.

But you know what?

It made him smile. And probably lifted his spirits a lot. He did look surprised I grant ya.

But I felt good for having hugged a fellow Dad in times of grief.

Even Dads need support sometimes. Even if we don't like to ask for it, or have it offered, or will accept it, ever.

And what is wrong with two men hugging anyway? HUH?

It's nothing. The answer is nothing, nothing at all (I promise you, nothing is wrong with it).

(Apparently these men play some kind of sport together…)

(It’s quite popular I hear but don’t understand or believe…)

Still, I do have to stop doing weird stuff at the school gates (see Welcome to the jungle (playground)), and I don't doubt a few eyebrows were raised in our direction.

Good. Raise away!

I'll hug you too.

<Hug>

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?'

<Sniggers>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!

'Where?'

Look closer... See it?

'No'

Next to that freckle

'Where?'

Not the big freckle, the tiny one...

'Oh yeah!... it's bigger than normal'

'Well done Dad'

Thanks

<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).

No?

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