Thirtysomething Dad

on Onions, Snails and Gatsby

I was a fussy child. Reflecting on the childhood I was privileged to have, I have new-found respect for my parents’ patience. Unfortunately I forget from time to time that kids will be kids and that they will go through their periods of likes and dislikes.

My eldest is now eight going on twenty-one. I say this because although she isn’t quite the know-it-all I’m expecting in teenagerdom, she IS aspiring to be a lady. Something which I am both proud of and somewhat worried to see. But more on that at a later stage as it is my wont to waffle off topic.

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Thirtysomething Dad

The Silence of the Prams

When you become a parent of one, life gets real. When the second one arrives, you adapt or you’re screwed. One skill that I have found quite impressive is the ability to be absolutely livid, meanwhile being able to communicate your ire in utter silence. I’m not bragging here. All parents of two or more do this. For example:

Time for nap. My then one-year-old has just fallen asleep. This after a paltry three hours of rocking, singing, feeding, changing, her crying a lot, me crying a little, her fighting sleep, me fighting the urge to join the French Foreign Legion, the slow awkward ‘laying down’ procedure successfully completed. I am tip-toeing away from the room, barely able to release a breath, when I enter the lounge and my five-year-old quite loudly says “dad do you wanna play go fish?”.

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Thirtysomething Dad

on Facebook and Savages

Why do parents need to prettify parenthood?

We all feel the stress, undergo the exhaustion, deal with the same problems. And you still get the mommies that make it out to be all sunshine and roses, and the dads that are full of one-liners to live by. These are the people that are making it out to be something it’s not. Sure, we love our children. Yes, we’ll die for them without a moment’s hesitation. It’s probably the same reason we don’t truly reveal our problems on Facebook or Twitter or whatever other platform there is out there to use as a delivery system for the fake updates on our fake perfect little lives. We share only the good news, and perhaps some of the bad, but not our problems. And here I take exception.

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Thirtysomething Dad

on Amoebae, Cats and Picasso

Work: done.
Children: occupying themselves.
Significant other: reality tv.
Me: good book.
Beer? No, too early.

Thus the scene is set. All is well. My two daughters of 8 and 4 are suspiciously quiet. But, as usual, this seemingly unbreakable blissful stasis is short lived.

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