Golf is a funny game. Though perhaps not in the classical sense of the word. There’s not a lot of humour to be found in strolling around on grass with sticks, unless you have a dog. And yet there is something inherently amusing about watching people chase a ball around. Which is why I imagine there were people chuckling the whole time my wife, N and I were playing pitch and putt on holiday.
I want to set the scene a little first. It was raining. Lightly at first, but by the time we were half way round it was raining the sort of rain that is reserved for British summer time by the sea. Cold, very wet, rain that soaks into your clothes, and doesn’t dry for hours. And there we were, knocking two little white balls around a course. You won’t be surprised to know that we were the only ones there, in fact, considering how this summer has gone we’re probably the only people who have been on that course for about 3 months.
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Friday, 20 July 2012
Friday, 6 July 2012
I like you (yes, you)
I want to like you. Obviously I love you, but liking you is different, and much more difficult. You just make it so hard when you behave like you do sometimes:
When you get angry and refuse to do anything that you are asked.
When you are so tired that you fight against everything, especially your mummy and me.
When you decide that eating is for inferior beings and, that you never want to eat anything again but instead, (like those people in that story that I have forgotten) have decided just to be nourished by smell.
When you throw your arms around and nothing is safe.
When you throw your toys around and those things that had been put safe from your arms are suddenly in the strike zone again.
When you say you need the potty, only to sit there for ages and not do anything.
When you’ve sat on the potty for ages, but hold on to whatever you’re going to do until I’ve picked you up.
When we’re outside in the garden and all you want to do is pull plants up.
When you’ve got bored of pulling plants up and decide that the only thing you’ve every wanted is to eat peapods, not the peas so much just the pods they come in.
When you stab me in the chest with a pencil and then get really grumpy when I take it off you.
When toys are not for playing with but for scattering like fairy dust around the house.
When, having done your best Tinker Bell* impression, you want the one thing you’ve scattered that we cannot find.
When you don’t believe me when I tell you that we’re going to put you in your chair to have lunch, so you take it out on my ears.
When you absolutely will not go to sleep no matter how tired you are.
When you decide that if you aren’t going to be asleep no one on the entire street will.
When you hate being in the bath until the exact moment that I take you out of the bath and then you hate being out of the bath.
When mummy is the parent you want, until you’re with mummy, and then daddy is the man for you, until you’re with him.
When you have been told not to touch the cooker time after time after time, and yet just can’t resist playing with the knobs one last time.
When you climb up on the arm of the chair and won’t come down until you’ve fallen off.
When you won’t play with any other children at all but are sad when they leave.
I want to like you, but you make it so hard, are you just keeping me on my toes? Are you trying to wear me down so far that I will let you get away with anything that you want? Is this how life will be for the next 18 years, or is is just a phase you are going through? Is there anything I can do differently? Will I look back at this one day and wish we were back here again? Because even though it is so hard to like you, I never want to let you go.
I want to like you, and underneath everything, despite this list that I have put together, you are very likeable, your smile is wide and toothy, your giggle is infectious and comes easily, your cuddles are freely given and heartfelt, you are my daughter and every now and then I see myself in you and almost explode. Yes, I do like you, but couldn’t you just make it a little easier, even just this much.
*Who knew that Tinker Bell had two names? Not me before writing this!
When you get angry and refuse to do anything that you are asked.
When you are so tired that you fight against everything, especially your mummy and me.
When you decide that eating is for inferior beings and, that you never want to eat anything again but instead, (like those people in that story that I have forgotten) have decided just to be nourished by smell.
When you throw your arms around and nothing is safe.
When you throw your toys around and those things that had been put safe from your arms are suddenly in the strike zone again.
When you say you need the potty, only to sit there for ages and not do anything.
When you’ve sat on the potty for ages, but hold on to whatever you’re going to do until I’ve picked you up.
When we’re outside in the garden and all you want to do is pull plants up.
When you’ve got bored of pulling plants up and decide that the only thing you’ve every wanted is to eat peapods, not the peas so much just the pods they come in.
When you stab me in the chest with a pencil and then get really grumpy when I take it off you.
When toys are not for playing with but for scattering like fairy dust around the house.
When, having done your best Tinker Bell* impression, you want the one thing you’ve scattered that we cannot find.
When you don’t believe me when I tell you that we’re going to put you in your chair to have lunch, so you take it out on my ears.
When you absolutely will not go to sleep no matter how tired you are.
When you decide that if you aren’t going to be asleep no one on the entire street will.
When you hate being in the bath until the exact moment that I take you out of the bath and then you hate being out of the bath.
When mummy is the parent you want, until you’re with mummy, and then daddy is the man for you, until you’re with him.
When you have been told not to touch the cooker time after time after time, and yet just can’t resist playing with the knobs one last time.
When you climb up on the arm of the chair and won’t come down until you’ve fallen off.
When you won’t play with any other children at all but are sad when they leave.
I want to like you, but you make it so hard, are you just keeping me on my toes? Are you trying to wear me down so far that I will let you get away with anything that you want? Is this how life will be for the next 18 years, or is is just a phase you are going through? Is there anything I can do differently? Will I look back at this one day and wish we were back here again? Because even though it is so hard to like you, I never want to let you go.
I want to like you, and underneath everything, despite this list that I have put together, you are very likeable, your smile is wide and toothy, your giggle is infectious and comes easily, your cuddles are freely given and heartfelt, you are my daughter and every now and then I see myself in you and almost explode. Yes, I do like you, but couldn’t you just make it a little easier, even just this much.
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| Check the awesome table cloth! |
*Who knew that Tinker Bell had two names? Not me before writing this!
Wednesday, 4 July 2012
Staring, Staring, Staring
Our daughter is a girl of many expressions. For a long time it made no difference that she couldn’t speak, she managed to convey her feelings through the medium of her facial expressions. Which I suppose is preferable to the medium of modern dance. Anyway, she is one of those people who you would not describe as inscrutable. In fact, scrutable, if it existed as a word, could have been coined just for her. (It turns out that scrutable has been used and is a recognised word, although it has fallen out of the rather niche use which it once enjoyed. It even merited a definition in Samuel Johnson’s dictionary, or to give it its full title, A Dictionary of the English Language: In which the Words are Deduced from Their Originals, Explained in Their Different Meanings, and Authorised by the Names of the Writers in Whose Works They are Found. What a wonderful book that is. One of these days, when I have totally run out of ideas, I’m just going to dedicate a blog post to words and definitions from that most remarkable book. Let us all hope that day is a long way off.)
Friday, 29 June 2012
Growing Up
Our little girl is growing up.
From September last year to April of this, otherwise known, in my brain at least, as the Dark Ages, I looked after our daughter by myself for two and a half days a week. My wife worked four days a week, I worked two and a half and so it fell that I was in sole charge of the beast Tuesday afternoons, Wednesdays and Fridays. In April my wife gave up her job to look after N full time. So now I don’t really have any time alone with N.
Until today. My wife went out from 9-5 today, to attend a Phoenix card trader’s conference, check out the website here. She went out so it was just me and the child left in the house together. Alone. With no adult supervision. Not a responsible person within 100 yards. And the two of us had a great day, which was surprising. I have a great time playing with my daughter, but when I had to look after her by myself before, at least one of us, and occasionally both, would often be left as a frazzled mess by the end of the day, just desperate for mummy to come back, toys strewn in piles, kitchen utensils flung to the far corners of the house, and smoking holes in the walls. Today, however, neither of us ended up like that. When mummy returned she found two people serenely enjoying each other’s company calmly sitting in the lounge just taking in the latest in Thomas the Tank Engine stories. I believe I have officially graduated and I am henceforth awarding myself the coveted Dad level 2 badge, and its only taken me 18 months. I‘m so proud. You can all congratulate me later.
From September last year to April of this, otherwise known, in my brain at least, as the Dark Ages, I looked after our daughter by myself for two and a half days a week. My wife worked four days a week, I worked two and a half and so it fell that I was in sole charge of the beast Tuesday afternoons, Wednesdays and Fridays. In April my wife gave up her job to look after N full time. So now I don’t really have any time alone with N.
Until today. My wife went out from 9-5 today, to attend a Phoenix card trader’s conference, check out the website here. She went out so it was just me and the child left in the house together. Alone. With no adult supervision. Not a responsible person within 100 yards. And the two of us had a great day, which was surprising. I have a great time playing with my daughter, but when I had to look after her by myself before, at least one of us, and occasionally both, would often be left as a frazzled mess by the end of the day, just desperate for mummy to come back, toys strewn in piles, kitchen utensils flung to the far corners of the house, and smoking holes in the walls. Today, however, neither of us ended up like that. When mummy returned she found two people serenely enjoying each other’s company calmly sitting in the lounge just taking in the latest in Thomas the Tank Engine stories. I believe I have officially graduated and I am henceforth awarding myself the coveted Dad level 2 badge, and its only taken me 18 months. I‘m so proud. You can all congratulate me later.
Monday, 25 June 2012
Water Baby
Have you ever tried to bathe a fish? You know, give it a really good scrub, get its scales all gleaming and sparkly. No, me neither, really it was a foolish question, but now that the idea is in your head let me give you a taste of bath night in our house. It involves no fish, but a fairly good substitute.
Bath night is exciting, mostly for little Miss Jones (we have about a million things that we call our daughter, the vast majority of which are in no way related to her actual name, or any distinguishing features, they just tend to be the first things that pop into our heads. Some stick, some fall by the wayside in the manner of someone that has just developed a cramp and needs to wait to let it ease off while the rest of the party goes on ahead. Many of these names will crop up on the blog, I’ll try to flag up that it is the daughter that I am talking about, but sometimes might forget. Just assume it is).
I think we’ll try that paragraph again, it having been hijacked somewhat.
Bath night is exciting, mostly for little Miss Jones, less so for her two frazzled parents. The cycle runs something like this. She loves going in the bath, hates having her hair washed and then is absolutely determined never to leave the bath in her life once the hair is washed. There is a very fixed routine for the bath. Each of the various stages coming with their own particular challenges and dangers.
Bath night is exciting, mostly for little Miss Jones (we have about a million things that we call our daughter, the vast majority of which are in no way related to her actual name, or any distinguishing features, they just tend to be the first things that pop into our heads. Some stick, some fall by the wayside in the manner of someone that has just developed a cramp and needs to wait to let it ease off while the rest of the party goes on ahead. Many of these names will crop up on the blog, I’ll try to flag up that it is the daughter that I am talking about, but sometimes might forget. Just assume it is).
I think we’ll try that paragraph again, it having been hijacked somewhat.
Bath night is exciting, mostly for little Miss Jones, less so for her two frazzled parents. The cycle runs something like this. She loves going in the bath, hates having her hair washed and then is absolutely determined never to leave the bath in her life once the hair is washed. There is a very fixed routine for the bath. Each of the various stages coming with their own particular challenges and dangers.
Friday, 22 June 2012
She's a girl!
Shopping has never been my favourite activity. Along with millions of other men, I dreaded a shopping trip and would spend the entire time making snide comments about anything and everything. Being a father has not really changed my feelings towards shopping, it has, however, ramped up my dread for these occasions.
I first noticed a real change in the shopping experience when people suddenly started stopping us to look at the Buglet and chat to us. This caught me totally by surprise, it was not a practice in which I had engaged before having the child and I was just not expecting complete strangers to strike up a conversation amongst the processed meats. For a start, why couldn’t they have picked a more exotic aisle to examine my child in?
I first noticed a real change in the shopping experience when people suddenly started stopping us to look at the Buglet and chat to us. This caught me totally by surprise, it was not a practice in which I had engaged before having the child and I was just not expecting complete strangers to strike up a conversation amongst the processed meats. For a start, why couldn’t they have picked a more exotic aisle to examine my child in?
Wednesday, 20 June 2012
A question of children
I had an interview today. It went quite well thank you. Why is it that you always come out of an interview feeling like you must have sounded like a complete idiot, as though you have been answering the questions in Hebrew, whilst standing on your head and juggling with your feet. Or is it just me? And anyway, if I had done all of those things I think they should just give me the job, who else do you know that can speak Hebrew and juggle with their feet?
All of this interview stuff got me thinking, unfortunately none of it was fit to publish as a blog post so I did what I always do in tight corners and asked my wife what I should write about. That, by the way, is not the best question to ask when the tight corner you are in is surrounded by panthers. So here we are, with a simple question to answer. What would you ask if you were interviewing prospective parents?
All of this interview stuff got me thinking, unfortunately none of it was fit to publish as a blog post so I did what I always do in tight corners and asked my wife what I should write about. That, by the way, is not the best question to ask when the tight corner you are in is surrounded by panthers. So here we are, with a simple question to answer. What would you ask if you were interviewing prospective parents?
Monday, 18 June 2012
They're not Terry's, they're ours, unfortunately.
Enough time? Good, now back to the calamities.
We use cloth, reusable nappies, the majority of which are shaped. Just like this.
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| I'll never look this clean ever again |
However, we also have some square terry nappies, which are just like this.
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| Doesn't look like it could make a grown man cry does it? |
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