Australian comedian Mick Meredith sings about the pain of the dreaded man flu.
In the illustration, The man doesn’t know that there is a snake underneath. The woman doesn’t know that there is a stone crushing the man. The woman thinks: “I am going to fall! And I can’t climb because the snake is going to bite me! Why can’t the man use a little more strength and pull me up!” The man thinks: “I am in so much pain! Yet I’m still pulling you as much as I can! Why don’t you try and climb a little harder!?”
The moral is— you can’t see the pressure the other person is under, and the other person can’t see the pain you’re in.
This applies to parenting but also life i general, whether it’s with work, family, feelings or friends, we should try to understand each other.
Learn to think differently, empathise more, and communicate better.
Be kind to people. We are fighting our own battles.
What do you call an articulate dinosaur?
Napoleon may not have designed the coat he wore…
But he did have a hand in it.
My wife was preparing lunch today when she asked, “Tony, where’s the cheese grater?”
I said “Some would say France, others would say England”
Why does the TV have buttons?
It wouldn’t look good with a zipper.
Why couldn’t the bicycle stand up by itself?
It was two tired.
Want to hear a joke about construction?
I’m still working on it.
As a kid I remember watching the children’s show Blue Peter and seeing a segment about a house of the future. There were lots of cool gadgets in that house but what i remember vividly is the presenter saying “switch off the lights” and the house lights automatically switching off. I thought it was cool but also so far-fetched that such a thing could really happen – lights you can talk to? Cool but Ridiculous.
40 years later …. its finally happened. In my house.
I bought a smart plug, connected it to Google Assistant, and now my daughter can lay in bed and switch off her bedroom light by voice alone.
The future is finally here.
I’ve no idea who this daddy is but i love these T shirts.
On Saturday when wifey announced that she was going to a day spa and “don’t you remember you agreed to look after baby for the day”, my first reaction was fear, closely followed by horror.
She told me weeks ago. I vaguely remember wifey saying she wanted a day off but I was watching football at the time and didn’t pay full attention. She is a cunning one wifey. She used to make her controversial proposals just after sex, when lying in bed with my soppy grin and serotonin flooding my body I’d happily agree to anything. But we rarely have sex now, so football is the new post-coital.
Its not that I don’t love my daughter its just that as millions of mums and dads will testify to, they are bloody exhausting.I function best as a daddy when I can give her a short period of fun attention. Read her a book, jump on the bed together, dance to a rave tune. Babysitting all day is a different matter. It’s also a totally inappropriate term when there is no sitting involved. More like, baby sit down-get up -run around-sit down-get up-try and read the paper-get up.
As she left there was anther wifey curve ball – “remember we are potty training so no nappies, just watch her and when she looks like she is doing a poo or a wee move her to the potty.”
Great. I can’t even watch the telly now.
As baby plays with her tea set I watch her like a hawk and look for the signs. But I can’t see any. So after ten minutes I elect to sit her on the potty.
She sits there reading her book. Quite content. She’s obviously been observing daddy’s toilet time. After 5 or so minute she gets up. I look inside the potty. Nothing.
30 seconds later she has shat all over the carpet.
She looks at me.
I look at her.
“Uh oh’ she says.
It’s the first of many accidents.
Between potty time we watch animated penguins dance for over an hour on You Tube. We go to the park and go up and own the slide over 20 times in a row. We read the same nursery rhymes dozens of times. We jump on the bed. I bath baby, feed her and she is sick. (On reflection, jumping on the bed after breakfast was not the smartest move.)
She also pees in the kitchen, and the lounge twice. All before 10.30 am.
By the time wifey arrives back home at 8 that night glowing from her facial and all day pampering I am a broken man.
“She peed in the potty. She peed in the potty. It was only a little one. But she peed in the potty” I excitedly tell wifey, slightly delirious.
I choose not to mention the 9 times she didn’t.
I love football because in a game of football you have high drama, periods of boredom, tears, joy, elation, disappointment, frustration, excitement, all packed into 90 minutes. Child care is similar. Except its like watching or playing 10 games of football back to back.
Respect to all mothers of the world and all stay at home dads. I salute you.
The unique wisdom of Oasis singer Liam Gallagher on the problems of parenting.
When you’ve got kids, you worry, make sure they don’t turn into a f**king lunatics, but then theres nothing wrong with being a lunatic. I guess making suer they don’t turn into f**king squares. That’s the most important thing isn’t it?
What would be the first sign of them turning into squares?
Listening to Coldplay. Listening to Noel Gallagher’s Flying Birds…If I ever caught them at one of their gigs they’d be trouble. I’d stop their pocket money or I’d dish out loads of old photos of them with nappies full of sh*t and put that on the internet and say ‘Cop that dickhead’. That’ll do it cos they think they’re cool now they’re 16,17.
It all started with an innocent question over breakfast.
Darling have you got a pilots license? Asks my wife.
You mean can I fly a plane? I say.
A few days later.
Darling. Have you got a pilot’s uniform? She asks.
What like a fancy dress outfit?
No. And you know how I hate fancy dress parties.
The following morning.
Darling I want you to tell me what to do. I want you to assert your manliness. Really? Are you sure?
But you hate it when I tell you to pick up your dirty clothes off the bathroom floor. You get angry and tell me not to treat you like a child.
I like the way you said dirty. I can be very dirty sometimes can’t I? She says seductively.
What’s going on?
She moves in closer.
I want you to dominate me. I want to be your submissive.
Then the penny drops.
You’ve been reading that Fifty Shades of Grey haven’t you?
Yes I have and its opened up a whole new side of me. I want to be your sex slave. I will have sex with you whenever you want me to.
But when I tried it last week you told me to get off because you were watching Desperate Housewives.
You should have insisted. That’s what dominants do. You should do what you want whether I want it or not.
You sound like a Conservative talking about rape. How about you tell me when you want me to dominate you and I’ll pretend I don’t know and then I’ll sneak up behind you, grab you and carry you off to bed.
Mmm that sounds nice. But be careful of your back. You don’t want to have to go to the physio again.
Ok I’ll drag you across the floor.
I like that. But make sure there aren’t any of baby’s toys in the way I don’t want to get injured like when you stood on her xylophone and you cut your foot.
Ok. So you’ll give me the sign. I’ll pretend you haven’t given it to me. Then I’ll sweep the floor of all known toys, pull you across the floor and into the bedroom. Where I will have my wicked way. Loudly and manly.
Not too loud though honey. We don’t want to wake M.
A little something I wrote for the esteemed Tesco Magazine on being a working dad.
Whoever says Sunday is a day of rest has never been a parent. The official day of rest for working parents is Monday. In the office, my work colleagues don’t demand to be read stories or chased, or ask me to draw pictures of cats. And not even demanding TV presenters writhe around on the floor screaming.
I believe that looking after kids full time is way harder than any day job. That’s why for centuries men have chosen not to do it – they worked out that hunting animals or going down the pits or even going to war was preferable.
I come from a long line of working dads. My own dad chose to work as many hours as he could to earn money to buy me the things he never had as a kid. But although I got what I wanted, I didn’t get what I needed – his time. When my dad was around he was often tired and irritable. I didn’t want to make that mistake.\r\n\r\nSo with my wife and I both working, we decided to form a tag team. One morning I get Maia ready and then my wife takes her to the nursery. Then the next day we swap. It is like a military operation, but we get the job done together. As a bonus, I’ve found being a dad has made me more disciplined at work. I pack more in to my working day so I’m home in time to read to Maia and put her to bed at least three evenings a week.
There’s nothing more beautiful than coming home and hearing “Daddy, Daddy!” and the sound of little feet as Maia rushes to greet me. Our father/daughter relationship comes down to quality versus quantity. I might spend fewer hours with Maia, but because they’re limited, I treasure them more and she gets to see my best side. And while I salute the dads who’ve chosen to stay at home, I know it’s not right for my family. Being a working dad is what works best for all of us.
Whoever says Sunday is a day of rest has never been a parent.
The official day of rest for working parents is Monday.
In the office.
One of the main changes in lifestyle of being a parent is how you treat the weekends.Pre – parenthood, weekends were for sleeping and decompressing – two days of rest from five days of work. They were characterized by lie-ins and lazy Sunday mornings, papers in bed, chilled afternoons in front of the TV, a visit to the pub and a bit of adult frolicking. (Oh I get tearful just things about those halcyon days! nNow, its up at, or before, the crack of dawn, screams and constant demands for attention. A small flat in Central London only holds so much attraction for a young child. Lazing around isn’t an option, we have to do things. We have to go out and stimulate M. Weekends are spent hanging out at the park, swimming, visiting the local inner city farm, going on play dates, visiting friends who also have kids, or exploring new areas of the city. Thankfully, we live in the capital and so there are plenty of things to do in London, whether it be art galleries or museums or restaurants.
M is only two, so ancient artefacts and art might be beyond her grasp but the large spaces are great for running around in and playing peek-a-boo!
The good thing is that we do have fun as a family exploring London, which is genuinely one of the greatest cities of the world. The flip side is that constantly doing things is exhausting.
By Sunday night I am dreaming of a nice relaxing week in the office.
My work colleagues don’t demand to be read stories, or be fed, or ask me to draw pictures of cats. And even the more confrontational and annoying ones, when I ask them to do something for me, have never resorted to throwing themselves on the floor screaming.