Went on holiday with wifey and toddler last week. It was exhausting. I am now looking forward to a nice week of rest in the office.
Category Archives: Dad Blog
Holiday with toddler
Posted by
on May 14, 2012
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The problems of being a hot dad
Posted by
on April 16, 2012
4 comments
Samantha Brick thinks she has it bad being an attractive woman. Try being a hot dad.
I took my baby girl to the local café on Saturday. We had barely sat down when a waitress came over and gave me a banana for baby and a cup of tea for me. “On the house” she said with a big smile. I smiled back and as she sashayed away she gave me a wink.
You’re probably thinking ‘what a lovely surprise’. But while it was lovely, it wasn’t a surprise. At least, not for me.
This kind of thing happens all the time.
Throughout my life as a dad, I’ve regularly had women hit upon me. Once, a well-dressed lady bought me a chocolate cookie when I was standing behind her in the queue at the bakery (it was yummy, although looking back maybe it was intended for baby), while there was another occasion when a charming woman paid my bus fare and slipped me her phone number as I struggled to pull the pram on to a bus. Another time, as I was walking through London’s Portobello Road market, I was tapped on the shoulder and handed a lovely teddy bear (it turns out baby had dropped it in the gutter moments earlier).
And whenever I’ve asked what I’ve done to deserve such treatment, the donors of these gifts have always said the same thing: its so nice to see a man spending time with his baby.
I am no Brad Pitt but I do have two legs, two arms, two eyes (well four actually – I wear glasses) a brooding lopsided grin and a baby in a pram. I am irresistible to women. I am a hot dad.
It is embarrassing. While playing the tickle monster game with baby in the park I am asked by mothers, not all of them single, if they can be chased and tickled too. They coo and swoon as I push baby on the swings. Sometime there are so many gathered around me that baby starts to cry. As I comfort her all they do is swoon more.
If you’re a woman reading this – or, more importantly, looking at my picture – you will know exactly what I’m talking about: you are probably already writing a marriage proposal.
If you are a man, I’d hazard that you’ve already formed your own opinion about me — and it won’t be very flattering. For while many doors have been opened (literally) just as many have been metaphorically slammed in my face — and usually by my own sex. I know how Samantha Brick feels. You almost certainly find me a threat – a threat to your career, your relationship, your masculinity.
Time and time again jealous husbands have frozen me out of their lives. “You’ve ruined it for us” they say ” I never changed nappies now after seeing yiou dio it she says I:m not a real man.”
Take last week, out walking baby a mate who I wnet to school with passed by in his car. I waved — he blatantly blanked me. Yet this is someone who I have known for over 30 years, and who I have been down the pub with on countless occasions.
I approached a mutual friend and discreetly enquired if I’d made a faux pas. It seems the only crime I’ve committed is not leaving the house with a bag over Baby M. He doesn’t like me, I discovered, because he views me as a threat. The friend pointed out he is shorter, heavier and has never changed a nappy.
And, according to our mutual friend, he is adamant that something could happen between his wife and me, ‘were the right circumstances in place’, even though I’m happily married.
Perhaps you’re a father yourself, and have experienced a fraction of the bastardness I’ve encountered at the hands (and once or twice, the boots) of insecure, embittered males. Maybe you can in some small measure empathise with how difficult it is to live in a society where a man is constantly expected to be a good dad, but is then punished for being better than anyone else.
Is it any wonder that David Beckham moved his family to the US?
Why being a dad is great
Posted by
on April 15, 2012
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One of the best things about being a dad is that it gives you the licence to be a kid again. You can play with trains, jump on the bed, and make funny noises. All things my wife would never let me do before we had Baby.
You can also watch kids tv all day and not feel guilty about it. Its like being a student all over again.
And you can fart with immunity when in restaurants, shops, or other people’s houses because you always have someone else to blame.
The average dog is smarter than my toddler
Posted by
on April 14, 2012
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Baby M is growing up quickly but she is still not as as smart as the average dog.
According to research the average dog can understand about 165 words, including signs, signals and gestures. They can also count to about 5.
Stanley Coren, a professor at the University of British Columbia and leading researcher on dog behaviour is so smart he has letters before and after his name. He has been doing doggy tests, and says the average dog can count, reason and recognise words and gestures on par with a human 2 -year-old.
“They may not be Einsteins, but are sure closer to humans than we thought,” he says.
The smartest dogs, he calls them the “super breeds,” are on par with a 2½-year-old, recognizing up to 250 words.
While dogs ranked with the 2-year-olds in language Coren found that in terms of social inteeligence, our furry friends fare even better.
“The social life of dogs is much more complex, much more like human teenagers at that stage, interested in who is moving up in the pack and who is sleeping with who and that sort of thing,” Coren told LiveScience.
Dogs can certainly drool like a teenage boy on heat.
And, no, not all breeds are created equally.
The smartest dogs? The borzoi, chow chow, bulldog, basenji and — finishing dead last — the Afghan hound.
Father and Son bonding amongst the ballcocks
Posted by
on April 13, 2012
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Last weekend we visited my parents. While wifey and mum went shopping with baby I decided to spend some man time with dad. I asked him what he wanted to do? Go fishing? Go down the pub? Watch some football? Anything you want dad, my treat. But I knew what his answer would be – “Visit Wickes.” Wickes, the DIY superstore.
I hate DIY. When I was 10, dad said to me that he didn’t want me to grow up like him and have a manual job (he used to be a welder, he is retired now). He urged me to read and educate myself and take my studies seriously. He wanted me to be white collar not blue collar.I took this to heart and decided not to get involved in metalwork and woodwork at school. Consequently I have no interest in DIY.
But to Dad, Wickes is his Wembley, his Gucci, his perfect day out. Amongst the ball cocks and plasterboard he is at home. If they allowed him to, he’d stay in one of their sheds.
As we wander the aisles, him in nirvana fondling sandpaper and lovingly caressing screwdrivers, I try to feign interest whilst stifling my yawns.
Now that he is retired and bored I ask him why he doesn’t get a job working at Wickes.
“I’d hate dealing with the public asking stupid questions about grouting and plumbing,” he says
“Like me?” I’m always phoning him up to ask the best way to fix a shelf that is wobbly or what do when a fuse blows.
“Your my son, thats different.” He says. It’s a tender moment. He is not a man to express emotion but that’s as close to a “I love you” as I am likely to get.
With that in mind I have decided that I am going to get involved in DIY. Now that I am a father I have decided to put my hatred of DIY aside and learn how to use a power tool and grout and all that manly stuff. So I have invited dad to help me do up our bathroom. When I asked him I could swear he had tears in his eyes.
You can follow our project on the Wickes page on facebook
Working wife
Posted by
on April 2, 2012
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“I could never be a full time housewife. I need to work.’ Says wifey over Sunday lunch with friends.
“What do you enioy most about your job?’ someon easks.
‘I like getting up putting on my make up. Making myself up, putting on a dress and making myself pretty,” says wifey.
She could have said the intellectual challenge, the money, the friendships, but no its all about putting on a dress and make up.
A dress and make up that everyone else gets to see but me.
I somehow feel like I am getting a bad deal here.
If I am lucky I get to see wifey for five minutes a day looking hot. In the morning just before she leaves.She emerges for the bathroom made up and pretty kisses me and then leaves. And in the evening she comes in looking hoy goes straight into the bedroom takes off her nice top and pencil skirt and puts on a tatty pair of legging and a baggy jumper.
Dressing a toddler the Steve Irwin way
Posted by
on March 2, 2012
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Trying to dress a toddler when they have just come out of the bath and they are oiled up and screaming is not easy but this week i’ve worked out that the secret is to distract them and get them on their back as quickly as possible and avoid their teeth. I may never wrestle a crocodile but all those hours watching Steve Irwin were not wasted.
Demon Toddler
Posted by
on February 24, 2012
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The good times I have come to pass.
For in the last week the devil has entered baby’s body and she has become a toddler with tantrums.
Her favourite word is no longer a delightfully slightly sureal ‘duck’ it is now “No”
Do you want to eat your breakfast. “No”
Do you want to have a bath? “No”
Come and give daddy a kiss “No”
Can you go and get your coat please/ “No”
Lets puts on some clothes its cold. “No. No.No”
Kicking and screaming she is lying on the floor.
Rebellious and defiant.
My little girl has turned into a monster. I was expecting that to happen when she turned into a teen. Not when she is 18 months.
This isn’t my child she refuses to have her photo taken. This is a dramatic reconstruction.
Birdsonging wifey
Posted by
on February 17, 2012
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Its been a while since we have had sex. So last night I decide to seduce wifey using the Birdsong technique. For those of you who did not watch the recent BBC adaptation of the First World war romantic novel, to Birdsong is to stare longingly for minutes at your beloved whilst not saying a word . By simply staring at your intended prey, you convey your lust, your desire and your inner most feelings for them. This technique also goes by the name of French arthouse.
I Birdsong wifey during dinner. I summon up my best watery-yet-defiantly resolute look and stare at her across the table.
‘What’s wrong? Have I got food on my face?’ says wifey.
When Birdsonging the intended source of your seduction is not meant to speak. They are meant to look back at you with matching lust in their eyes, their pupils saying “yes I also want to make beautiful tender love to you”. Despite this speaking setback I persevere.
‘No. Your face is beautiful. It is perfect.’ I say in my best impression of an Eton educated young soldier. Before resuming my lustful silent look. At the same time I kick off my slippers and gently rub my bare ankle against hers. A subtle touch communicating my affection. My deep longing.
She doesn’t move into the touch she kicks it away.
‘Stop staring at me. You look like a serial killer.’
I obviously need to practise my look in the bathroom mirror more.
Baby Bashes Daddy
Posted by
on February 10, 2012
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Snow
Posted by
on February 5, 2012
2 comments
Somebody is up before dawn yelling “Snow, snow, snow. Let’s play”
That somebody is me. Wifey pulls the duvet over her head. ‘Let’s sleep.’ she moans.
A layer of whiteness covers the streets. A sprinkling of magic that hides the dog sh*t and the McDonalds wrappers.
I pace the house waiting for baby to wake up and looking longingly at the whiteness outside.
This is the first snow my daughter will have ever seen. It will be one of those memorable moments like her first walk or when she first saw Iggle Piggle in In the Night Garden.
As soon as she is awake I point out the snow to Baby M.
She looks at it like a weary teenager. And walks over to the table picks up the remote control and tries to switch on the TV.
Despite this lack of enthusiasm I persevere. I wrap her up and take her outside into the snow covered garden. Our winter wonderland.
I want to capture her reaction. I want to see the look of amazement as she crunches the snow under foot. And looks at a world transformed
Her reaction is – screams. Screams, tears and more tears.
We go back inside.
That’s kids for you. They never fail to surprise you.
She is now playing with her doll. I am off again outside to throw snowballs and make a snowman.
